Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Fenced-In Woman

“What’s that?” Tragg asked.

“When one begins to get a little tired of a hostess,” Mason said, “another one cuts in. The one who is particularly adept at that in this case is a young woman by the name of Paulita Marchwell, and since her initials are ‘P.M.’ I wouldn’t doubt in the least if that briefcase didn’t belong to Paulita; if she hadn’t gone to Los Angeles with Loring Carson or arranged a meeting here; if Carson hadn’t left his car somewhere and had driven out to the house with Paulita. He told her to wait in the car. He wanted to put some securities in a place of concealment. He deliberately parked on Eden’s side of the house in case Paulita got curious and started to nose around.

“He had retained keys to the house. He walked around the fence to the side door, went inside and opened the lid.

“Paulita knew generally what was going to happen and what he was there for. All she needed was to find the place of concealment. She got into the Eden side of the house — probably through a window — stood where she could look out on the swimming pool and see what Carson was doing.

“The minute he deposited his securities and additional cash — I suspect it was a wad — and turned back into the house, Paulita stripped off her clothes and went like a flash into the water. She swam over to the receptacle, opened it, got out its contents and swam back under the fence.”

“What was Carson doing all this time?” Tragg asked.

“Going out to the car, he found it empty and put two and two together. Paulita hoped it would take him long enough for her to get on her clothes and stroll casually from the side of the house, saying, ‘Loring, dear, what a beautiful place. I was looking around. If you built this you certainly are to be complimented. It’s a terrific job.’

“However, before she had a chance to do any of this Carson dashed through the front door and saw her running naked out of the swimming pool, carrying the plastic bag. He stripped off his coat and went after her. She ran back to the swimming pool and jumped in but Carson was able to grab her, perhaps by the hair. He reached for her neck, tried to hold her head under water, but she dove down and under the fence.

“So then Carson stood wondering just what to do, put on his coat and stood guard over her clothes, feeling pretty certain she wouldn’t dare run out onto the highway in the nude, and he had taken the keys when he left the car.

“She did better than that. She took a knife from the rack, tiptoed on bare feet, stuck the knife in his back, grabbed her clothes from under the fence, put them on, grabbed the car keys from his body, jumped in the car and took off.

“Then my clients entered the house. They found Carson’s body and knew that they were in a terrific jam. In place of calling me and asking my advice then and there, they tried to concoct a story.”

“A wonderful theory,” Tragg said. “Would there be any way on earth it could be proved?”

Mason said, “You might ask Genevieve Hyde some questions. She went to Los Angeles by plane, I understand. It’s barely possible she had a tip Paulita was stealing her boyfriend and decided to do a little investigating. She’s closemouthed, but she won’t lie. At least, I don’t think she will.

“And put yourself in Loring’s place. If the nude was not the girl who had driven him out there he’d have asked the girl who was waiting in the car to go in one side of the house while he went in the other and they’d have cornered this nude intruder.

“The fact he didn’t play it that way is persuasive evidence that the nude was the young woman who had driven him out there in her car.”

Tragg thought that over. “And Nadine Palmer?” he asked at length.

“Nadine Palmer did what any woman would have done,” Mason said. “Having seen that receptacle, she wanted to find what was in it. She ran down the path from where the car was parked, but notice this, Tragg: the trail does not come in down below the barbed-wire fence; the trail comes in on the bedroom side of the house. In order to get over to the receptacle she simply slipped off her outer garments and dove in the pool, clad in bra and panties. She dove under the barbed-wire fence, found the receptacle was empty, went back, took off her underthings, squeezed out the water, put them in her purse, put on her dress and then heard voices as Morley Eden and Vivian Carson entered the house.

“She flattened herself against the wall, and from then on she’s telling the truth as to what happened.

“Don’t underestimate the intelligence of a jury. It really was one of her fingerprints that was on the lip of the receptacle.”

Tragg shook his head. “We couldn’t get enough points of identification to get a conviction.”

Mason grinned. “ We got enough points of similarity to raise a reasonable doubt. But there were other unidentified latents. Try Paulita Marchwell.”

Tragg thought things over, suddenly got to his feet.

“You’ve got a point,” he said. “I think I’ll go to Las Vegas.”

Tragg left the office.

Morley Eden looked at Vivian.

“You see,” Vivian said, “I knew we should have confided in Mr. Mason at the start.”

Eden took out a checkbook. “I think,” he said, “twenty-five thousand dollars would be about right as a fee in the case, Mason, and I’m going to penalize myself another twenty-five thousand for holding out on my attorney and forcing you to go at it blind.”

Della Street cleared off a place on the desk for Eden’s checkbook.

The three watched him as Eden wrote out a check: Pay to the order of Perry Mason — Fifty thousand dollars.