Erle Gardner - The Case of the Moth-Eaten Mink

“If I’d had one lick of sense I’d have known that was exactly what he wanted. Even a man with Fayette’s pull and brass could hardly expect to shoot a woman down in a public restaurant and then just get up and walk out of there.

“And yet he’s done things that have been just as crazy as that — and got away with them, too. But somehow you don’t stop to think when you see George Fayette looking at you. It’s like reaching up to put your hand on a rock and finding a rattlesnake coiled there.”

“Go ahead,” Mason said as she stopped. “I’d like to know exactly what happened.”

She said, “I dashed out of that restaurant, and that’s exactly what Fayette wanted. He had an accomplice in a car waiting for me.

“All Fayette had to do was to sit tight and appear to be innocently enjoying his dinner, and I’d rush right into the jaws of his trap.”

“And just what did happen when you reached the alley?”

“Well, the accomplice tried to force me to get into the car with him. I was just too plain panic-stricken to cooperate. And I guess that upset everyone’s plans. It had never occurred to anyone that I wouldn’t fold up like an accordion and march right into that car like a good little girl.

“As it was, I did the unexpected. I started to run.

“By the time the man managed to take a shot at me I was out of the line of fire through the open door. He stepped on the throttle to catch up with me, and the lurch of the car jerked the door back so it closed. He fired again, and the bullet went clean through the car door.

“By that time I was just running in blind panic. I dashed out into the street, and right in front of an oncoming car.

“Well, that’s virtually the entire story. I regained consciousness in a hospital, and I knew, of course, that where I was would be a matter of public record, and Fayette could find me without any trouble. So I got up and explored the private room in which I’d been placed. I found my clothes in the closet. I was pretty wobbly on my pins, but I dressed and got out of there. Of course I got in touch with Morris at once.”

“And what did Morris do?”

“He fixed me up with an outfit and gave me a chance to hide... But, of course, Morris was pretty much upset because he realized Fayette was after him at the same time.”

“So Alburg is taking steps to remove Fayette?”

“I probably shouldn’t have told you that. In fact, I’m not going to tell you that. I’m simply telling you that right at the moment Morris is busy on a matter of the greatest importance and he isn’t going to have any opportunity to get in touch with you until — well, I’d say for three or four hours at the most, but he’s written you this note so that you’ll understand.”

“All right,” Mason said, “what do you want me to do?”

“That’s rather difficult to say. You’re not very cooperative. You’re still suspicious.”

“Do you blame me for that?”

“Yes.”

Mason laughed.

“Morris — Mr. Alburg wrote you a note, didn’t he?”

“No.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“The signature is a scrawl. I’m not at all certain it’s his. I’m not familiar with his signature.”

“It’s his. I saw him sign it.”

“It’s just a scrawl.”

“He was in a hurry. He had things on his mind.”

“The note is typewritten. He could have written it in his own hand a lot easier than tapping it out on a typewriter and it would have been a lot faster.”

“How do you know? Perhaps he writes faster on a typewriter than with pen and ink.”

“Don’t be silly,” Mason said. “Whoever typed this note tapped it out laboriously with two fingers.”

“Perhaps Mr. Alburg was in a position where he couldn’t write. He might have been hiding somewhere. He told someone what he wanted to say to you and that someone typed out the note and took it to Mr. Alburg to sign.”

“Or perhaps scrawled her own version of Alburg’s signature on it,” Mason said.

“Oh, you lawyers, with your everlasting suspicions! You make me sick.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t successfully represent Morris Alburg until I know a lot more about you than I do now. Do you happen to have a driver’s license with you?”

“No. Mr. Alburg specifically identifies me in this letter.”

“But there’s no one to identify the letter.”

“Oh, nuts! I told Morris I’d bet you’d be like that. So I suppose you’ve got to see Morris face to face and have him tell you I’m Dixie Dayton and that you’re to represent me, and show you the birthmark on my left hip and then give you a banker’s guarantee... Oh, all right, I’ll go get Mr. Alburg and bring him here — and it’s going to be dangerous.

“If he doesn’t get Fayette first, George Fayette is going to kill him. And a fat lot you care! You with your lawyer’s skepticism. If your client gets killed trying to come here to identify me, you’ll know who’s to blame.

“All right, wait right here.”

“And if you should see Morris Alburg,” Mason said, “tell him to come to me at once before he tries to deal with Fayette or with anyone else. Tell him I’ll be waiting here and that I’ll tell him how to handle the situation.”

She was standing at the door, one hand on the knob, looking at him over her shoulder, her eyes dark with emotion.

“So that’s what you want,” she said scornfully. “Darned if I’m not sorry I opened up and talked to you the way I did. I thought you were a shrewd criminal lawyer who knew his way around. You talk like a reformer. I might as well write to Prudence Penny and say, ‘My dear Miss Penny: What shall I do? There is a gunman who wants to kill me. He’s almost succeeded twice in the last twenty-four hours, and now I know where I can put my finger on him. What should I do?’

“And instead of saying simply ‘rub the guy out,’ Prudence Penny would say, ‘My dear Miss Whosis: You must remember that we have laws to take care of people of that sort. You should consult the authorities at once and tell them about your danger. They’ll know what to do.’

“Perry Mason,” she went on scornfully, “the great lawyer — Prudence Penny. Why the hell don’t you get one of those encyclopedias on etiquette and a Gideon Bible, and throw your law books out the window?”

She slammed the door behind her so hard that the mirror which was hanging over the washbowl jumped and started to vibrate.

Perry Mason sat perfectly still, his eyes on his wrist watch, wondering if Paul Drake had had time to get his operatives placed, and whether they would be successful in following the girl.

Mason once more paced the floor of the hotel bedroom, plainly showing impatience.

He had only a few minutes to wait.

Exactly seven minutes and five seconds from the time the door had closed on the departing figure of the young woman, fingertips tapped gently on the panel of the door, an all but inaudible knock.

Mason detoured in his floor-pacing to twist the knob and pull the door open.

Paul Drake, somewhat disheveled, in need of a shave, grinned at Mason and said in a low voice, “Okay, Perry.”

Mason said, “Did you get...?” He ceased talking as Drake placed a warning finger to his lips and pushed his way into the room.

“What gives?” Mason asked in a low voice.

“She’s still here in the hotel,” Drake said.

“You got on the job yourself?”

“I had to, Perry, I couldn’t get the people here in time, and I jumped into my clothes and beat it up here as fast as I could. At that, I didn’t do you any good.”

“How come?”

“The girl who handles my switchboard was planted in the corridor. She had to register and get a room in order to do the job we wanted. She put on a maid’s cap and an apron and was out in the corridor when your girl came out. In place of taking the elevator down to he lobby, however, the way we had expected, this jane took the elevator up.”