Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Stepdaughter’s Secret

“What do you mean, somewhat?”

“Well, I can’t represent her in any way.”

“You don’t have to,” Bancroft said. “You’re representing me. I’m trying to keep this matter from becoming public. I have to keep it from becoming public. I have every right on earth to retain you as my attorney. You’re doing fine so far. You’ve got the other people on the defensive. Stay with it... Do you want any more money?”

“Not yet.”

“Any time you need any more, just call on me,” Bancroft said. “Frankly, Mason, the more I think of it, I’m tickled to death with developments. I can see the thing from the viewpoint of the enemy camp — but I don’t want Rosena put in any position that will endanger her.”

“Okay,” Mason said, “we’ll carry on the best we can.”

“Suppose the blackmailers think she double-crossed them?”

“They won’t. They’ll feel one of the gang tried to cut himself in for an extra fifteen-hundred-buck slice of cake. That will be their first reaction. Your stepdaughter did everything the note told her to do. They’ll feel they just happened to grab an empty can instead of the right one, and, in the face of all this publicity, they’ll be jittery.”

“Just the same, I’m worrying about Rosena’s safety.”

“Don’t,” Mason said. “She has an armed bodyguard at all times.”

“Does she know it?”

“Not yet.”

“Will she find it out?”

“She may.”

“When she does there’ll be trouble.”

“We’ll face that when we come to it,” Mason told him. “By that time it’s almost certain that there will be other developments that will take precedence.”

“Okay,” Bancroft said. “You’re the doctor. However, there’s one thing you should know. Rosena is a very determined young woman, and she has armed herself.”

“She’s what?” Mason demanded.

“She has armed herself. At least I think she has. Either Rosena or Phyllis, my wife, has taken the .38-caliber revolver I keep in the dresser drawer by the side of my bed.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I went to the dresser a few minutes ago to get the gun. I made up my mind I might as well have it handy — and it was gone. It has to be either Rosena or Phyllis who has it.”

“How long since you’ve seen it?” Mason asked.

“Why, I keep it there all the time.”

“How long since you’ve actually seen it?”

“Well... now, I don’t know, perhaps a week or so.”

“Where’s your wife now?”

“Back in town — at our apartment there. She’s still working on that charity shindig.”

“Perhaps you’d better get in here yourself,” Mason said. “A little family conference might not be amiss at this time.”

“I want them to come to me,” Bancroft said. “It’s a matter where they have to take the initiative.”

“You’d better come in,” Mason told him, “before Rosena takes the initiative with your gun.”

“Heavens, I hadn’t thought of that,” Bancroft said.

“Think of it now, then,” Mason told him, and hung up.

At three o’clock in the afternoon Della said, “This seems to be your day for troubled women.”

“Who is it now?” Mason asked.

“The starlet, Eve Amory, and she’s certainly upset. I wouldn’t be too surprised if she hadn’t been doing a little crying.”

“The devil!” Mason said. “Let’s see her.”

“You have an appointment in a few minutes and—”

“The appointment can wait,” Mason said. “This girl may be in serious trouble. Incidentally, find out from Paul if he has a shadow on her and if he hasn’t, be sure that someone tails her when she leaves the office — a good, husky, two-fisted individual who can keep an eye on her and act as bodyguard. And tell me a little more about Eve before you bring her in, Della.”

“She’s very, very beautiful,” Della Street said. “She’d make anyone stop and do a double-take.”

“What else?” Mason asked.

“Well,” Della Street said critically, “I don’t want to be catty, but after the double-take you feel that you’ve seen it all, that you’ve looked at the entire inventory.”

“What do you mean?”

“She doesn’t have the individuality, the spontaneity. She does everything in too rehearsed a manner. She smiles and holds the smile just a second too long, as though she had been practicing it in front of a mirror. When she stands, when she walks, when she moves, you get that feeling of synthetic charm. You don’t feel that you’re getting through to the girl herself.”

“Well, I’ll take a look and check your observations,” Mason said.

“You’ll take a look and fall overboard,” Della said. “It’ll be a while before you are able to make a calm appraisal. She’s very beautiful.”

“Bring her in,” Mason said. “Let’s see what’s on her mind. And be sure to call Paul Drake and tell him that I want her shadowed, not so much to see where she goes, but for her own protection. I want somebody keeping an eye on her who can get tough if he has to. Now go bring her in, Della, and let me be properly dazzled.”

Della Street left the office to return in a few moments with Eve Amory.

“Well,” Mason said, smiling, “I’ve seen your picture in the papers.”

She smiled, and held the smile for a full second too long. Then she gave Mason her hand and said, “That’s what I wanted to see you about.”

“Why me?” Mason asked.

“The man with whom I was working,” she said, “was Paul Drake. He’s a private detective. I learned that he handles your business and I know that he reported to you after we had picked up the can with the money in it.”

“How do you know that?” Mason asked curiously.

“I’m not blind, and after all, Mr Mason, you are not entirely unknown. Your picture has been in the papers...” She smiled and added, “Even more than mine.”

“Go on,” Mason said.

She said, “I have been contacted by a very suave, ruthless individual who has put me in very much of a spot.”

“What kind of a spot?” Mason asked.

“This individual,” she said, “knows something about me.”

“You have a past?” Mason asked.

She met his eyes and said, “Every aspiring Hollywood actress who is beautiful enough to want a future could very well have a past. And a present.”

“And what about this individual?” Mason asked.

“He was a man about fifty — perhaps forty-five to fifty-two. He has penetrating grey eyes, and he has a single-track mind.”

“What do you mean by that?” Mason asked. “You mean that he wants to—”

“No, no,” she interrupted hastily, “I mean just the opposite, Mr Mason. He is not influenced in the least by feminine wiles, charm, tears, smiles or nylon.”

“Go on,” Mason said. “What does he want?”

“Money.”

“How much money?”

“The three thousand dollars I found.”

“You turned the three thousand dollars over to the police,” Mason said. “Doesn’t this man read the papers?”

“This man reads the papers,” she said. “This man does more than that. He gets around.”

“And what did he want?” Mason asked.

“He wants the three thousand.”

“How does he expect to get it?”

“The only way he could get it. I am to make a statement to the police that this whole thing was a setup for publicity, that a friend staked me to the three thousand dollars and the blackmail note and the idea was that I would go water-skiing in a very scanty bathing suit and claim that I’d found the money and the note in a coffee can and the inference would be that one of the wealthy families living along the shores of the lake was being blackmailed and the newspapers would give me a lot of personal publicity.