Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Duplicate Daughter

Mason signed the check for the cocktails, they moved over to the phone booth and Della Street called Gilman’s residence and asked for Muriell. After a moment she said, “Just a minute, Miss Gilman. Mr. Mason wants to talk.”

Mason said, “Hello, Muriell. How’s everything coming? Is your dad home?”

“Oh, hello,” Muriell said, without mentioning Mason’s name. “It’s nice to hear from you. Do you know anything new?”

“I carried out instructions,” Mason said. “The contracts were delivered. I got a receipt from Roger Calhoun.”

“Oh, that’s fine!”

“Has your father come home yet?”

“No. He telephoned Nancy that he was going to be away, he wouldn’t be back tonight. He said, however, that he’d be in the office tomorrow. He’s getting in about nine o’clock in the morning, I believe.”

“Where is he?” Mason asked.

“He had to go to Las Vegas, Nevada, on business.”

“I see. Is Glamis there?”

“No, she isn’t. She telephoned she wouldn’t be in until quite late. With Glamis that means quite early.”

“Well, that’s fine,” Mason said. “I just wanted you to know that the contracts had all been delivered. I guess we’ll hear from your father tomorrow. Good night, Muriell.”

Mason hung up the phone and grinned at Della Street. “Now this,” he said, “is good. We gave Paul Drake an assignment to follow Glamis and evidently Glamis is out on quite a party. She phoned she wouldn’t be home — probably until the small hours. That gives us a good guess as to why we haven’t heard from Paul Drake.”

“How utterly charming,” Della Street said. “And it turned out Glamis was the wrong girl — you wanted him to shadow Muriell?”

“I did want him to shadow Muriell,” Mason said, “but as events are turning out now I think it’s a good thing he’s shadowing Glamis. We have duplicate daughters, each of whom seems to be steeped in mystery.

“Now, let us go get some food and intersperse the eating with a few dances and some leisurely discussion of clients, of duplicate daughters and second marriages, of mysterious showers of hundred-dollar bills and the unmistakable charm of the unexpected.”

Hours later, back in Drake’s office, the receptionist looked at them and smiled. “You fairly reek of being well fed,” she said. “To a girl that’s on a diet of cottage cheese, preserved pears and buttermilk, that’s almost a crime. I haven’t heard—” She broke off as a light flashed on the switchboard. She put in a plug, said, “Drake Detective Agency... yes... yes, he’s right here, Mr. Drake. I’ll put him on.

“Paul Drake calling from Las Vegas, Nevada,” she said.

Mason grinned. “Where’s a phone?”

“Go right down to Mr. Drake’s private office. I’ll put him on there.”

Mason and Della Street hurried down the narrow passageway to Drake’s private office. Mason picked up the phone, winked at Della Street and said, “Perry Mason, Paul. What the heck are you doing in Las Vegas?”

“Well, you told me to follow this party,” Drake said, “and this is where I wound up.”

“Why didn’t you telephone me for a clearance to see if—?”

“There wasn’t time,” Drake said. “She drove directly to the airport and parked the car. I followed her into the plane office. There was a plane leaving for Las Vegas within ten minutes. She got a ticket and I managed to get a ticket. I tried to keep away from her, but as it turned out the only other vacant seat was right across the aisle from her.”

“Did she look you over?”

“She did indeed,” Drake said. “I think she may have become a little suspicious. I’ll tell you what happened.”

“What?”

“When she got to Las Vegas she took a taxicab into town. I naturally got another cab to follow the one she was in. She went to one of the big casinos, started playing the slot machines like mad, then she gave me the slip.”

“How come?”

“After twenty or thirty minutes,” Drake said, “a taxi-cab pulled up in front of the place and the fare got out. The time was nine eleven. This girl suddenly made a bolt for the door, shot into the cab, said something to the driver and the cab sped out into the street, leaving me standing there with the memory of a good look at a beautiful pair of gams and the nearest cab half a block away.

“By the time I’d sprinted up to that cab and got it started we were blocked by a traffic signal and after that we were licked. I never got a smell of the other cab. I went back to the casino to try and locate the cab she used, but it hasn’t shown up yet. So I thought I’d phone in a report. I lost her trail at nine twelve.”

Mason said, “Here’s a tip for you, Paul. There’s a Steve Barlow in Las Vegas. I don’t know what he does. He lives at 5981 Virginia City Avenue. Go out and case his place. You may find your blonde there, talking with him. If you do, just catch the next plane back to Los Angeles.”

“And if I don’t find her?”

“Give the place a general once-over,” Mason said, “but it’s not important enough to stay overnight. See if you can pick up her trail. If she’s there, your job is finished. If she isn’t, don’t bother too much. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Okay,” Drake said. “I’ll be seeing you.

Mason hung up the telephone, said to Della Street, “Well, I guess that about winds it up for the day, Della.”

It was ten thirty in the morning when Paul Drake tapped his code knock on the door of Mason’s private office.

Della Street let him in.

“Hi, beautiful,” Paul said.

“How was the gambling?” Della Street asked. “And did you put it on the expense account?”

“Believe it or not,” Drake said, “I won nearly five hundred dollars.”

“No wonder you were late getting in this morning,” Mason said. “I presume you stayed all night, took the early-morning plane and—”

“I did nothing of the sort,” Paul Drake said. “Actually, I finished my gambling by a little after midnight, took the next plane in, then came up to the office to get the information from my various operatives correlated so I could submit an intelligent report.

“Incidentally, Perry, you called the turn all right on this blond babe you had me shadowing. She was visiting with Steven A. Barlow at 5981 Virginia City Avenue. I went out there and staked out for about an hour, then she came out of the house, called a taxi and went uptown.”

“Did you tail along?”

“Actually, I didn’t, Perry. I had rented a car and the only place that I could park it where I could be sure of watching the front door of the house was in a position where I had to park with my car pointed away from town.

“While I was sitting there trying to find some good excuse for ringing the doorbell so I could see who came to the door without betraying myself, a taxicab swung around the corner, pulled up in front of the house and stopped. The front door opened. A man whom I suppose was Steven Barlow and this blonde I’d been shadowing came out on the porch. She kissed him good-by, hurried down and jumped in the cab and the cab took off uptown. The man stood in the doorway watching the cab until it was out of sight. If I had tried to make a U-turn and follow, it would have been a dead giveaway, and since you had told me that if she was visiting Steven Barlow to forget about it, I just decided to call it a day.”

Mason nodded. “That’s right. I’m glad you played it that way.”

“But,” Drake said, “I ran into her again about eleven o’clock. She was in one of the casinos playing roulette and having quite a run of luck. By that time she’d changed into a clinging cocktail gown.”