Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Shapely Shadow

Della Street’s eyes widened. “Don’t, Chief,” she said, “you terrify me.”

Mason, pacing the floor, said, “The minute you begin to assume that that shapely shadow was cast by the seductive figure of the second Mrs. Theilman, you open up a whole train of possibilities that are completely fascinating.”

“Completely frightening,” Della Street amended.

“Well,” Mason observed, “the police have slowed down their attempts to locate Theilman. We have Paul Drake on the job. We’ll keep in touch with him, and since you should be instantly available in case something breaks, I suggest, Miss Street, that we finish up here and then you accompany me to cocktails, dinner and perhaps a little dancing. From time to time we will call Paul Drake and see if he has uncovered anything new.”

“This invitation, I take it, is strictly in the interests of business and a more efficient operation of the office,” Della Street said.

“It will so appear on the statement of expenses you will prepare for the Bureau of Internal Revenue,” Mason said. “As to any other and ulterior motive, on the advice of counsel I decline to answer.”

Della Street’s eyes searched his face. “On the ground that it might tend to incriminate you?”

“I’d better discuss that after the second cocktail,” Mason said.

“Not if you want me to look the income tax investigator squarely in the eye and explain to him that the evening was a necessary business expense in order to justify a charge of one dollar by way of retainer.”

Mason grinned. “On second thought, Della, until we get a more substantial retainer, you had better consider the evening one of social activity.”

Mason and Della Street returned to their table after the second dance and as Mason seated Della Street and moved around to his after-dinner coffee, he said, “Well, that was a relaxing dinner. I suppose we’ll have to call Paul Drake now, and get back to the mundane affairs of human emotions in the raw.”

Della Street glanced at her watch. “Heavens, it’s been two hours!”

“Finish your coffee,” Mason said. “We’ll call him on the way out.”

Fifteen minutes later, after Mason had signed the check, Della Street paused at the telephone booth and her nimble fingers dialed the number of Drake’s office.

Mason, lounging against the open door of the booth, watched Della Street’s features with appreciative eyes. “Did I ever tell you you’re a remarkably beautiful woman?” he asked.

“Hush!” she said. “You interfere with my dialing. I... Hello, Paul, Della... What?... Yes, he’s right here... Okay, I’ll put him on.”

Della Street said to Mason, “Back to business, Lochinvar. Paul Drake has struck pay dirt.”

Della Street slid out of the telephone booth and handed the receiver to Mason. Mason stepped to the phone. “Yes, Paul. What is it?”

“We’ve located your missing secretary.”

“Janice Wainwright?”

“Right.”

“Where?”

“Las Vegas.”

“What’s she doing?”

“Living it up.”

“Alone?”

“Apparently. At least at the moment.”

“Under her own name?”

“We don’t know what name she’s using,” Drake said, “because we haven’t traced her to her headquarters as yet. We picked her up at the gambling tables, and I have a man on her tail. He’ll report when she gets to where she’s staying... Where the hell have you been, Perry? I’ve been sitting on this information for an hour and a half and I want to know what to do — whether I should put two men on the job or—”

“Don’t take any chances on losing her,” Mason said. “I want to get over there and I want to pick her up... How did you locate her, Paul?”

“Easy,” Drake said. “Whenever someone disappears with a married man, the first place we look is Las Vegas, the second is Tijuana.”

“Come on,” Mason said, “it wasn’t that simple.”

“Well, actually,” Drake said, “it was easier than that. Your girl spent the late morning and early afternoon at the beauty shop. She confided to the operator who worked on her that she was taking the six o’clock plane for Las Vegas. So I simply telephoned my Las Vegas correspondent to be at the airfield and pick her up when she left the plane.”

“She came in alone?” Mason asked.

“Alone.”

“And she hasn’t registered anywhere yet?”

“No. She checked her bag at the Union Pacific Depot. Apparently she’s waiting for someone to join her. The Union Pacific crack train, The City of Los Angeles, is due in Las Vegas at eleven-twenty tonight. Mean-while our subject is frittering away money at the Double Take Casino.”

Mason looked at his watch.

“Okay, Paul,” he said. “Ring up your correspondents in Las Vegas. Put on all the men necessary to make sure that girl doesn’t slip through your fingers. I’m going to try to get there by eleven-twenty.”

“You can’t make it now,” Drake said.

“The hell I can’t,” Mason said. “I’ll get a fast twin-motored airplane and—”

“You still can’t make it,” Drake said. “Not now.”

“I’ll make it,” Mason said. “You cover the deal at your end and I’ll worry about the transportation.”

Della Street slipped into the adjoining telephone booth, dropped a dime and started dialing.

“Okay,” Drake said, “we’ll have men on the job. Now, you know this girl when you see her?”

“I think so. I saw her before she’d removed the disguise.”

“What do you mean, the disguise?” Drake asked.

“When she was the ugly duckling,” Mason said. “However, you wouldn’t understand, Paul. I’m satisfied she’s going to be at the depot at eleven-twenty. Della and I will try to be there, but put enough men on the job so they can keep you advised by telephone where this girl is, and if we miss her at the depot we’ll telephone your office, find out where she is and pick her up.”

Mason slammed up the receiver, jerked open the door of the phone booth and looked in on Della Street inquiringly. “You’re getting a plane?” he asked.

Della Street nodded.

Mason turned to a waiter. “Get me a taxi,” he said. “Have it waiting in front of the place with the motor running, all ready to take off. We’re in a hurry. ”

At ten minutes past eleven a taxicab deposited Perry Mason and Della Street in front of the Union Pacific Depot at Las Vegas.

Mason tossed a twenty-dollar bill to the cabdriver, took Della’s arm and hurried into the depot.

Some two dozen people were in the waiting room, some sitting reading, some standing, some chatting.

Mason gave the room a swift once-over and then his face showed disappointment.

Della Street’s elbow nudged him sharply in the ribs.

Mason turned to follow the direction of her gaze.

“What?” he asked.

“Over there,” Della Street said.

“I don’t see...”

Then the devastating beauty who was standing a little to the right of the door gave herself away by a quick, gasping intake of breath as her eyes rested on Perry Mason and Della Street.

Della took the initiative and started moving forward. After a split second, Mason came striding along, catching up with her as they confronted Janice Wainwright.

“Well?” Mason said.

“I... You—”

“Come on,” Mason said, “out with it. You’ve played me for a sucker. Now let’s have the story.”

“I... I didn’t play you for anything. I... I think you’re grand. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you for worlds.”

“All right,” Mason said. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m waiting for the Domeliner, The City of Los Angeles.”