Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Lonely Heiress

Della Street consulted the office memo she had made and said, “All right, I have the number — Westland 6-3928.”

She picked up the telephone, said, “Give me an outside line, Gertie,” and dialed the number.

She sat at her desk, the receiver at her ear, waiting.

“No answer?” Mason asked.

“Apparently no answer,” she said. “I can hear the sound of the phone ringing and... wait a minute.”

She was silent for two or three seconds, then said, “Hello — hello.”

She cupped her hand over the mouthpiece, turned to Mason and said, “That’s funny. I heard the ringing signal quite right in the middle of the ring. I could have sworn someone picked up the phone, and I thought I heard breathing, but when I said ‘Hello,’ no one answered.”

“Perhaps your connection was broken,” Mason said, “and you imagined the sound of the breathing.”

“I’d have sworn someone took the receiver off the hook,” Della Street said.

“Probably Rose Keeling,” Mason said. “She had been warned and thought perhaps you were the belligerent Dolores Caddo, calling to make certain she was in.”

“Well, if I were Dolores Caddo I’d be on my way up there right now,” Della said, “because I’m satisfied she’s in. Someone took the receiver off the hook.”

Mason said. “It’s twenty minutes to twelve now — too early for lunch — I suppose I’ve got to go back to this confounded brief.”

He picked up the typewritten list of authorities, said, “I guess we’re ready to start dictating the brief in final form, Della. What do you suppose a woman like Dolores Caddo sees in a chiseling two-timer like her husband?”

“Probably she sees a certain element of financial security,” Della Street said. “Caddo can keep a lot of his business stuff under cover, but she has her rights under the community property law, and sooner or later she’ll cash in on them — and perhaps there’s a certain element of affection there. She’s really fond of him but recognizes his weaknesses and she’s trying her best to control them.”

Mason nodded, then said, “In addition to all that, Della, the woman really enjoys violence. She loves to invade some boudoir and start smashing things, throwing things and raising hell generally. Being the wife of a heel gives her that privilege. The average woman who has been making a play with a married man doesn’t have much chance to resent a violent visit from the ‘outraged’ wife. I gather Mrs. Caddo wouldn’t willingly change her partner — although she may have some romantic side dish her husband might like to know about. However, this speculation isn’t getting this brief finished. Gosh, Della, how I hate briefs!”

She laughed and said, “It’s like making a boy practice at the piano. You let your mind seize on every possible excuse to break the monotony.”

Mason said, “Well, we can copy this statement of the case on the rough draft. Then we’ll go on from there. Let’s see... All right, Della — take this down: ‘At the time of the trial the court permitted the following evidence to be introduced over the objection of the appellant.’ Now, Della, we’ll copy the transcript on page 276, the points that I’m underscoring in pencil.”

Della Street nodded, and Mason busied himself for several minutes with marking up the reporter’s transcript of the trial, then said, “Be sure to copy this evidence and after each excerpt from the evidence, put in the page of the reporter’s transcript, Della. Now let me see that case in the hundred and sixty-fifth California Reports. I want a copy from that. But first I’ll make an introductory statement to show how we think the doctrine laid down in that case is applicable.”

Mason took the book which Della Street handed him, and, having started to read the case, became engrossed in the language of the decision. After some ten minutes he said, “All right, Della, we’ll go ahead with the brief. Now take this: ‘In California there is a long line of cases setting forth the principle that such evidence is admissible only for the purpose of proving intent, and when admitted, it must be limited by the court to a proof of intent. In the case at bar, there was no such limitation. The jury were left to consider the evidence without restriction, nor was there any real attempt to prove intent by this evidence. Present counsel for the appellant was not his counsel at the time of trial, but trial counsel did protest vigorously to the court, although apparently no motion was made to limit the evidence to a consideration of intent, nor was any instruction submitted. However, as was said in one of the leading California cases...’ Now, Della, you can copy the parts of this case in the hundred and sixty-fifth California that I’ll indicate with lines along the margin of the page.”

Della Street nodded, and Mason put in some ten minutes marking the portions of the decision which he wished incorporated in the brief.

The telephone on Della Street’s desk rang and Della Street, picking up the receiver, said, “Gertie, Mr. Mason told you he didn’t want to be disturbed... How’s that?... All right, just a minute.”

Della Street turned to Mason. “Gertie said Marilyn Marlow is on the line and is almost hysterical. She wants to talk with you, says it’s terribly important.”

Mason said irritably, “Hang it! I just got Dolores Caddo out of my mind. I suppose Marilyn Marlow is covered with ink and filled with contrition and... Oh well, it’s quarter past twelve and almost time to go out to lunch. Let me talk with her.”

Della Street moved the phone on its long extension over to Mason’s desk.

Mason said, “Hello. This is Perry Mason talking.”

Marilyn Marlow’s voice was choked with emotion. “Mr. Mason, something... something terrible has happened. It’s... it’s awful!”

“Did you see Dolores Caddo?” Mason asked.

“No, no. I haven’t seen her. This is something worse than that. Something awful!”

“What is it?” Mason asked.

“Rose Keeling.”

“What about her?”

“She’s... she’s dead!”

“What happened?” Mason asked.

“She’s dead in her apartment. She’s been killed.”

“Where are you?” Mason asked.

“In Rose Keeling’s apartment. It’s a flat, part of a four-flat house, and...”

“Who’s with you?”

“No one.”

“When did you get there?”

“Just now.”

“Are you actually in the house?”

“Yes.”

“She’s been murdered?”

“Yes.”

Mason said, “Don’t touch anything. Are you wearing gloves?”

“No, I...”

“Any gloves with you?”

“Yes.”

“Put them on!” Mason said. “Don’t touch a thing. Sit down in a chair and fold your hands on your lap. Stay there until I get there! That address is 2240 Nantucket Drive?”

“That’s right.”

Mason said, “Sit tight. I’m coming.”

He slammed the receiver back on the telephone, rushed to the cloak closet, grabbed his hat and pulled out a topcoat.

“What is it?” Della Street asked.

“Rose Keeling’s been murdered. You stay here and run the office-no, come along with me, Della. Bring a notebook. I may want a witness and I’ll sure as hell need an alibi.”

Perry Mason slid his car to a stop at the curb in front of the Nantucket Drive address.

The building was a four-flat house, and Mason, running up the steps, quickly picked the entrance to Rose Keeling’s flat, a second-floor, southern exposure.

Mason tried the door. It was locked. He buzzed on the bell, and a moment later an electric door release opened the door for him.

Della Street and Mason crowded through the door, and the lawyer took the steps two at a time, arriving at the upper corridor several steps in advance of Della Street.