Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Lonely Heiress

“That’s the idea,” Mason said, “only don’t take too much interest in the people around you.”

Mason folded the timetable, got up and took one of his bags over to the parcel-checking locker, placed the bag in the locker, took out the key after depositing his dime, then returned to his seat beside Della Street. He unfolded an evening newspaper. “All right,” he said, “keep me posted,” and forthwith apparently became engrossed in the news of the horse races.

The activity of the terminal depot flowed past them in an unceasing stream. People walked aimlessly toward the train gates, only to turn and walk aimlessly back, waiting for arrivals and departures. Other people plodded wearily to seats, apparently waiting in between trains. There were others who seemed anxiously awaiting trains where they were to meet friends or relatives. Here and there businessmen and seasoned travelers bustled about, sending telegrams, placing last-minute calls in the telephone booths, putting hand baggage into the custody of red caps before boarding trains. In contrast to these crisply energetic travelers were the tired ones who waited, slumped down on the hard benches, wrapped in weary lethargy.

“Oh, oh!” Della Street suddenly whispered. “Wait a minute! I think I have her spotted. The brunette in the plaid skirt. Take a look at her, Chief.”

“Just a minute,” Mason said. “Get your eyes off her, Della, so that I can look up casually over the top of the newspaper. She may be suspicious.”

Della Street said, “She’s directly in line with the parcel-checking window. Look a little over your left shoulder, Chief.”

Mason slightly lowered the newspaper, opened his mouth in a prodigious yawn, threw his head back, and, as he was yawning, studied the girl Della Street had indicated.

As Mason was watching her, she reached a decision, suddenly walked up to the man at the information desk, touched him on the arm and smiled sweetly at him.

Paul Drake’s operative raised a big, awkward hand to his hat, pulled it off and grinned with pleased embarrassment.

The pair talked for a moment, then the girl glanced swiftly around, said something to the man, and they left the terminal, turning toward the big doors through which people were streaming in and out.

Della Street, watching them in dismay, said, “Chief, they’re leaving!”

“Uh, huh.”

“But no one’s following them.”

“How do you know?”

“No one’s paying the slightest attention to them. Drake’s men must have fallen down on the job.”

“Don’t worry,” Mason said, “they’ll be on the job, all right.”

“Shouldn’t we try to see where they...”

“Definitely not,” Mason said, and stretched out once more to yawn wearily. Then he devoted himself to his newspaper.

“You’re the most exasperating person in the world at times!” Della Street said. “I’m burning with curiosity.”

“So I gathered.”

“And we don’t know anything more about who she is than we did before.”

“We’ve had a look at her,” Mason said. “That’s mainly what I wanted.”

“Just a glance,” she said. “You couldn’t possibly tell anything about her.”

“I can jump at conclusions,” Mason grinned. “They may be wide of the mark, but in any event they’re conclusions.”

“Such as what?”

“In the first place,” Mason said, “I don’t think she’s an adventuress. I have an idea she’s on the up-and-up. In the second place, she’s frightened about something. This meeting meant a lot more to her than might have been supposed. There was a look of relief on her face when she realized that this man was just the type she was looking for.”

Della Street thought that over, then said, “Yes, I guess there was, come to think of it... I can tell you something about her clothes. They’re simple clothes that really cost money. I wonder what sort of a car she’s driving.”

“Nine chances out of ten it’s a taxicab,” Mason said. “She wouldn’t take a chance on letting anyone get the license number of her car until after she’d had an opportunity to talk and size him up. Well, Della, I guess the show’s over. How about eating?”

“Now you’re really talking.”

A travel-weary woman, who had elicited Della Street’s sympathy, patiently pushed back the four-year-old boy who had been clinging to her knees. The man who was with her said, “I guess the train’s late. I’ll get Junior his ice cream cone.” He plodded away dispiritedly and returned in a moment with the ice cream cone. Then suddenly he veered over toward Perry Mason and Della Street.

“I’m supposed to make my report direct to Paul Drake,” he said, “but they’ve gone away in a taxicab. Since the contacting operative is with her, we followed instructions and didn’t make any attempt to tag along. I guess that’s what you want to know, isn’t it?”

Mason smiled at Della Street.

“That is what Miss Street particularly wanted to know,” he said.

Mason said, “Come in and sit down, Mr. Caddo.”

Caddo’s manner seemed nervous. “You have a report for me?” he asked.

“That’s right. I think I can set your mind at ease on the matter concerning which you consulted me.”

“So soon?”

Mason nodded.

Caddo seated himself and almost immediately began stroking his chin nervously with his long, powerful fingers.

“Your lonely heiress in Box 96,” Mason said, “is Miss Marilyn Marlow. She inherited approximately three hundred and fifty thousand dollars from her mother under rather peculiar circumstances. Her mother was a special nurse who attended a George P. Endicott during his last illness. Endicott made a will, leaving a large, old-fashioned, rambling mansion where he had been living to his two brothers and a sister. He also devised and bequeathed to each the sum of ten thousand dollars. All the rest, residue and remainder of his estate he left to Eleanore Marlow, Marilyn’s mother. The will also contained a proviso that if any of the heirs should question the validity of gifts he had made to Eleanore Marlow in his lifetime — some cash and a collection of gems that were family heirlooms-such heir would forfeit all right to take any property under the will.

“Eleanore Marlow was killed in an automobile accident shortly after Endicott died. Marilyn is her only daughter. She is worth somewhere in the neighborhood of three hundred thousand dollars — perhaps more. She certainly comes within the definition of an heiress. In fact, her mother’s estate has not as yet been closed and the Endicott Estate has not been closed. There are some properties in Oklahoma which are potentially oil-bearing.

“The will was admitted to probate, but the brothers and the sister plan to contest it. The witnesses to Endicott’s will were two nurses, a Rose Keeling, and Ethel Furlong. The contest may be pretty hot. At the time the will was executed, Endicott was partially paralyzed. He signed with his left hand.”

Caddo heaved an enormous sigh of relief. “Mr. Mason, I can’t begin to tell you how grateful I am. I can’t even begin to tell you what a load you’ve taken off my mind.”

Mason nodded.

“But why in the world,” Caddo went on, “would a woman like that — young and attractive and wealthy — want to use my magazine for the purpose of making new friends?”

“I believe the ad says that she is weary of the type of people with whom she comes in contact,” Mason said dryly. “Fortune hunters ind people of that sort.”

“But if I understand you correctly,” Caddo said, “she must have old friends, friends whom she knew before she ever inherited the money. After all, this is rather a recent development, isn’t it, Mason, this wealth of hers?”