Erle Gardner - The Case of the Baited Hook

“Of course, when I learned of Tidings’ murder, I thought at once that that must be it. But I was employed on Monday night. The murder apparently hadn’t been committed until Tuesday. Then I started checking up on clues, and everything that I found indicated Tidings died on Monday night… And my best guess is that it was before midnight on Monday.”

“I still don’t see why your move isn’t to try to force a confession out of the secretary,” Drake said, “—if you’re certain your client was a woman.”

Mason said, “Because I’m not certain the secretary murdered him.”

“Good Lord, Perry! If he’s lying about Tidings’ having been in the office, and if he impersonated Tidings over the telephone in talking with you…”

“It doesn’t prove a damn thing,” Mason interposed, “except that the secretary had some very definite reason for not wanting anyone to know that Tidings wasn’t there in the office. Suppose, for some reason, it was vital to have it appear Tidings was sitting in his office on Tuesday morning. The secretary did the best he could to create the impression Tidings was there. Then Tidings’ body was found, and the indications pointed to the time of death as Monday night — little things which wouldn’t be significant to a stranger, but which caused the secretary to realize what he was up against.

“You can see what a fix the secretary was in. He didn’t dare to back up and reverse his previous statements, because that would put him in an awful jam. He simply had to go ahead and bluff the thing through.

“Now then, Paul, suppose the secretary isn’t guilty of murder, but merely used a subterfuge to make it appear Tidings was in the office on Tuesday morning. Then suppose I rush in, browbeat Tidings’ secretary with a lot of facts, force him to confess. He confesses that he was lying about Tidings, but advances some logical reason for the lie. Thereupon, the police come down on my client and charge her with murder. My officious interference has wiped out the only defense she could possibly make in front of a jury.”

“What do you mean?”

“An alibi for Tuesday morning and for Tuesday afternoon and evening.”

“What makes you think she has such an alibi?”

“Because,” Mason said, “the shoes and the counterpane were missing.”

“Talk sense, Perry.”

“I am talking sense. Don’t you see, Paul? The only reason for taking the man’s shoes from his feet and the counterpane from the bed was to conceal the fact that it was raining when Tidings entered that house. That means that this person knew that that particular location would be the last place on earth where anyone would think to look for Tidings. It means that the person who did it knew that Mrs. Tidings wasn’t in the city and didn’t expect to return for several days. The only logical solution is that this person must have left my office Monday night, and then started building an alibi… This looks like the party we want, Paul.”

Drake glanced swiftly at the young woman who was standing in the door of the beauty shop drawing on dark gloves.

“Looks like it,” he said. “The operative didn’t miss it far. She could get my vote for Miss America any time.”

Drake shifted his eyes to Mason’s face as the lawyer remained watchfully silent. “What’s the matter, Perry?” he asked.

Mason said, “I would have bet ten to one that she would be a woman I’d seen before. I didn’t expect to find a stranger.”

“She’s the one we want all right,” Drake told him. “The operative in the car ahead is giving us the high sign.”

Mason lowered his head so that his hat brim shielded a portion of his face. “Keep your eye on her, Paul,” he said. “She may know me when she sees me. Tell me what she’s doing.”

“Finishing drawing on her gloves,” Drake said. “There she is out on the sidewalk… Just a curious and flickering glance at the operative in the car ahead… Seems to have passed us up entirely… Okay, Perry. She’s on her way. Want to tag along?”

“Yes,” Mason said. “And get this, Paul… Look up that secretary, Mattern. Find out all you can about him. Investigate particularly whether there’s any connection between Mattern and a guy named Bolus who’s the president of the Western Prospecting Company. I’m on my way.”

Mason stepped to the sidewalk, sauntered casually over to the inner lane of traffic, and moved quietly along behind the young woman.

She was walking with a brisk step, but her gait was not sufficiently hurried to destroy the easy swing of perfectly co-ordinating muscles. Her hips moved in graceful rhythm as she strode easily but rapidly, very apparently headed toward some definite objective.

Mason followed her to a drugstore where she went into a telephone booth and remained long enough to dial a number and engage in swiftly rapid conversation with some unknown party. She hung up, swept past the counter where Mason was buying a toothbrush, and again reached the sidewalk. Once more, she flashed a quick glance at the car which the operative was driving, but it was no more than a mere flicker of the eyes.

Out in the street, she seemed to lose much of her former haste. Her step became more leisurely. Twice she paused to look in at store windows. The second time she seemed to tear herself reluctantly away from the inspection of a black velvet dinner dress, which was draped on a model in the window. She walked half a dozen steps, then abruptly turned to come back and once more study the dress, giving Mason an opportunity, after an uncomfortable second or two, to wander past, noticing as he did so, that her eyes were only interested in the department store window.

Mason stepped into the doorway of the department store and waited for her to walk past.

Instead she marched swiftly through the doorway, and mingled with the crowd which was moving slowly through the aisles. She branched off toward the elevators, then abruptly turned, walked around a staircase, back to the ready-to-wear department, and out of the door to another street.

Mason, following behind, was entirely unprepared when she suddenly stopped. He was faced with the necessity of making himself conspicuous by also stopping or else trying to saunter casually past. He decided to keep moving.

A well-modulated voice said, “Good morning, Mr. Mason. Was there something you wished to say to me?”

Mason raised his hat, and looked into intense black eyes in which there was just a twinkle of mocking humor.

“I don’t think I know you,” he said.

She laughed up into his face. “That’s the line a woman falls back on when she’s trying to make up her mind whether to fall for a pick-up,” she said. “Surely the great Perry Mason should be expected to do better than that! Why are you following me?”

“Just my appreciation of the beautiful.”

“Don’t be silly… Come along. If you want to tag me around, there’s no reason why you should walk along behind me.”

She tucked her arm through his, smiled up at him, and said, “There. That’s better. I was going to turn to the left. I presume that means you were also going to turn to the left.”

He nodded.

“Did you,” she asked, “notice the two cars that were also following me?”

“Two?” Mason asked.

“Well,” she admitted, “one of them I’m certain of. The other, I’m not positive about.”

“You seem to be rather popular,” Mason said.

“Apparently, I am.”

“Really, I don’t recall having met you.”

She laughed. “Oh, I’ve seen your picture dozens of times, and had you pointed out to me in nightclubs. You probably don’t realize it, Mr. Mason, but you’re something of a popular idol here in the city — definitely more than a celebrity.”