Erle Gardner: The Case Of The Dangerous Dowager

She nodded.

"Can you remember the number?"

She took a pencil from her purse and started to write. Mason said, "Don't write it down that way. Write it eighty-seven V six, nine, two. Then anyone who finds it will think it's an automobile license number."

She wrote down the number as he directed, then came to stand at his side, her hand on his arm. "I can never in the world thank you enough for what you're doing," she said.

He patted the back of her hand. "Don't try."

"Tell me, is there a chance they'll convict Frank of this murder?"

"Lots of chance," Mason told her, "- if there ever was any murder."

"What makes you say that?"

"I have a witness who thinks Grieb committed suicide."

She shook her head slowly and said, "Sam Grieb would never have done that. He was killed."

"Well, it might suit us to let the authorities think it was suicide."

She said slowly, "Don't let them bear down too heavy on Grandmother Benson... She... keep their minds on Frank Oxman if you can."

"You don't care what happens to Frank?" he asked.

"No, I don't owe him anything. And anyway, you're Grandma Benson's lawyer. You mustn't let them pin anything on her."

"Now wait a minute," the lawyer told her significantly. "If I'm representing an innocent client, I'm going to prove that client's innocent. If I ever represent a guilty client who lies to me, and I find out the lies, it'll be just too bad - for the client... That's the way I play the game, Sylvia."

He stepped quickly into the corridor and closed the door.

CHAPTER 14

MASON CALLED Paul Drake from a pay station. "Still got your men on Oxman, Paul?" he said when Paul answered the phone.

"Yes. Why?"

"I have an idea he's going to take a run-out powder."

"He can't afford to do that," Drake said. "He..."

"He can't afford not to do it," Mason interrupted. "He's in a jam and he won't dare to show himself until he can make his peace with Squires. Now, when he leaves, I want to know where he goes. He's wise now that he's being tailed. He'll try to ditch the shadows. I want you to make things easy for him - not so easy he smells a rat, but easy enough so he feels certain he's on the loose."

"You mean you don't want him covered any longer?"

"No, I want him tailed, but if he thinks he's given his shadows the slip it'll make him easier to handle. So put a couple of men on the job who can be push-overs, and then plant some smooth operatives in the background who can carry on from there. Do you get me?"

"I get you," the detective said... "Now, listen, I've got something for you. Della Street reports that the Benson woman has contacted her and wants to see you. They're going out to Della's apartment. Can you meet them there? Della says she thinks it's important."

"All right," Mason said, "I'll go out there right away. What else is new?"

"I've managed to get micro-photographs of the fatal bullet," Drake said. "It checks with the bullet Manning dug out of the beam of the ship. That means Grieb was killed with his own gun. It commences to look more and more as though this would give you an out, Perry."

"Let's hope so," Mason told him, "but there are a few loose ends I'd like to tie up before the Federal Grand Jury starts an investigation. In the meantime, I'll go see Della Street, and you keep Frank Oxman under surveillance. He's put himself in a position where he's done some things he can't explain. We can make him the goat if we have to."

"That won't help for long," Drake said. "He really isn't guilty of anything, is he?"

"You never can tell," Mason told him. "In any event, he's put himself in a hot spot trying to chisel seventy-five hundred bucks. I'll get in touch with Della."

"Just in case it means anything to you, there's a whole army of plainclothesmen clamped around the office building here," Drake said. "They're waiting for you to come in."

"It doesn't mean a thing to me," Mason told him cheerfully. "... be seeing you, Paul."

"Yes," Drake said, "perhaps you'll have the adjoining cell."

Mason hung up, left the telephone booth, and drove to Della Street's apartment house. He went at once to his own apartment and started hurriedly packing a suitcase. He was awkwardly folding his pajamas when he heard a tap on the door which communicated with Della's apartment. He twisted back the bolt on his side of the door to encounter her anxious eyes and the keen gray eyes of Matilda Benson.

"Are things coming okay?" Della Street asked anxiously.

Mason grinned reassuringly. "We're making satisfactory progress. Come in and sit down."

Matilda Benson gave him her hand. "I want to thank you," she said. "No other man that I know of could have done what you've done."

"He's done too much," Della said. "He always does too much. He shouldn't jeopardize his career for some client who's in trouble, and no client has any right to ask him to take the chances he does."

Mrs. Benson settled herself comfortably in a chair. "No use trying to lock the stable door after the horse has been stolen," she observed. "What's been done has been done."

"How did you get off that ship?" Mason asked.

She grinned. "There wasn't anything to it. Some of the crew lowered a rope ladder over the stern and let people slip into a speed boat at twenty dollars a head. Twelve people went off that I know of."

"Twelve people went down that rope ladder?" Mason asked.

She nodded, opened her bag, took out her leather cigar case, clipped the end off a cigar, pulled out a card of matches bearing the imprint of the gambling ship, and said, "At least twelve. Apparently it's a great rendezvous for mixed couples."

"What do you mean by mixed couples?"

"Husbands who have their wives mixed, and vice versa," she said. "When a married man's stepping out with some blonde cutie and is afraid he may run into some of his wife's friends, he's apt to pick the gambling ship as a swell place for dinner, drinks, and a little action." She broke off to chuckle, scraped a match into flame, and lighted the cigar.

"How about the coat?" Mason asked.

"I tossed mine overboard. I thought it would sink, but, as luck would have it, it caught on the anchor chain. That was a break against me. Otherwise they'd never have known I'd been on the ship. With that coat as a clue, they've made an investigation and are all ready to crack down on me as soon as they can find me.

"That was a great experience - giving the officers the slip. I never saw anything quite so funny as the bedraggled appearance of those frightened philanderers crawling down the side of that ship on a rope ladder. The crew were getting a great kick out of it. The people were frightened stiff."

"So you got away all right?" Mason asked.

"Sure. They pushed the speed boat loose and didn't start the motor until it had drifted away from the ship. I had planned to give a phoney name and address, but I found it wouldn't work. The officers were demanding evidence of identification and all that sort of stuff. So I just politely skipped out on them."

"Then what?" Mason asked.

"Then I kept under cover, of course. Now I want to see Sylvia. You know where she is. I want to talk with her."

"It would be dangerous for you to see her now," Mason said slowly. "You're wanted, and your appearance is sufficiently distinctive so you could be picked up from a description, where..." He broke off as the telephone burst into sound.

Della Street picked up the telephone, said, "Hello..." then after a moment, "Who shall I say wishes to speak with him? Very well, hold the phone, please."

She turned to Mason and nodded. The lawyer scooped the receiver to his ear and heard Sylvia Oxman's half-hysterical voice. "Something awful's happened!"

"What?" he asked. "Keep cool and tell me about it."