Case of the Footloose Doll (12 page)

Baylor listened again for a few moments, then said: “I am exceedingly busy at the moment. If you could come within . . . oh, say, half an hour, that would be more convenient . . . I see . . . Well, make it twenty minutes then . . . I’m sorry, Sergeant, fifteen minutes is absolutely the best I can do for you . . . ! I’m sorry, but that’s final. Fifteen minutes! I don’t give a damn if you subpoena me before a thousand grand juries, I’m tied up for fifteen minutes . . . Very well. Good-by!”

Baylor slammed up the telephone, walked back to his chair, looked at his wrist watch, regarded Mason thoughtfully and said, “All right. Mason. We haven’t time to do any more sparring for position.

“My son became involved with Fern Driscoll. She may be a most estimable young woman. I don’t know. My son is also attached to a very nice young woman who is in his social set, a woman who would make him happy, and who could be unquestionably accepted into the social circle in which my son moves, something which would be exceedingly difficult for Miss Driscoll.

“Now then, the report seems to have spread in some way that there had been certain indiscretions; that Miss Driscoll was in trouble and that I had given her a large sum of money to leave town. That report is absolutely, unqualifiedly false.”

“How about your son?” Mason asked.

“My son assures me that the report is false as far as he is concerned,” Baylor said with dignity.

“Well,” Kitty said, “I happen to know that—”

“That will do! Please keep out of this, Katherine,” Baylor said. “The situation is rather delicate.”

Kitty glanced indignantly at him. “What I was going to say might have been of some help . . . ”

“Please!” her father commanded.

She remained silent.

“Now then,” Baylor went on, “the situation became complicated because of this man Harrod. It seems that Fern Driscoll was involved in some way in an automobile accident, and Harrod was an investigator for an insurance company. He started backtracking and somehow or other found out a lot of garbled facts. Somebody gave mm a lot of misinforma-tion. The point is that he was dealing with a scandal magazine, which he felt would pay him ten thousand dollars for the story.”

“You talked with him?” Mason asked.

Baylor thought things over some four or five seconds, then said in the manner of a man who is weighing his words carefully, “I admit that I talked with him. Harrod seemed to feel that perhaps I would be willing to pay him an amount at least equal to that which he could receive from the magazine for the story. However, he evidently had been advised in some detail concerning the law of extortion and it was very difficult to get him to say exactly what he had in mind.

“Moreover, Mason, I am not a man who submits to blackmail.

“The reason I am telling you all of this is that, according to Harrod, Fern Driscoll had some rather indiscreet letters which my son had written, and my son has admitted to me that there is the possibility Miss Driscoll saved some of his letters. He is not entirely clear as to the contents of those letters.

“In view of my name and position, a scandal magazine would regard a story involving the family as a very choice tidbit. It would undoubtedly pay a top price for such a story, and the publication of that story would cause a very great deal of unfavorable comment in the circles in which I move.” 

Mason nodded. 

Baylor looked at his watch, and suddenly increased the tempo of his words. “I only have a minute or two, Mr. Mason. I don’t want the officers to find you here. A Sgt. Holcomb wants to interview my daughter concerning the death of this man Harrod.” 

Again Mason nodded.

“I take it you must know something about that?”

“Yes,” Mason said.

“Do you know Sgt. Holcomb?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I don’t want Sgt. Holcomb to find you here, and I’m not going to tell Sgt. Holcomb that you have been here. I’m telling you all this very frankly, Mr. Mason. I wouldn’t submit to blackmail. However, certain circumstances which now exist put me in a very embarrassing position. I have every reason to believe that Miss Driscoll may need first-class legal services. I think that Miss Driscoll has certain letters which my son wrote. I want those letters. When those letters are delivered to me, I am prepared to pay you in cash for representing Miss Driscoll.”

“I’m not a blackmailer,” Mason said.

“I don’t want you to be a blackmailer. You’re representing Fern Driscoll. Now then, you’re going to have to do a great deal of legal work for her. She doesn’t have the money to pay you the sort of fees you customarily get. I know a great deal about you by reputation.

“On the other hand. Miss Driscoll isn’t a blackmailer and you’re not a blackmailer, You wouldn’t think of using those letters in any adverse way. However, Mr. Mason, let me point out to you the extreme danger of the situation. If the police should search Miss Driscoll’s apartment and should find those letters, it is almost certain that even if the letters themselves don’t find their way into the public press, the existence of those letters would be established and that would be enough to give this scandal magazine all of the verification it needed so that it could go ahead and publish this dastardly story.

“Therefore, without in any way being guilty of any extortion, without you being guilty of any unprofessional conduct, you can assure your client that, if she will turn over those letters to you, and you can give them to me, she can have your services and they will be fully paid for. Do I make myself clear?”

Mason nodded.

“But, Dad,” Kitty said, “she isn’t Fern Driscoll!” 

Her father turned on her angrily. “I asked you please to keep out of this!”

Mason regarded Harriman Baylor thoughtfully.

“All right,” Baylor said, “suppose she isn’t Fern Driscoll. Suppose your client should even be an impostor. The situation then becomes even more delicate. If it should appear that Fern Driscoll was the woman who was killed, if the autopsy showed that she was in the second month of pregnancy, if she left my employ suddenly, pulling up her roots and leaving without even pausing to say goodby to her friends—and then if it should appear that she had letters from my son—Damn it. Mason! I don’t have to draw you a blueprint! I don’t have to point out anything that’s as obvious as the nose on your face. I want those letters!”

“And,” Mason said, “the reason that you were not going to see anyone except Harrod is that Harrod assured you he would have those letters and could deliver them to you in return for a cash payment. Is that right?”

“I don’t propose to be cross-examined by you or anyone else,” Baylor said, “and I want you out of here before the police come. I’ve said everything I care to say.”

Baylor got up, strode across to the door, held it open.

Mason said, “I think I appreciate your position, Mr. Baylor.”

“You’ll consider my offer?”

“I’ll consider the best interests of my client.”

“You understand what I am trying to forestall?”

“Perfectly.”

“If this magazine can’t get some corroborating evidence, it won’t dare to go ahead. If it can get the faintest bit of corroboration, it will come out with a story that will start a social scandal which will have a most disastrous effect.

“You need money for your services. I’ve told you how you can get an adequate fee.”

“I understand you perfectly,” Mason said. “I’ll do whatever is best for my client.”

He walked out.

Chapter 10

MASON LATCHKEYED the door of his private office, grinned at Della Street, and said, “Well, we may as well go home.”

“How did you come out?” Della Street asked.

“After making one false start, I got in to see Baylor. You may have one guess as to who Howley was.”

“Howley?” she asked, puzzled. “Who was—Oh, I remember, Howley was the name Baylor gave the hotel telephone operators and the house detectives, the one person whose calls were to be put through and who was to be admitted to see him no matter what hour he called.”

“That’s right,” Mason said. “Guess who Howley really was?”

“I give up, Chief. Who was Howley?”

“Howley,” Mason said, “was the alias for Carl Harrod.”

“Oh-oh!” Della exclaimed. And then after a moment, “How in the world did you ever find that out?”

“I took a chance,” Mason explained. “I made a shot in the dark. The first time I called up and said I was Howley, Baylor wanted to know under what other name he knew me, or words to that effect. He wasn’t quite that crude, but he asked me what other name I had given him. I was hesitating, trying to think of some way out when he slammed up the telephone.

“I thought things over for a while, came to the conclusion that Baylor was out here because of the Fern Driscoll situation, that Harrod had been in touch with him, that the situation was really crucial, that Harrod had probably given him some ultimatum and that Baylor was thinking it over.

“I had everything to gain and nothing to lose. So I went to another telephone, called once more, gave the name of Howley, and when Baylor again asked me under what other name he knew me, or words to that effect I said ‘Carl Harrod,’ and that did the trick.” 

Della Street frowned. “Just what does that mean, Chief?”

“That,” Mason said, “is something I’m trying to figure out. People should react to external stimuli in a manner consistent with their basic characteristics. Any time they don’t seem to do so, it means that the external stimuli are being misconstrued by the investigator, or that the basic character of the person has been misconstrued or misinterpreted.

“Baylor puts up a bold front of being a man who will fight to the last ditch, a man who won’t pay blackmail, a man who refuses to bow to anyone. Yet he flies out here from Michigan and, despite all of his bold protestations of independence, we find him making appointments with a blackmailer.”

Mason started pacing the floor. He paced for several seconds, then spoke thoughtfully: “If it was part of the Fern Driscoll story, Harrod must have uncovered something new. He had approached Baylor in Michigan and intimated that he’d sell the story to Baylor for the same price that he could get from a magazine. Baylor threw him out.” Della Street said, “I can tell from the tone of your voice that, while you’re thinking out loud, you have an idea what the answer is.”

“The answer may be that Katherine Baylor has become involved in some way.”

“How?” she asked.

“That,” Mason said, “is one of the major mysteries of the case.

“And there again we run into inconsistent conduct. We know now that our client is actually Mildred Crest, that Fern Driscoll got in the car with Mildred and there was an accident. We know there’s something phony about that accident. We know that Fern Driscoll died and Mildred took her identity, and yet the actions of Fern Driscoll aren’t consistent.”

“In what way?” Della Street asked.

“Fern Driscoll,” Mason said, “was a pretty level-headed young woman. She was an executive secretary for Baylor’s son in a big organization. She must have had responsibilities and executive capabilities. Then all of a sudden she goes completely haywire and does a lot of things that simply don’t make sense, no matter how you look at them.”

“An unmarried woman who finds herself pregnant can go completely haywire,” Della Street said. “Just realize the situation in which she found herself.”

“I’m trying to,” Mason said, “but it still doesn’t account for her actions . . . Call Paul Drake, Della. Tell him I’m back and that we’re closing up shop. See if he knows anything new.” Della Street put through the call, then said, “Paul says he has some red-hot information. He’s coming right down.”

Mason moved over to the door of his private office, and as soon as he heard Drake’s code knock, let the detective in.

“Well, how’s it coming?” Mason asked.

“In bunches,” Drake said. “I think your client’s in one hell of a mess.”

“Shoot!” Mason told him.

“According to Harrod’s widow, Harrod made another statement after you left. This statement was when he realized death was imminent.”

“Go ahead,” Mason said, “what was the second statement?”

“The second statement was that your client is a complete impostor, that she’s Mildred Crest of Oceanside, that Mildred’s boy friend embezzled some money and skipped out, that Mildred picked up Fern Driscoll as a hitchhiker, that either there was an accident, in which Fern Driscoll was killed and Mildred decided to take her identity, or that Mildred deliberately killed Fern Driscoll in order to have another identity.”

“Go ahead,” Mason said tonelessly. “What else?”

“Fern Driscoll had been engaged in a red-hot romance with Forrester Baylor. Young Baylor told her he was going to marry her. It wasn’t until she found herself pregnant that she realized young Baylor was completely under the domination of his father. Then the old man moved in, told Fern Driscoll she could never hope to get into the sacred social precincts of the Baylor family, gave her a chunk of money, and told her to get out.

“She got out, but she had with her a bunch of torrid letters in the handwriting of Forrester Baylor. She never intended to use those letters, but when Harrod started investigating Mildred Crest’s automobile accident on behalf of the insurance carrier, and tried to find out the identity of the hitchhiker Mildred had picked up, he did a good job of it and unearthed the scandal.

“Since that didn’t have anything to do with Harrod’s job as an insurance investigator, he was willing to play it on the side for what it was worth. He intended to sell the story to a scandal magazine. He evidently offered the story to the editors, who became terribly excited about it. They told Harrod that they’d pay him ten thousand bucks for the story but that they’d require some sort of proof. In order to get that proof, Harrod decided he needed the letters young Baylor had written.

“Harrod started out trying to make a deal with Mildred Crest, who was posing as Fern Driscoll, in order to get the letters. He went up to see her and came to the conclusion she wasn’t Fern Driscoll. On his second visit he ran into Katherine Baylor in the apartment.

“So Harrod waited and paid a third visit to the apartment. That time someone jabbed an ice pick into his chest.