Case of the Footloose Doll (5 page)

Mason glanced at his watch. “All right. That’s all you do. Just tear that page out of the notebook, read it over enough so you remember it, and if Mr. Harrod calls, refer him to me.”

She detected the note of dismissal in his voice, got to her feet. “How much do I—?”

Mason waved his hand. “Forget it,” he said. “You’re employed on the same floor here in the building, which makes you something of a neighbor, and after all there’s nothing—Wait a minute, do you have a nickel in your purse?”

“Why, yes.”

“All right,” Mason said, smiling, “give me the nickel. That means that I’ve been duly retained to protect your interests and anything you have told me is a privileged communication. Also, anything I have told you is entirely confidential. Now then, go back to work and quit worrying about Mr. Harrod. If he becomes a nuisance, we’ll find some way to deal with him.”

Impulsively she gave Mason her hand. “Thank you so much, Mr. Mason.”

Mason held her hand for a moment, looked at her searchingly, said, “All right, Miss Driscoll . . . You’re certain you’ve told me all of it?”

“Yes, yes. Of course.”

“All right,” Mason told her. “Run along back and get to work.” When she had left the office. Mason turned to Della Street. “What do you think, Della?”

“She’s really frightened. Why did you tell her not to report the accident? Didn’t you take a risk doing that?”

“Probably,” Mason said. “However, I didn’t want her to get in any worse trouble than she is now. Her story of what happened isn’t true. I don’t want her to make a false report.”

“In what way isn’t it true?”

“The other car didn’t crowd her off the road. Notice she said, ‘It was impossible to avoid the other car entirely.' No one on earth ever described an automobile accident of that sort in that way. A person would have said, ‘Although we got way over on our side of the road, the other car hit us.’“ 

Della Street thought that over, then nodded thoughtfully.

Mason said, “Now that you know this Fern Driscoll, you’ll be seeing her in the elevator and in the rest room. Keep an eye on her and see if she doesn’t try to find some opportunity to confide in you. I have an idea the situation will change within the next forty-eight hours.”

“And I’m to report to you?” Della Street asked.

“That’s the idea,” Mason said.

Chapter 4

THAT NIGHT after Mildred had cleaned away the dinner dishes, put the apartment in order, the chimes on the apartment door sounded.

She took a deep breath, set her face in the expression she wanted to use on Carl Harrod and opened the door.

The young woman who stood on the threshold was perhaps twenty-one or twenty-two. She had a dark complexion with finely chiseled features, a chin that was up in the air far enough to indicate pride, breeding and a certain strength of character.

Gray eyes made an appraising study of Mildred.

“Well?” Mildred asked at length, breaking the silence.

“Oh, Fern,” the young woman said, “I—It is Fern Driscoll, isn’t it?” 

Mildred nodded.

“I’m Kitty Baylor,” the young woman said, as though that explained everything. And then she added, by way of explanation, “Forrie’s sister.”

“Oh,” Mildred said, striving to get her mind adjusted so she could cope with this new complication.

“I know,” her visitor said, the words rushing out rapidly, “I’m the last person in the world you expected to see, the last person on earth you wanted to see. However, there are certain things we’re going to have to face. Running away from them doesn’t help.

“I’m up at Stanford, you know, and when I found out about what had happened—Oh, Fern, please let me come in and talk things over. Let’s see if we can’t find some sort of a solution.”

Mildred stood to one side. “Come in,” she invited.

“I’d heard about you from Forrie,” Kitty Baylor went on. “I . . . I don’t know how to begin.”

Mildred closed the door. “Won’t you sit down?” she invited.

Mildred’s visitor seated herself, said, “We’ve never met but you undoubtedly know about me and I know about you.” Kitty Baylor paused, and Mildred nodded dubiously, sparring for time.

“Now then,” Kitty went on, “if it’s a fair question, would you tell me just why you suddenly packed up and went away, why you left all of your friends, your contacts and simply disappeared?” 

Mildred said with dignity, “I don’t think I have to account to you for my actions.”

“All right,” Kitty said, “I’ll put my cards on the table. This is going to hurt. I don’t like to say some of the things I’m going to have to say, but I guess I’ve got to.”

Mildred said nothing.

Kitty took a deep breath. “I’m interested in protecting your good name just as much as the good name of my family. I . . . I guess there’s only one way of saying what I have to say and that’s to be brutally frank. You and Forrie were friendly. You were very friendly. I know that.” Kitty paused and Mildred said nothing.

Kitty fidgeted for a moment, then pushing up her chin and looking Mildred in the eyes said, “A man whom Dad regards as a blackmailer has been trying to build up the facts for a scandal story. This man is going to publish a story in a slander magazine that makes a specialty of digging out dirt with a sex angle. 

“That story concerns you. Are you interested?”

Mildred tried to say something, but couldn’t.

“All right,” Kitty went on, “I’ll tell you what that story is. It’s that you and Forrie were living together, that you became pregnant, that Forrie went to Dad, that Dad was furious, that he felt Forrie had jeopardized the good name of the family, that you were given a large sum of money to go away and have your baby, that you wanted Forrie to marry you, but that Dad wouldn’t let Forrie even consider it and that Forrie was under Dad’s domination.”

Kitty paused and Mildred, not knowing what to say, maintained an embarrassed silence.

Kitty seemed to shrink within her clothes. “Well,” she said, “I guess it’s true. I’d have sworn it wasn’t. I wouldn’t have thought Dad would have done a thing like that. I know he wouldn’t. He admits that he talked with Forrie about you and said in a general way that he hoped Forrie would marry in his social set. I guess it’s no secret that Dad wanted and I guess he still wants Forrie to marry Carla Addis.” Kitty, suddenly weary, said, “I know I’m taking an awful lot on myself, but this is important. It’s important to all of us. Do you want to say anything?” 

Mildred shook her head.

“All right,” Kitty went on, “here are my cards all face up, Fern. If the story is true, I’m on your side. If you are pregnant and were sent away like that, I’m going to do something about it.

“You’re a woman. I’m a woman. I think you care for Forrie. I’m his sister and I love him. I know he has faults. I know, too, that Dad thinks altogether too much about family and social position and perhaps he’s talked Forrie into his way of thinking.” 

Mildred remained silent.

“On the other hand,” Kitty went on, her eyes boring directly into Mildred’s “it may just be what Dad thinks, some sort of blackmail scheme by which you’re planning to hold up the family, blast Forrie’s future with a paternity suit, or team up with this man Harrod for a shakedown. If so, you’re headed for trouble, and I mean big trouble. Dad is a fighter, and you just don’t have any idea how hard he can fight. You’re buying yourself a ticket to the penitentiary for blackmail. I came here to find out the truth.”

Mildred met Kitty Baylor’s eyes, said suddenly, “I’m sorry. I can’t tell you what you want to know.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” Mildred said, “I don’t know.” 

Kitty’s eyes were suspicious.

“You mean you don’t know whether you’re going to have a baby?”

“It isn’t that,” Mildred said. “It’s . . . it’s—”

“Is it a shakedown? Are you in need of money?”

“It isn’t that. It’s—I don’t want to—” Mildred rose abruptly, crossed to the window and absently watched the traffic in the street below. Then she turned suddenly. “All right, I guess I’m going to have to tell you. Will you promise not to interrupt and let me tell you the whole story in my own way?”

“Of course. Go ahead.”

Mildred waited for a couple of seconds, then plunged ahead.

“I’m not Fern Driscoll!”

Then slowly, in detail, Mildred told Kitty exactly what happened the night she had picked up Fern Driscoll and about the visit she had had from Carl Harrod.

“So there probably is something to the claim this man Harrod is making,” Mildred finished up. “He thinks I’m Fern Driscoll. I don’t think he even suspects any switch in identity.”

Kitty Baylor blinked her eyes as she tried to adjust herself to this new situation.

At length she asked, “Are you—? I mean . . . are you—?”

“No,” Mildred said.

Kitty was silent for a few seconds, then she said thoughtfully, “I don’t believe Harrod really does think you’re Fern Driscoll. I think he’s trying to get you to sign a statement as Fern Driscoll so he’ll have you in his power. Then he can make you say or do almost anything he wants. He’s on the track of a big story, something that he can make into a really sensational scandal feature. I’m terribly sorry about Fern. I never knew her, but I know that Forrie was fond of her and—Good Lord, things really are in a sweet mess, aren’t they?

“This worm, Harrod, really has a story. Sordid sex, surreptitious trysts between a secretary and the son of a wealthy manufacturer, then the arrogant father with the power of wealth . . . You haven’t fooled Harrod a bit. The more I think of it, the plainer it becomes. You see, Harrod told Dad that Fern was two months pregnant. He must have learned that from the autopsy.”

“She could have told someone,” Mildred said.

“I suppose so,” Kitty said.

Mildred asked, “Why did she leave?”

“Probably because she was a darn decent kid,” Kitty said. “She must have been in love with Forrie. She went away so she wouldn’t bring any disgrace on Forrie. Even if they married, she knew that the child would come too soon and—No, Forrie wouldn’t have let her go.” 

Mildred said, “No one knows this, Kitty, but there were four thousand dollars in Fern’s purse, forty, new one-hundred-dollar bills.” 

Kitty looked at her with wide-eyed dismay. “Where’s the money now?”

“I have it.”

“Good Lord!” Kitty said. “That would make Harrod’s story even better! The poor little secretary finding herself pregnant tries to get the son of the wealthy manufacturer to marry her. The manufacturer kicks her out into the cold, cruel world giving her four thousand dollars to go and have her baby. Mildred, it can’t be true!”

“Well, she had four thousand dollars in her purse,” Mildred said flatly.

“I don’t know where she got it. And the autopsy showed she was two months pregnant.”

Kitty put her hands to her temples. “What a mess! Did Harrod get anything out of you, Mildred?”

“I told him nothing,” Mildred said. “I went to Perry Mason, the lawyer. If Harrod returns, I’m to tell him this.” She read her shorthand notes.

Kitty Baylor’s eyes showed sudden enthusiasm. “That’s it! That’s the solution. We’ll let Perry Mason deal with that dirty blackmailer.”

“The hitch there is, he won’t go to Perry Mason,” Mildred said. “If, as you suspect, he knows that I’m masquerading as Fern Driscoll, he’s just going to set a trap and—” She broke off at the sound of the door chimes.

“That may be Harrod now,” Mildred said as she arose and started for the door.

Kitty motioned her back. “Wait a minute,” she whispered. Mildred paused. “Look, if it’s all right with you I’ll go to the door and tell him that I’m Fern Driscoll, ask him what he means by saying that I’m pregnant, and slap his face. Is that okay by you?”

“He doesn’t know you by sight?” Mildred asked, in a low voice.

Kitty shook her head.

“It’s all right with me,” Mildred said, “only I don’t think you’ll get away with it. I think he knows it was Fern Driscoll who was killed in the accident. And when you slap his face, he’ll punch you in the jaw. A character like Harrod isn’t governed by the conventions about not striking a woman.”

“Leave it to me,” Kitty said, and strode into the little hallway.

Mildred heard the sound of the latch being thrown back on the door, then Kitty Baylor’s voice saying, “I guess you don’t know me. I’m—” She was interrupted by Carl Harrod’s voice. “Don’t tell me! I’ll tell you! You’re Miss Katherine Baylor. Let me introduce myself. I’m Carl Harrod!”

Kitty Baylor’s voice lost its assurance. “How—? How do you know who I am? I’ve never met you!”

Harrod’s laugh was confident. “Just remember that I’m not an amateur at this game. Let’s say that I’ve been casing the joint. I might even have followed you from the exclusive Vista del Camino Hotel, knowing that your family always stays there and feeling certain that some member of the family would be showing up to try and patch things up . . . ”

“All right, Mr. Harrod,” Kitty interrupted. “I’ve been looking for you. Now let me tell you a few things!

“In the first place, if you desire any further communication with the occupant of this apartment, you are to contact Mr. Perry Mason, her lawyer. If it’s after office hours, and if it is urgent, call the Drake Detective Agency.

“In the second place, Mr. Carl Harrod, having delivered that message, let me give you a simple, forceful, personal message, indicative of the respect in which I hold you.”

There was the smacking sound of a hard slap, a profane exclamation in a masculine voice, and then the slamming of the door and the rasp of a turning key.

Kitty Baylor was back, her face flushed, her eyes shining “Harrod!” she spat . . . “Where do I wash my hands?”

Mildred indicated the bathroom.

While Kitty Baylor washed her hands, Mildred reached her decision.

“Look, Kitty,” she said as Kitty emerged, “I would like to continue as Fern Driscoll. After all, if Fern Driscoll is dead, I don’t see what difference it’s going to make. Harrod may suspect that I’m not Fern, but as long as I’m using Fern Driscoll’s name and her identity, he may be a little cautious. It’s one thing to print accusations about a dead girl who can’t defend herself, and quite another to make charges like that against someone else.