The Case of the Singing Skirt (6 page)

"By Ellen Robb?" she asked.

"By George Anclitas," Mason said, "and I don't like it."

"What do you think happened?"

"George resented me when I first appeared on the scene Monday morning. He realized, however, that I had him in a position where he was hooked, and struggling or resentment wouldn't do him any good, so he capitalized on my weakness."

"Your weakness?" Della Street asked.

"Exactly," Mason said. "I should have been a hardboiled lawyer. I should have made a settlement on behalf of my client, charged her thirty-three and a third per cent of it and had proper releases signed. In place of that, I left it to her to make her own terms with George so she wouldn't have to pay me any fee, and I walked out.

"That's where George saw a heaven-sent opportunity. He started playing up to Miss Robb. He ate a little crow and told her he was sorry. He got her to stay on. All the time he was planning to jockey her into a position where she'd be in trouble, and if I tried to help her I'd be in trouble."

"The gun?" she asked.

"I think in due time he's going to charge her with stealing the gun. He may even plant some dope in her baggage."

"When do you think George will spring this trap of his?" Della asked.

"When I have filed an action on behalf of Ellen Robb."

"You intend to do that?"

"Sure I intend to do that. I have to, to protect her interests and to save my own face. The point is, Della, that I started something that is destined to raise the devil with the gambling interests. They aren't going to like that. They're going to try to smear me in some way, and Ellen Robb is their point of contact.

"You can see from the way she tells her story that they laid plans very carefully and then George punched her in the eye."

"She slapped his face," Della pointed out.

"He egged her on," Mason said.

The lawyer was thoughtful for a few minutes, then he said, "Della, we've got quite a collection of guns in the safe, guns that have been surrendered by clients from time to time. Do you suppose we have a Smith & Wesson in thereone of the police models with a two-and-ahalf-inch barrel?"

"Yes, I'm certain we do."

"Get the gun and bring it in here," Mason said.

Della Street went to the safe and after some two minutes returned with the gun.

The lawyer extracted one of the cartridges, pried the bullet out, shook out the powder, put the empty cartridge shell back in the revolver and, going over to the coat closet, exploded the percussion cap with the hammer. He replaced the other cartridges, put the revolver in his left coat pocket and returned to the office.

"I'm sorry we had to keep you waiting, Miss Robb," he said.

"It's all right."

"Is Ellen Robb your true name or a professional name?"

"Let's put it this way, Mr. Mason, Ellen Robb is as near my real name as you or anyone else will ever know. The man I was once married to has become a big businessman now. I wouldn't drag his name into… into the sort of work I'm doing."

"Where were you intending to go?" Mason asked, absently lighting a cigarette.

"I want to take a bus to Arizona. I have an offer of a job at Phoenix. A girl that I know has the photographic concession in a night club, and there's an opening for a girl to sell cigars, cigarettes and double as a hat-check girl. But what do I do about the gun?"

Mason reached in his left pocket, took out the gun he had placed there, weighed it in his hand as though debating what was to be done with the weapon. "I don't like to have you turn it in to the police," he said. "It seems to me that… well, I don't know… after all, we don't want to borrow trouble."

The lawyer pushed the gun toward her and said, "Perhaps you'd better keep it, Ellen. Remember that you showed it to us and told us about it."

"Shall I keep it in my purse?"

"Heavens no. You don't have a permit," Mason said. "Put it back in your bag where you found it."

"And what shall I do with it?"

"Keep it for evidence," Mason told her. "You have no idea how it got in your bag?"

"No idea whatever."

"Well, you've done everything you can. I'm going to file suit against Anclitas. Where are you staying?"

"Unit 19, the Surf and Sea Motel at Costa Mesa."

"Go back to your motel. I want to know where you are at all times. If you leave there, let me know."

"If you're going to file a suit, you'll want some more money," she said. "This is-"

Mason shook his head. "No more money. Not unless something else turns up. We're all fixed. Save your money until I ask for it.

"Go back to the motel and wait. By the way, what about Heiman Ellis? Was he there when you and George were having this altercation?"

"No."

"You said you had heard he and his wife were going on a cruise. Do you know if they actually went?"

"I don't know. Helly was in The Big Barn last night before the altercation with George. He said his wife had marooned him aboard the yacht. They'd had a fight."

"Keep in touch with me," Mason said. "I want to know right where I can reach you."

She impulsively gave him her hand. "Thank you, Mr. Mason," she said. "I'll never forget this."

"I probably won't myself," Mason said.

Della Street ushered her to the door, shook hands with her, returned to the office.

"Did you switch guns?" she asked.

"I switched guns," Mason said.

"And she has no idea?"

"I hope not," Mason said. "I hope I wasn't crude- Just where did that gun I gave her come from, Della? What about it?"

"According to our records," Della Street said, "that gun is a.38 Smith & Wesson Special with the number 133347. You may remember that when George Spencer Ranger came to us and wanted you to represent him, you asked him if he carried a gun. He said he always carried one, that he didn't have a permit because he didn't need one, that he'd been appointed a deputy sheriff in Arizona. You 'told him that he'd better leave the gun with us. This is the gun that he gave us."

"All right," Mason said. "Give this other gun to Paul Drake. Tell him to first trace the registration, then take it to Maurice Haistead, the ballistics expert who does his work. Tell Haistead to fire some test bullets through it and save the bullets. Then bring the gun back here. You can lock it in the safe.

"Then, when George Anclitas swears to a complaint charging Ellen Robb with stealing one of his guns, gets a search warrant and finds a gun in her baggage, he'll naturally assume his little scheme is working perfectly."

"Then you'll jerk the rug out from under him?" Della asked.

"Then I'll jerk the rug."

"But what about this gun that was planted in Ellen Robb's baggage?"

Mason grinned. "If Paul Drake's investigation shows that it's George Anclitas' gun, it will be right back in George Anclitas' place of business and no one can ever prove it had been missing."

"Is that legal?"

Mason said, "I know of no law which keeps one from returning lost property to the owner."

CHAPTER SIX

When Della Street had returned from Paul Drake's office, after leaving the gun with him, Mason said, "Let's get Gowrie on the phone, Della. I want to see how he's feeling this morning."

Della Street put through the call, nodded to Perry Mason.

Mason picked up the telephone, said, "Hello, Gowrie. Perry Mason speaking."

"Oh, yes, Mr. Mason. How are you today?"

"Pretty good. My secretary and I want to sit in on your talk to the women's club at Rowena, Gowrie. We may have some trouble getting in, but if you would invite us as your guests we probably wouldn't have any trouble."

Gowrie hesitated a moment.

"You there?" Mason asked.

"I'm here," Gowrie said. "I was just trying to marshal my thoughts."

"What about your thoughts?" Mason said. "Why do they need marshaling?"

"I am not going to make the talk at Rowena."

"You're not?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Well, for one thing, Mrs. Ellis hasn't completed the arrangements that she had agreed on."

"What do you mean?"

"I was to receive a fee from the women's club for the talk, and there was to be a retainer in connection with her case."

"She hasn't paid anything?"

"Not a cent. And I can't reach her. I can't find her. Apparently she went yachting. Under the circumstances, I rang up the president of the Rowena Women's Club and told her that the talk would have to be postponed."

"Like that, eh?" Mason asked.

"Like that," Gowrie said. "You know how it is yourself, Counselor. A lawyer can't go around giving his services away."

"All right," Mason said. "Let me know when you hear from Mrs. Ellis, will you?"

Mason hung up the phone. "Did you listen in on that, Della?"

She nodded.

"Well," Mason said, "I guess there's nothing much to be done at the present time."

"Except that mail file," she said. "We still haven't got at those important letters."

Mason sighed, picked up the mail file and spent the rest of the day in dictation.

In the late afternoon Paul Drake's code knock sounded on the door.

Della Street got up to let him in.

Paul Drake stretched himself out on the big overstuffed chair in the lawyer's office and said, "What the hell have you been doing, Perry, juggling guns again?"

"Why the again?" Mason asked.

Drake said, "I don't know, but any time you get in a case and a gun figures in it, you certainly seem to play three-card monte with the prosecution and the police."

"Anything wrong with that?" Mason asked.

"Not if you get away with it," Drake said.

"And what brings up all those remarks?" Mason asked.

"That gun you wanted me to trace-a.38 Smith Sc Wesson number C 48809."

"What about it?"

"It's one of four guns that were purchased, all on the same date, by W. W. Marcus, full name Wilton Winslow Marcus. He's supposed to be some sort of a silent partner of George Anclitas in a restaurant deal in Rowena. The restaurant is mostly a front for gambling."

"Permit?" Mason asked.

"Apparently no permit. They own the chief of police at Rowena. He appointed them some sort of special officers. Apparently both Anclitas and Marcus are specials. That gives them an opportunity to carry firearms without any written permit other than their authorization as special officers."

"And this gun is one of the four that were purchased?"

Drake nodded.

"All right. What else?" Mason asked.

"I had a ballistics expert fire test bullets from it and then replace the cartridges that were in the gun just as they were when you handed them to me."

"And the test bullets have all been marked for identification?"

Drake nodded.

"Okay," Mason said. "Where's the gun?"

Drake took the gun from his pocket and handed it to Mason. "You be careful you don't get into trouble with that," Drake said.

"What sort of trouble, Paul?"

"Darned if I know, but… you evidently have the idea the gun has been used in committing some sort of a crime."

"What gives you that idea?"

"Otherwise, why would you want test bullets fired from it?"

"Perhaps," Mason said, "I merely wanted to date the gun."

"What do you mean by that, Perry?"

Mason opened the drawer of his desk, took out a piece of steel that was bent at the end into a small, sharp point, said, "This is a tool for etching steel, Paul."

Mason inserted the tool in the barrel of the gun, drew it along the length of the barrel, then inserted it once more and again drew the tool along the length of the gun barrel.

"What's the idea?" Drake asked.

Mason said, "If we fire a bullet through that gun now, there will be striations that are in addition to and different from those of the test bullets that have previously been fired through it. Is that right?"

"If you want to be sure, better make a couple of more marks," Drake said.

Mason repeated the process of scratching the barrel. "How's that?"

"That should do it very nicely," Drake said.

Mason opened the drawer of his desk and dropped the gun down in the drawer.

Drake regarded him thoughtfully. "You know, there's a law about tampering with evidence."

"Evidence of what?" Mason asked.

"I don't know," Drake said.

Mason grinned. "We're not supposed to be clairvoyant, Paul. If you adopt that attitude, you could never change anything in connection with any object. You couldn't even tear up a piece of paper and throw it away. You couldn't wash a dirty dish. You'd be altering or destroying evidence. Any object doesn't become evidence until you know or have reason to believe that it has become identified with a crime in some manner."

"And you have no reason to believe that this gun is connected with a crime?"

"Very definitely not," Mason said. "I am simply protecting a client."

"And that will protect the client?" Drake asked.

"It may help," Mason said. "I'm sitting in a game where I don't know what cards have been played and moreover I don't know what are trumps. But we've been dealt a hand. It may not be a very good hand. It probably was dealt to us from a cold deck with the idea that it was the lowest hand in the deck. I've got to play that hand so it becomes a winning hand."

"Without knowing trumps and without knowing what cards have already been played?"

"That's right."

"That's a job you can have," Drake said. "I'm glad I'm not a lawyer. Anything else before I go home, Perry?"

"Not right now."

Drake got to his feet, moved lazily toward the door, paused at the entrance door to look back at Mason. "This deal in Rowena could be bad business," he said. "There's a lot of money involved."

"That's right," Mason said.

Drake hesitated a moment longer, then shrugged his shoulders, opened the door and walked out.

Della Street looked at Mason and raised her eyebrows in silent inquiry.

"Now then," Mason said, "we know this gun is the property of George Anclitas. I want to get it back to his place of business. We have to-"

The lawyer was interrupted by the ringing of the telephone.

"That's Gertie," Mason said. "See what it is, Della."

Della Street picked up the telephone, said, "Yes, Gertie," then said, "Just a minute." She looked at Mason. "Mr. Helman Ellis is in the outer office and says it is very important that he get in touch with you at the earliest possible moment. He realizes it's after office hours but he wants to know if you can see him immediately."

Mason hesitated a moment, appraising the situation, then said, "I'll see him immediately, Della. Go out and bring him in."

Della Street said, "I'll be right out, Gertie," and hung up the phone.

"Go through the usual routine," Mason instructed her. "Get his name, address, telephone number where he can be reached, and then bring him in."

Della nodded, then walked out through the doorway to the reception room.

A few minutes later she returned and said, "Mr. Mason, Mr. Ellis."

Mason got up to shake hands.

Ellis was a tall individual in his late twenties. He had high cheekbones, a somewhat Slavic cast of features, a long, thin mouth, steady blue eyes. He was big-boned and wrapped powerful fingers around Mason's hand as the two men shook hands.

"Sit down," Mason said. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"I don't know," Ellis said. "It depends on how you're tied up."

"I am representing Ellen Robb."

"That's why I'm here," Ellis said.

"What is your trouble?"

"My wife."

"I don't take divorce cases," Mason said. "I try to specialize pretty much in trial work. A good deal of my practice is criminal cases. Domestic relations, contracts and all that just don't appeal to me."

"My wife," Ellis said simply, "is going to kill your client."

Mason raised his eyebrows.

"There is no real cause for jealousy," Ellis said, "but my wife has in my opinion become temporarily insane."

Mason said, "Let's get certain facts straight. You have been playing a lot of poker at The Big Barn and you've lost rather heavily?"

"That's right."

"Your wife didn't take kindly to the idea?"

"Wives don't take kindly to the idea of husbands sitting in poker games and losing money."

"And Ellen Robb was rather conspicuous around The Big Barn?"

"They made her conspicuous," Ellis said.

"And you became interested in her?"

Ellis took a deep breath and said, "Mr. Mason, I love her."

"And yet you say your wife has no reason to be jealous?"

"I'll put it this way, Mr. Mason. I hadn't-I have been keeping it to myself."

"You mean you think you've been keeping it to yourself," Mason said.

"What do you mean by that?"

"A wife can smell a situation of that sort a mile away," Mason said. "If you're in love with Ellen Robb, you can rest assured that your wife knew there was something more to your excursions to The Big Barn than a desire to sit in a poker game."

"She doesn't know how I really feel," Ellis said, "because it was only recently I faced the situation myself and realized I had fallen in love."

"She knew it before you did," Mason said, "otherwise, why should she have become so jealous?"

"She's always been jealous. She's jealous of any woman that I look at twice."

"Have you looked at many women twice?"

"Not much more than that."

"All right. Tell me what happened."

"Well, I knew that Nadine, my wife, was building up to terrific emotional tension. I'd lost some money playing poker but I could afford to lose money playing poker. Then she made a scene. You know all about that-that was one thing I couldn't afford, to be branded as a welsher.

"Mr. Mason, if Nadine had filed suit against George Anclitas on account of money that I lost playing poker, I would be branded from coast to coast as a piker, a welsher."

"Suppose the game was crooked?"

"That, of course, is different. If anyone could prove the game was crooked, the situation would be different."