Erie Stanley Gardner

The Case of the Crying Swallow

Chapter one

Perry Mason, tilted back in his walnut desk chair, was studying a recent decision of the state supreme court when Della Street, his secretary, opened the door from the outer office, advanced to the desk and quietly laid ten crisp one-hundred-dollar bills on the blotter.

Mason, too engrossed to notice what she was doing, continued his reading.

Della Street said, “A client sends his card.”

Mason straightened in the swivel chair and for the first time caught sight of the money which Della Street had so neatly spread out.

“He said his name was Mr. Cash,” Della Street explained. “Then he handed me ten one-hundred-dollar bills and said these were his cards.”

Mason grinned. “So the black market begins to turn yellow. What does Mr. Cash look like?”

“He’s a floor walker.”

Mason raised his eyebrows, glanced at the cash. “A floorwalker?”

“No, no, not a department store floorwalker! I mean that he’s a floor walker, the same as you are. He paces the floor when he’s worried. He’s doing a carpet marathon out there right now.”

Mason said, “I don’t know whether civilization is breaking down the character of our criminals or whether the black market operators haven’t been in business long enough to develop intestinal stamina. The bootleggers were a tougher breed. My own opinion is that these black market operators simply haven’t had time to become accustomed to the fact that they’re on the other side of society’s legal fence. Give them another eighteen months and they’ll be as tough as the old gangsters.”

“He definitely isn’t a black market operator,” Della Street said positively. “He’s distinguished-looking, has a slight limp, is deeply tanned and... and I’ve seen him somewhere before. Oh, now I have it. I’ve seen his picture!”

“Give.”

“Major Claude L. Winnett, polo player, yachtsman, millionaire playboy. When the war came, he quit being a playboy and became an aviator, bagged a whole flock of German planes and then was captured, liberated last fall, discharged because of his wound, returned to his doting mother and...”

Mason nodded. “I remember reading about the chap. He got a citation or something. Didn’t he get married?”

“About four or five weeks ago,” Della Street said. “That was where I first saw his picture — in the paper. Then again last week a reporter for the society supplement paid a visit to the Winnett home — one of the old-time country estates with stables of polo ponies, riding trails, hedges, private golf courses...”

“Show him in,” Mason said. “But let him know first that you’ve placed him. It may save time.”

Major Winnett, lean, fit, bronzed, and nervous, followed Della Street into the office. The excitement and anxiety of his manner were more noticeable than his slight limp. A well-modulated voice and patrician bearing made his surrender to emotion all the more impressive.

“Mr. Mason,” he said as soon as he was in the room, “I had intended to keep my identity a secret and ask you to represent another person. Now that your secretary has recognized me, I’ll put my cards on the table. My wife has disappeared. She needs your help. She’s in trouble of some sort.”

“Tell me about it,” Mason said.

Major Winnett reached into his inside pocket, took out a folded piece of letter paper and handed it to Mason.

The lawyer opened the letter and read:

Claude, my darling, there are some things that I can’t drag you into. I thought I had a way out, but I guess I didn’t. Our happiness was such a beautiful thing. But beautiful things are always fragile. Don’t worry about anything. I am responsible, and I am not going to let you suffer because of what you have done for me. Good-by, my darling.

Marcia

“What does she mean by saying she’s responsible and not letting you suffer because of what you have done for her?” Mason asked.

Major Winnett’s manner was uneasy. “My marriage was not exactly in accordance with the wishes of my mother. I went ahead with it despite her objections.”

“Spoken objections?”

“Certainly not.”

“Yet your wife knew of them?”

“Women feel many things without the necessity of words, Mr. Mason. I want you to find her and straighten things out for her.”

“And then report to you?”

“Certainly.”

Mason shook his head.

For a moment there was silence, broken only by the faint rumble of traffic and the breathing of Mason’s client. Then Major Winnett said, “Very well. Do it your way.”

“When did your wife leave?”

“Last night. I found this note on the dresser about midnight. I thought she had previously retired.”

“Is there any reason why your wife would have been vulnerable to what we might call an outside influence?”

“Absolutely not — if you mean blackmail.”

“Then tell me why your wife wasn’t free to come to you with her troubles.”

“I don’t know, unless it’s on account of my mother.”

“What about her?”

“My mother is a very unusual person. When my father died, a dozen years ago, Mother stepped in and took charge. She is living in a bygone era. She has old-fashioned ideas.”

“The proprieties?” Mason asked.

“Not so much the proprieties as... well, class distinctions, the aristocracy of wealth and that sort of thing. I think she would have been happier if I had married someone more in our own set.”

“Who, for instance?”

“Oh, I didn’t say any particular person,” Major Winnett said hastily.

“I know you didn’t. That’s why I’m asking you.”

“Well, perhaps Daphne Rexford.”

“You think this caused your wife to leave?”

“No, no. Not directly. My mother has accepted Marcia into the family. Whatever may have been Mother’s ideas about the marriage, Marcia is now one of us — a Winnett.”

“Then suppose you tell me what you mean when you say ‘not directly.’ ”

“Marcia would have done anything rather than subject me to any notoriety because she knew how my mother felt about that. You see, Mr. Mason, we live in a large, rather old-fashioned estate surrounded by hedges, with our private bridle paths, high wire fences, locked gates, no-trespassing signs and all the rest. The more the world moves in a way that meets with the disapproval of my mother, the more she tries to shut that part of the world out from her life.”

“Anything unusual happen within the last few days?” the lawyer asked, probing his client’s mind.

“A burglar entered our house Tuesday night.”

“Take anything?” Mason asked.

“My wife’s jewelry, valued at perhaps twenty-five or thirty thousand dollars, although I don’t suppose a person could get that for it. It had been insured at fifteen thousand dollars.”

“Had been?” Mason asked.

“Yes, my wife canceled the insurance. As it happened, only the day before the burglary.”

Major Winnett glanced almost appealingly at the lawyer.

“Canceled her insurance,” Mason said, “and then twenty-four hours later the burglary took place?”

“Yes.”

“And you fail to see any connection between those two facts?”

“I am certain there is none,” Major Winnett said hastily. “My wife’s reasoning was absolutely sound. She had carried this insurance policy and paid high premiums on it while she was living in apartments and hotels because she wanted to keep her jewelry with her and wanted to wear it. But when she married me and came to live in Vista del Mar, it seemed hardly necessary to continue paying high premiums.”

“Tell me more about that burglary and why you didn’t report it to the police.”

“How did you know we didn’t report it to the police?”

“Your facial expression,” Mason said dryly.

“That was purely on account of the fact that my mother... well, you know, the newspaper notoriety and...”

“Tell me about the burglary,” Mason said.

Major Winnett spoke with the rhythm of a man who is carefully choosing his words. “I am a sound sleeper, Mr. Mason. My wife is not. On Tuesday night I was awakened by the sound of my wife’s scream.”

“What time?”

“I didn’t look at my watch at the time but I did look at it a few minutes later, and as nearly as I can place the time, it was around quarter to one.”

“How long had you been in bed?”

“We retired about eleven.”

“And you slept until your wife screamed?”

“Well, I have, in the back of my consciousness, a vague recollection of a swallow crying.”

Mason raised his eyebrows.

“You are, of course, familiar,” Major Winnett went on hastily, “with the famed swallows of the Mission of San Juan Capistrano?”

Mason nodded.

“The nesting place of those swallows is not confined to the Mission. They get more publicity at the Mission because they leave on a certain day and return on a certain day. I believe that the time of their return can be predicted almost to the hour. A very unusual sense of keeping a calendar. How they are able to return year after year...”

“And you have some of those swallows at your house?” Mason interrupted.

“Yes. They are a nuisance. Their nests are built out of mud and are fastened to the eaves. Our gardener knocks them down as soon as he detects the birds building, but in case one of them eludes his vigilance and the nest is built, then we don’t disturb it, because the birds lay eggs very soon after the nests are built.”

“Go on,” Mason said.

“Well, this particular swallow’s nest was located in a very unfortunate place. The main residence at Vista del Mar is a large Spanish-type house with the tile roofs and a white exterior. Our bedroom is on the second floor with a projecting balcony. The tile projects out over that balcony, and the birds had made their nest in such a place that if a man climbed over the balcony rail, he’d be within a few feet of the nest.”

“And a man did climb over that rail?”

“Evidently that is what happened. We found a ladder that had been placed against the side of the house. The intruder had climbed up the ladder. In doing so, he disturbed the swallows. When they’re disturbed, they have a peculiar throaty chirp.”

“And you heard that?”

“I either heard it or dreamed that I did. My wife doesn’t remember it, and she is a much lighter sleeper than I am, but I don’t think I was mistaken.”

“Then you went back to sleep?”

“Apparently I did. I remember hearing the protestations of the swallows but, although I was aroused from a sound slumber, I didn’t thoroughly waken. I dozed off again and was soon in a deep sleep from which I was awakened by my wife’s scream.”

“She saw the burglar?”

“She was aroused by some noise in the room. She saw this man standing at her dresser. At first she thought I had gone to the dresser for some purpose and she started to speak to me. Then she looked over and saw that I was in my bed...”

“There was enough light for that?”

“Yes. A late moon was giving some light.”

“What happened?”

“The man heard the motion — some sound of the bedsprings, I guess. He darted out to the balcony. My wife screamed and that wakened me, but it took me a few seconds to get oriented, to realize where I was and what was happening. By that time the man had made his escape.”

“And you think the swallows were crying because the man disturbed them?”

“That’s right. When he entered the building, he must have climbed over the balcony rail and touched the nest.”

“When did your wife cancel the insurance?”

“Monday afternoon.”

Mason toyed with his lead pencil, then asked abruptly, “What happened Monday morning?”

“We all four breakfasted together.”

“Who’s the fourth?”

“Helen Custer, my mother’s nurse.”

“Your mother isn’t well?”

“She has a bad heart. Her physician feels it’s advisable to have a nurse in the house.”

“She’s been with you long?”

“For three years. We consider her very much one of the family.”

“You breakfasted and then what?”

“I wrote letters. My mother... I don’t know exactly where she did go. Marcia went riding.”

“Where?”

“Heavens, I don’t know. One of our bridle paths.”

Mason said, “I believe it rained Sunday night, didn’t it?”

Major Winnett looked at him curiously. “What,” he asked, “does that have to do with it?... I mean, what is the significance?”

“Skip it,” Mason interrupted. “What happened next?”

“Nothing. My wife returned about eleven.”

“When did she tell you she was going to cancel the insurance?”

“That was just before lunch. She telephoned to the insurance company, and then she wrote them a letter confirming her action.”

“Did you notice anything unusual in your wife’s manner?”

“Nothing,” Major Winnett said so swiftly that it seemed the answer had been poised on his tongue, waiting merely for Mason’s question.

Mason said, “Well, it’s ten-thirty. I want to get Paul Drake of the Drake Detective Agency. We’ll make a start out at your place and go on from there. I’ll leave here about eleven. Does your mother know your wife has left?”

Major Winnett cleared his throat. “I told her my wife was visiting friends.”

“How will you account for us?” Mason asked.

“How many will there be?”

“My secretary, Miss Street, Paul Drake, the detective, myself, and perhaps one of Mr. Drake’s assistants.”

Major Winnett said, “I’m working on a mining deal. I can explain to my mother that you’re giving me some advice in connection with that. Your detective wouldn’t mind posing as a mining expert?”

“Not at all.”

“You’ll come to the house and... will you want to stay there?”

Mason nodded. “I think we’d better. And I’ll want photographs and a description of your wife.”

Major Winnett took an envelope from his inside pocket and extracted nearly a dozen photographs. “I brought these along. They’re snapshots. She’s twenty-five, redheaded, bluish-gray eyes, five feet two, a hundred and fifteen, and as nearly as I can tell from checking the clothes that are left in the closet, she’s wearing a checkered suit, sort of a gray plaid. It’s the one that she’s wearing in this picture.”

Mason studied the photographs, then reached for the envelope. “All right,” he said, “we’ll be out. You can go on ahead and see that all necessary arrangements are made.”

Chapter two

The city of Silver Strand Beach lay in a sheltered cove on the lee side of a peninsula. The Winnett estate dominated this peninsula, its wire fences with forbidding no-trespassing signs stretching for some two and a half miles. The Spanish-type house, perched on the summit some five hundred feet above the ocean, commanded a view in all directions.

Mason’s car swept around the last curve in the graveled driveway and came to a stop in front of the imposing house as he said to Paul Drake, “I think the cancellation of that insurance policy is, perhaps, the first indication of what she had in mind, Paul. And I think that may have some connection with the horseback ride she took Monday morning.”

Paul Drake’s professionally lugubrious face didn’t change expression in the least. “Anything to go on, Perry?”

“It rained Sunday night,” Mason said. “It hasn’t rained since. If you could find the path she took, it’s quite possible you might be able to track her horse.”

“For the love of Pete, do I have to ride a horse?”

“Sure. Tell the groom you’d like to ride. Ask him about some of the bridle paths.”

“I can’t see anything from a horse,” Drake complained. “When a horse trots, I bounce. When I bounce, I see double.”

“After you get out of sight of the house, you can lead the horse,” Mason suggested.

“How about me?” Della Street asked.

“Try to get acquainted with the nurse,” Mason suggested, “and take a look around.”

Major Winnett himself answered Mason’s ring; and the swift efficiency with which he installed them in rooms, then introduced them to his mother and Helen Custer, the nurse, showed that he had already made his preliminary explanations.

When Drake departed for the stables, after having expressed his spurious enthusiasm for horseflesh, Major Winnett took Mason on a tour of inspection.

Once they were alone in the upper corridors, Major Winnett asked quickly and in a low voice, “Is there anything in particular you want to see?”

“I’d like to get familiar with the entire house,” Mason said guardedly. “But you might begin by showing me your room.”

Major Winnett’s room was on the south side. Glass doors opened on the balcony, from which the ocean could be seen shimmering in the sunlight.

“That’s the swallow’s nest?” Mason asked, indicating a gourdlike projection of mud which extended from the tiles just above the balcony.

“That’s the swallow’s nest. You can see that a person climbing a ladder...”

“Was the ladder already there?” Mason asked.

“Yes. The handyman had been doing some work on a pane of glass on the side of the bedroom. He had left the ladder in position that night, because he intended to finish it the next morning. Damn careless of him.”

“In that case,” Mason said, “your thief was an opportunist, since he didn’t bring his own ladder.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“One who was, moreover, apparently familiar with the house. How about your servants?”

“You can’t ever tell,” Major Winnett said. “Particularly these days. But I think they’re all right. Mother pays good wages and most of the help have been with her for some time. However, she is rather strict at times and there is a certain turnover.”

“You own virtually all of the land on this peninsula?”

“Quite a bit of it, but not all of it. In a moment we’ll go up to the observation tower and I can show you around from there. Generally, we take in about three-fourths of the peninsula. There is a strip out on the end where the county maintains a public campground.”

“The public can reach that camp without crossing your estate?”

“Yes. Our line runs along by the grove of trees — beautiful oaks that offer a place for picnics. Picnickers are always scattering papers and plates around. We try to persuade them to go on down to the public campgrounds on the end of the peninsula.”

“So anyone who came out here at night would have been definitely a trespasser?”

“Quite definitely.”

“And having taken that risk, must have had some specific objective in mind, and would, therefore, if he were at all prudent, have arranged some manner of reaching his objective?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“Therefore,” Mason went on, “either your burglar must have been someone who knew that the ladder was here, or else it was an inside job.”

“But how could anyone have known the ladder was here?”

Mason said, “If you can see the camp and the picnic grounds from here, it is quite possible that someone in the camp or picnic grounds could see the house.”

“Yes, the house is quite a landmark. You can see it for miles.”

“And perhaps a man, looking up here about dusk and noticing that a ladder had been left in place, would have decided it might be worthwhile to climb that ladder.”

“Yes, I suppose so. However, Mr. Mason, I can’t see that there is the slightest connection between the theft of my wife’s jewelry and her disappearance.”

“Probably not,” Mason said.

They finished their tour with a trip up a flight of stairs to the place which Major Winnett described as “the tower.”

Here was a belfry-like room, fifteen feet square, with plate-glass windows on all sides. In the center, a pair of eighteen-power binoculars attached to a swivel on a tripod could be turned and locked in any position.

“In times past,” Major Winnett explained, “when there was more merchant shipping up and down the coast, we used to enjoy looking the boats over. You see, these binoculars can be swung in any direction. Now I’ll point them toward town and—”

“Just a minute,” Mason warned sharply, as Major Winnett reached for the binoculars. “They seem to be pointed toward that grove of trees. If you don’t mind, I’d like to look through them.”

“Why, certainly. Help yourself.”

Mason looked through the powerful prismatic binoculars. The right eye showed only a blur, but the left showed a shaded spot under the clump of big live oaks where the road crossed a mesa before dipping down through a little canyon to again come into view as it swung out toward the picnic and camping grounds on the extreme tip of the promontory.

“There’s no central focusing screw,” Major Winnett explained. “You have to adjust each eyepiece individually. Perhaps...

“Yes, so I see,” Mason said, removing his eyes from the binoculars.

“Here is what I mean,” Major Winnett went on. “You simply screw this eyepiece...”

Mason courteously but firmly arrested the major’s hand. “Just a moment, Major,” he said. “I want to look at that right eyepiece.”

“Someone must have been tampering with it. It’s way out of proper adjustment,” the major said.

“The left eyepiece is at zero adjustment. I take it that means a perfectly normal eye,” Mason said, “whereas, on this right eyepiece, there is an adjustment of negative five. I take it those graduations are made so that a person can remember his own individual adjustment for infinity and adjust the binoculars readily.”

“I suppose so. The figures represent diopters.”

“And an adjustment of negative five certainly blurs the entire—”

“That can’t be an adjustment,” the major interposed. “Someone has idly turned that eyepiece.”

“I see your point,” Mason said and promptly turned the eyepiece back to zero. “There,” he announced, “that’s better.”

It was now possible to make out details in what had before been merely a patch of shadow.

Mason swung the binoculars to the picnic ground and could see quite plainly the masonry barbecue pits, the tables and chairs. Beyond them, through the trees he caught a glimpse of the ocean.

“A beach down there?” he asked.

“Not a beach, but a very fine place for surf fishing.”

Mason swung the binoculars once more toward the clump of trees and the wide place in the road. “And you say people picnic there?”

“Occasionally, yes.”

“From that point,” Mason said, “one could see the house quite plainly with binoculars.”

“But the binoculars are up here.”

“Not the only pair in the world surely.”

The major frowned. Mason turned the glasses on a moving object and saw a magnified image of Paul Drake walking slowly along a bridle path. The short, somewhat cramped steps indicated that his brief experience in the English riding saddle had been more than ample. The detective was leading the horse, his head bowed as he plodded along the bridle path.

Chapter three

Mason waited until he saw Major Winnett leave the house, walking toward the stables. Then the lawyer quietly opened the door of his room, walked down the corridor to Winnett’s bedroom, crossed the balcony and climbed to the rail.

The entrance to the swallow’s nest was too small to accommodate the lawyer’s hand, but he enlarged it by clipping away bits of the dried mud with his thumb and forefinger.

From inside the nest came faint rustlings of motion. An immature beak pushed against Mason’s finger.

The parent swallows cried protests as they swooped in swift, stabbing circles around the lawyer’s head, but Mason, working rapidly, enlarged the opening so he could insert his hand into the nest. He felt soft down-covered bodies. Down below them, his groping fingers encountered only the concave surface of the nest.

A frown of annoyance crossed the lawyer’s face. He continued groping, however, gently moving the young birds to one side. Then the frown faded as the tips of his fingers struck a hard metallic object.

As the lawyer managed to remove this object, sunlight scintillated an emerald and diamond brooch into brilliance.

Mason swiftly pocketed the bit of jewelry and drew back from the fierce rushes of the swallows. He dropped to the floor of the balcony and returned to the bedroom.

Back in the bedroom, he made a swift, thorough search of the various places where small objects might be concealed. A sole leather gun case in the back of a closet contained an expensive shotgun. Mason looked through the barrels. Both were plugged with oiled rags at breech and muzzle.

Mason’s knife extracted one of the rags. He tilted up the barrels, and jewelry cascaded out into his palm, rings, earrings, brooches, a diamond and emerald necklace.

Mason replaced the jewelry, inserted the rag once more and put the gun back in the leather case, then returned the case to the closet.

Preparing to leave the room, he listened for a few moments at the bedroom door, then boldly opened it and stepped out, retracing his steps toward his own room.

He was halfway down the corridor when Mrs. Victoria Winnett appeared at an intersecting corridor and moved toward Mason with stately dignity and a calm purpose.

“Were you looking for something, Mr. Mason?” she asked.

The lawyer’s smile was disarming. “Just getting acquainted with the house.”

Victoria Winnett was the conventional composite of a bygone era. There were pouches beneath her eyes, sagging lines to her face, but the painstakingly careful manner in which every strand of hair had been carefully coiffed, her face massaged, powdered, and rouged, indicated the emphasis she placed on appearance, and there was a stately dignity about her manner which, as Della Street subsequently remarked, reminded one of an ocean liner moving sedately up to its pier.

Had she carefully rehearsed her entrance and been grooming herself for hours to convey just the right impression of dignified rebuke, Mrs. Victoria Winnett would not have needed to change so much as a line of her appearance. “I think my son wanted to show you around,” she said as she fell into step at Mason’s side.

“Oh, he’s done that already,” Mason said with breezy informality. “I was just looking the place over.”

“You’re Mr. Perry Mason, the lawyer, aren’t you?”

“That’s right.”

“I had gathered from what I read about your cases that you specialize mostly in trial work.”

“I do.”

“Murder trials, do you not?”

“Oh, I handle lots of other cases. The murder cases get the most publicity.”

“I see,” she said in the tone of one who doesn’t see at all.

“Nice place you have here,” the lawyer went on. “I am very much interested in that observation cubicle on top of the house.”

“It was my husband’s idea. He liked to sit up there. Didn’t I hear the swallows crying out there?”

“I thought I heard them too,” Mason said.

She looked at him sharply. “We try to keep them from nesting here, but occasionally the gardener fails to see a nest until it is completed. Then we don’t disturb the nest until after the young birds have hatched. They’re noisy and talkative. You can hear them quite early in the mornings. I trust they won’t disturb you. Are you a sound sleeper, Mr. Mason?”

They had paused at the head of the stairs. Mrs. Winnett apparently did not intend to go down, so Mason, standing poised on the upper stair tread, used strategy to terminate the interview.

“My friend, Drake, is looking over the horses, and if you’ll pardon me I’ll run down and join him.”

He flashed her a smile and ran swiftly down the stairs, leaving her standing there, for the moment nonplussed at the manner in which the lawyer had so abruptly forestalled further questions.

Chapter four

In the patio, Della Street caught Perry Mason’s eye, gave him a significant signal and moved casually over to the driveway where she climbed into the car and sat down.

Mason walked over. “I think Paul Drake has something,” he said. “I’m going down and look him up. He’s just coming in on the bridle path. What have you got?”

“I can tell you something about the nurse, chief.”

“What?”

“In the first place, if a woman’s intuition counts for anything, she’s in love with the major — one of those hopeless affairs where she worships him from a distance. In the second place, I think she has a gambling habit of some sort.”

“Races?”

“I don’t know. I was up in the cupola just after you were. There was a pad of paper in the drawer of the little table up there. At first it looked completely blank. Then I tilted it so the light struck it at an angle and I could see that someone had written on the top sheet with a fairly hard pencil so it had made an imprint on the sheet under it. Then the top sheet had been torn off.”

“Good girl! What was on the sheet of paper? I take it something significant.”

“Evidently some gambling figures. I won’t bother to show you the original at this time, but here’s a copy that I worked out. It reads like this: These numbers on the first line, then down below that, led; then down below that a space and 5″5936; down below that 6″8102; down below that 7″9835; down below that 8″5280; down below that 9″2640; down below that 10″1320.”

“Anything else?” Mason asked.

“Then a line and below the line, the figure 49″37817. That looks like some sort of a lottery to me. I learned Mrs. Winnett has been up in the cupola lately, and since she’d hardly be a gambler, I assume the nurse must have written down the figures.”

Mason said thoughtfully, “Notice the last three numbers, Della, 5280, 2640, 1320. Does that sequence mean something to you?”

“No, why?”

Mason said, “5280 feet in a mile.”

“Oh, yes, I get that.”

“The next number, 2640 feet is a half mile, and the last number, 1320 feet, is a quarter mile.”

“Oh, yes, I see now. Then that double mark means inches, doesn’t it?”

“It’s an abbreviation of inches, yes. What does this nurse seem like, Della? Remember I only barely met her.”

“Despite her muddy complexion, straight hair and glasses, her eyes are really beautiful. You should see them light up when the major’s name comes up. My own opinion is this nurse could be good-looking. Then Mrs. Winnett would fire her. So she keeps herself looking plain and unattractive so she can be near the major, whom she loves with a hopeless, helpless, unrequited passion.”

“Look here,” Mason said, “if you’ve noticed that within an hour and a half, how about Mrs. Victoria Winnett? Doesn’t she know?”

“I think she does.”

“And hasn’t fired the nurse?”

“No. I think she doesn’t mind if the nurse worships the ground the major walks on but doesn’t presume to raise her eyes to look at him, if you get what I mean.”

“I get it,” Mason said thoughtfully, “and I don’t like it. Wait, here comes Paul now.”

Drake, walking stiffly, joined them.

“Find anything, Paul?” Mason asked.

“I found something,” Drake conceded, “and I don’t know what it is.”

“What does it look like, Paul?”

“In the first place,” Drake said, “you can easily follow her tracks. She took the lower bridle path. After the first quarter mile, there’s only one set of tracks going and coming. They were made when the ground was soft and they go down to a road and a gate that’s locked. I didn’t have a key, but I could see where the horse tracks went through the gate and down onto the road, so I tied up my horse and managed to squeeze through the fence.”

“Any tracks around those trees, Paul?”

“An automobile had been parked there,” Drake said. “There must have been two automobiles. That’s the only way I can figure it out, but I still can’t figure the tracks right.”

“How come?”

Drake took a small thin book from his pocket. “This is a little pocketbook which gives the tread designs of all makes of tires. Now an automobile that had some fairly new tires was in there. One of the wheels was worn too much to identify, but I identified the track of a right front wheel. Then the track of the other front wheel and the other hind wheel and... well, there I bogged down, Perry.”

“What do you mean?”

“Of course, you have to understand it’s a little difficult trying to get those tracks all fitted into the proper sequence. They...”

“What are you getting at?” Mason said.

“Hang it, Perry, I got three wheels.”

“And the fourth was worn smooth?”

“Not that — what I mean is, Perry, that I got three wheels on a single side.”

Mason frowned at the detective. “Three wheels on a side?”

“Three wheels on a side,” Paul Drake insisted doggedly.

Mason said rather excitedly, “Paul, did you notice a circular spot in the ground, perhaps eight or ten inches in diameter?”

“How the deuce did you know that spot was there?” Drake demanded, his face showing bewilderment.

Mason said, “It was made by the bottom part of a bucket, Paul. And the three tracks on each side were all right. That’s the way it should be.”

“I don’t get it.”

“A house trailer,” Mason explained. “An automobile and a house trailer were parked under the trees. The waste water from a trailer sink is carried out through a drain to the outside. A bucket is placed there to catch the water as it runs off.”

“That’s it, all right,” Drake admitted, then added morosely, “I’m kicking myself for not thinking of it, Perry.”

Mason said, “It now begins to look as though Marcia Winnett had kept an appointment on Monday with someone in a house trailer. And that seems to have been very much a turning point in her life.”

Drake nodded. “On Monday — that’s a cold trail, Perry.”

“It’s the only one we have,” Mason pointed out.

Chapter five

Mason, studying the tire tracks, said, “It was an automobile and a house trailer, Paul. The round place which marks the location of the spout bucket can be taken as being approximately in the middle of the trailer. You can see over here the mark of an auxiliary wheel attached to the front of the trailer to carry part of the weight while the trailer was parked. That enables us to estimate the length of the trailer.”

Drake said, “The trailer must have been backed in between these trees, Perry.”

Mason started prowling along the edge of the fence. “Took some clever handling to get it in there. Let’s look around for garbage. If the trailer remained here overnight, there are probably some tin cans... potato peelings, stuff of that sort.”

Mason, Della Street and Drake separated, covering the ground carefully.

Abruptly Della said, “Chief, don’t look too suddenly, but casually take a look up there at the big house on the hill. I think I saw someone moving in the glassed-in observation tower.”

“I rather expected as much,” Mason said, without even looking up. “However, it’s something we can’t help.”

Drake exclaimed, “Here it is, Perry, a collection of tin cans and garbage.”

Mason moved over to where Drake was standing. Here the water from the winter rains, rushing down the ditch at the side of the road, had eddied around one of the roots of the big live oak and formed a cave which extended some three feet back under the roots of the tree.

Mason, squatting on his heels, used two dry sticks to rake out the articles.

There were three cans which had been flattened under pressure, some peelings from onions and potatoes, waxed paper which had been wrapped around a loaf of bread, an empty glass container bearing a syrup label, and a crumpled paper bag.

Mason carefully segregated the items with his sticks. As he did so he kept up a running fire of conversation.

“That flattening of the cans is the trick of an old out-doorsman,” he said.

“Why flatten them?” Della inquired.

“Animals get their heads stuck in cans sometimes,” Mason said. “Moreover, cans take up less room when they’re flattened and require a smaller hole when they’re buried. This little garbage pit tells quite a story. The occupant of the trailer must have been a man. Notice the canned beans, a can of chili con came, potatoes, bread, onions — no tomato peelings, no lettuce leaves, no carrots, in fact, no fresh vegetables at all. A woman would have had a more balanced diet. These are the smallest cans obtainable and... hello, what’s this?”

Mason had pulled apart the paper bag as he talked. Now he brought out a small oblong slip of paper on which figures had been stamped in purple ink.

Della Street said, “That’s a cash register receipt from one of the cash-and-carry grocery stores.”

Mason picked up the receipt. “And a very interesting one,” he said. “The man bought fifteen dollars and ninety-four cents’ worth of merchandise. There’s a date on the back of the slip and this other figure refers to the time. The groceries were bought at five minutes past eight on Saturday morning. It begins to look, Paul, as though this is where you take over.”

“What do you want me to do?” Drake asked.

Mason said, “Get a room in the hotel at Silver Strand beach. Open up something of an office there. Get men on the job. Get lots of men. Have your men buy groceries. See if the printing on the slip from any cash register matches this. If it does, try to find out something about the single, sun-bronzed man who purchased fifteen dollars and ninety-four cents’ worth of groceries at five minutes past eight on Saturday morning. A sale of that size to a man just a few minutes after the store opened might possibly have attracted attention.”

“Okay,” Drake said. “Anything else?”

“Lots else,” Mason said. “Della, where’s that slip of paper, the copy you made of what you found in the observation tower?”

Della ran to the glove compartment and brought back the square of paper on which she’d made the copy.

Drake looked at it, then said, “What is it, Perry?”

“Stuff Della found in the observation tower. What do you make of it?”

“Some sort of dimensions,” Drake said. “Here’s this number 8 inches and 5280 feet, 9 inches and half a mile, 10 inches and quarter of a mile. What’s the idea, Perry? Why should the inches run 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, and...?”

“Suppose they aren’t inches?” Mason said. “Suppose they’re ditto marks.”

“Well, it could be.”

“Then what?” Mason asked.

Drake said, “Then the numbers could have something to do with a lottery of some sort.”

“Add them up,” Mason said dryly.

“The total is already here,” Drake said. “49″37817.”

Mason handed him a pencil.

Della Street, leaning over Drake’s shoulder, was the first to get it. “Chief,” she exclaimed, “the total isn’t correct.”

“I knew it wasn’t,” Mason said. “I didn’t know just how much it was off, however. Let’s find out.”

Della Street said, “The total is... Wait a minute, Paul, I’ll get it... 45″33113, but the total that’s marked there is 49″37817.”

“Subtract them,” Mason said. “What do you get?”

Della Street’s skillful fingers guided the pencil as she hastily wrote down numbers and performed the subtraction. “4″4704,” she said.

Mason nodded. “I think,” he said, “when we get this case solved, we’ll find the important figure is the one that isn’t there. Bear that figure in mind, Paul. It may turn up later.”

Chapter six

Perry Mason took the steep stairs to the observation tower two at a time.

There was no one in the cupola. The binoculars, however, had once more been swung so that they were pointing to the grove of trees where the trailer had been parked. Mason placed his eyes to the binoculars. The left eye showed a clear vision, the right was blurred.

Mason bent over to study the adjustment on the right lens, saw it was set once more at negative five, then he changed the focus on the binoculars.

As he did so, he heard motion behind him and straightened abruptly.

Mrs. Victoria Winnett was standing in the doorway. At her side was a slender brunette in riding clothes whose face showed startled surprise. Mrs. Winnett’s face showed no expression whatever.

“I hardly expected to find you here,” Mrs. Winnett said to Mason and then, turning to the young woman at her side, said, “Miss Rexford, permit me to present Mr. Perry Mason, the lawyer.”

Daphne Rexford favored Mason with a smile which went only as far as her lips. Her eyes showed an emotion which might have been merely nervousness, might have been panic.

Mason acknowledged the introduction, then said, “I’m fascinated with the view you get from here, Mrs. Winnett.”

“My late husband spent much of his time here. The place does hold something of a fascination. Daphne loves it.”

“You’re here frequently?” Mason asked Daphne Rexford.

“Yes, I study birds.”

“I see.”

“But,” she went on hastily, “since you’re here, I’ll postpone my bird study until some other time.”

“On the contrary,” Mason said, “I was just leaving. I wanted to get the lay of the land.”

“He’s working with Claude on a mining deal,” Mrs. Winnett hastened to explain to Daphne Rexford. “There’s a mining engineer with him. And Mr. Mason has his secretary. You’ll meet them if you’re over for dinner tonight.”

“Oh, thank you, but I... I don’t think I can make it for dinner tonight. If Claude’s going to be busy... Where’s Marcia?”

“Visiting friends,” Mrs. Winnett said dryly. “Please come.”

“Well, I... I should...”

Mason said as she hesitated, “Well, I must get down and hunt up my client. After all, I must earn my fee, you know.”

“I feel quite sure you will,” Mrs. Winnett said with a certain subtle significance. “Come, Daphne, dear. Draw up a chair. What was it you were saying about swallows?”

Daphne said hurriedly, “Oh, there’s a meadowlark! I think there must be a nest down by that bush. I’ve seen that same lark so many times in that exact position...”

Mason quietly closed the door and walked down the stairs.

Major Winnett was in the drawing room. He looked up as Mason crossed toward the patio. “What luck?” he asked.

“Progress,” Mason said.

Major Winnett’s lips tightened. “Can’t you do better than that? Can’t you give me something definite? Or are you just running around in circles?”

“A good hound always runs around in circles to pick up a scent.”

“Then you haven’t anything definite yet?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You intimated it.”

Mason slid his right hand down into his trousers pocket and abruptly withdrew the diamond and emerald brooch he had taken from the swallow’s nest.

“Seen this before?” he asked, extending his hand.

Major Winnett stiffened for a moment to rigid immobility. “It looks... Mr. Mason, that certainly is similar to a brooch my wife had.”

“One that was stolen?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“Thank you,” Mason said and slipped the brooch back into his pocket.

“May I ask where you got that?” Claude Winnett asked excitedly.

“Not yet,” Mason told him.

The telephone rang sharply. Major Winnett moved over to the library extension, picked up the receiver, said “Hello,” then turned to Mason. “It’s for you.”

Mason took the telephone. Drake’s voice said, “We’ve got something, Perry.”

“What?”

“That oblong slip of paper from the cash register. We’ve located the store. The girl that was on duty remembers our party. We’ve got a good description now. With that to go on, we had no trouble picking up his trail in a trailer camp. He registered under the name of Harry Drummond.”

“There now?” Mason asked.

“Not now. He pulled out early yesterday morning. I’ve got men covering every trailer camp anywhere near here. We should pick him up soon. We have the license number and everything. And here’s a funny one, Perry. There’s a jane looking for him.”

“You mean...?”

“No, not the one we’re interested in, another one. She’s brunette, snaky, young and tall, and she was asking the cashier about him earlier in the day. Had a good description. Wanted to know if such a man had been in.”

“Are you located there in the hotel?”

“Yes. I’ve fixed up an office here and have half a dozen men out on the job, with more coming in all the time.”

Mason said, “I’ll be right up.”

“Okay, be looking for you. Good-by.”

Mason heard the click at the other end of the line but did not immediately hang up. He stood holding the receiver, frowning at the carpet.

Abruptly he heard another sharp click and the telephone bell in the library extension gave a little tinkle.

Mason dropped the receiver into place and turned to Major Winnett. “I take it,” he said, “you have several extensions on the phone?”

“Four,” Major Winnett said. “No, there’s five. There’s one up in the observation tower. I almost forgot about that.”

“Thank you,” Mason said, and then added after a moment, “so did I.”

Chapter seven

Paul Drake was talking on the phone as Mason entered the suite of rooms Drake was using for headquarters. In an adjoining room Della Street, a list of numbers at her elbow, was putting through a steady succession of calls.

“Come in, Perry,” Drake said, hanging up the receiver. “I was trying to get you. We’re getting results fast.”

“Shoot.”

“Our party is a man thirty-eight years old, bronzed, wears cowboy boots, a five-gallon hat, leather jacket, Pendleton trousers, rather chunky and has a wide, firm mouth. The license number of his automobile is 4E4705. He’s driving a Buick and has quite an elaborate house trailer painted green on the outside with aluminum paint on the roof. Up until Saturday morning he was in the Silver Strand Trailer Camp. He left Saturday, showed up again late Monday night, pulled out again Wednesday morning and hasn’t been seen since.”

“How did you get it?” Mason asked.

“Just a lot of legwork.”

“Give me the highlights.”

“We located the store that has that cash register — the only one in town. Cash register gives the time and date of sale, the amount of the items and the total. This sale was made shortly after the store opened Saturday morning, and the cashier remembers the man’s general appearance. She particularly remembered the cowboy boots. We started covering trailer camps and almost immediately picked up our trail.”

“What are you doing now?”

“I’ve got operatives scattered around with automobiles covering every trailer camp, every possible parking place for a house trailer anywhere in this part of the country. We’re working in a constantly widening circle and should turn up something soon.”

Mason took out his notebook. “The number is 4E4705?”

“That’s right.”

“Then our mysterious observer in the observation tower made a mistake in addition. Remember, we were looking for a number 4″4704. The first number must have been 4E4705 and ditto marks were beneath the E. The real total then should have been...”

He was interrupted by a knock on the door, a quick staccato knock which somehow contained a hint of hysteria.

Mason exchanged glances with Drake. The detective left the desk, crossed over and opened the door.

The woman who stood on the threshold was twenty-seven or twenty-eight, a tall brunette with flashing black eyes, high cheekbones and an active, slender figure. A red brimless hat perched well back on her head emphasized the glossy darkness of her hair and harmonized with the red of her carefully made-up lips.

She smiled at Paul Drake, a stage smile which showed even, white teeth. “Are you Mr. Drake?” she asked, glancing from him to Mason.

Drake nodded.

“May I come in?”

Drake wordlessly stood to one side.

His visitor entered the room, nodded to Perry Mason and said, “I’m Mrs. Drummond.”

Drake started to glance at Mason, then caught himself in time and managed to put only casual interest in his voice. “I’m Mr. Drake,” he said, “and this is Mr. Mason. Is there something in particular, Mrs. Drummond?”

She said, “You’re looking for my husband.”

Drake merely raised his eyebrows.

“At the Silver Strand Trailer Camp,” she went on nervously. “And I’m looking for him too. I wonder if we can’t sort of pool information?”

Mason interposed suavely. “Your husband, and you’re looking for him, Mrs. Drummond?”

“Yes,” she said, her large dark eyes appraising the lawyer.

“How long since you’ve seen him?” Mason asked.

“Two months.”

“Perhaps if you want us to pool information, you’d better tell us a little more about the circumstances and how you happened to know we were looking for him.”

She said, “I’d been at the Silver Strand Trailer Camp earlier in the day. The man promised me that he’d let me know if my husband returned. When your detectives appeared and started asking questions, he took the license number of their car, found out it belonged to the Drake Detective Agency and...” She laughed nervously and said, “And that is where I started to do a little detective work on my own. Are you looking for him for the same reason I am?”

Mason smiled gravely. “That brings up the question of why you’re looking for him.”

She gave an indignant toss of her head. “After all, I have nothing to conceal. We were married a little over a year ago. It didn’t click. Harry is an outdoors man. He’s always chasing around on the trail of some mining deal or some cattle ranch. I don’t like that sort of life and... well, about two months ago we separated. I sued for divorce.”

“Have you got it yet?”

“Not yet. We had an understanding about a property settlement. When my lawyer sent my husband the papers, he sent them back with an insulting note and said he wouldn’t pay me a red cent and that if I tried to get tough about it, he’d show that I didn’t have any rights whatever.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“And you want to find out just what he means by that?” Mason asked.

“That’s right. And now suppose you tell me what you want him for. Has he done something?”

“Is he the type who would?” Mason asked.

“He’s been in trouble before.”

“What sort of trouble?”

“A mining swindle.”

Drake glanced inquiringly at Mason.

“Where are you located?” Mason asked Mrs. Drummond.

“I’m right here at the hotel. And don’t think they’re the ones who told me about Mr. Drake’s being here,” she added hastily. “I found that out by... in another way.”

“You spoke of pooling information,” Mason said suggestively.

She laughed and said, “Well, what I meant was if you find him, will you let me know? And if I find him, I could let you know. After all, he shouldn’t be difficult to locate with that trailer, but I want to catch him before he can get out of the state. If I can find out where he is, I have — some papers to serve.”

“You have a car?” Mason asked.

She nodded, then added by way of explanation, “That is one thing I salvaged out of our marriage. I made him buy me a car, and that’s one of the reasons I want to see him. The car’s still in his name. He agreed to let me have it as part of the property settlement, but in his letter to my lawyer he said he could even take the car away from me if I tried to make trouble. Does either of you gentlemen have any idea what he meant by that?”

Mason shook his head and Drake joined in the gesture of negation.

“Perhaps,” Mason suggested, “we might work out something. You see, even if your assumption is correct that we are looking for your husband, we would be representing some client in the matter and would naturally have to discuss things with that client.”

“Is it because of something he’s done?” she asked apprehensively. “Is he in more trouble? Will it mean all his money will go for lawyers again, just like it did before?”

“I’m sure I couldn’t tell you,” Mason said.

“That means you won’t. Look, I’m in room six-thirteen. Why don’t you ask your client to come and see me?”

“Will you be there all during the evening?” Drake asked.

“Well...” She hesitated. “I’ll be in and out. I’ll... I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll keep in touch with the hotel and if there are any messages, I’ll be where I can come and get them.”

She flashed them a smile, moved toward the door with quick, lithe grace, then almost as an afterthought turned and gave them her hand, glancing curiously through the open door of the adjoining room to where Della Street was seated at the telephone. Then she gave Mason another smile as the lawyer held the door open for her, and left the room, walking with quick nervous steps.

Mason closed the door and cocked a quizzical eyebrow at Paul Drake.

“The guy’s wise,” Drake said. “That means we haven’t much time, Perry.”

“You think he was watching his back trail?”

Drake nodded. “She’s an alert little moll who knows her way around. This man Drummond has done something that he’s trying to cover up. He left her to watch his back trail. She hypnotized the man who runs the trailer camp and then when my man showed up in an agency car—”

“But how about her asking questions at the cash-and-carry, Paul?”

Drake snapped his fingers. “Shucks, there’s nothing to that. That’s the way she builds up a background for herself. After all, she—”

The telephone interrupted. Drake picked up the receiver, said, “Drake talking... Okay, let’s have it... When?... Where?... Okay, stay — on the job... We’ll be right down.”

Drake hung up the receiver, saying, “Well, that’s it. We’ve got him located.”

“Where?”

“Little down-at-the-heel trailer camp in a eucalyptus grove about three miles from here. Not much of a place, auto-court cabins in front and, as an afterthought because there was lots of room, the owner strung up some wires and advertised trailer space in the rear. The conveniences aren’t too good and it’s patronized mostly by people who want to save two bits a day on the regular parking rate. The chief advantage is lots of elbowroom. The grove consists of several acres, and if a man wants to walk far enough to the bath and shower, he can pick his own parking place for the trailer.”

“Any details?” Mason asked.

“One of my men just located it. The trailer came in yesterday night. The man who runs the place was busy selling gasoline at the time, and the driver of the car called out that he’d come back and register later. He tossed the man a silver dollar and the man told him to park any place he wanted to where he could find a plug for his electric connection.”

Mason said, “Let’s go. Della, you stay here and run the place. We’ll telephone you in half an hour or so.”

They drove down to the trailer camp in Mason’s car. Drake’s operative, lounging casually in the door of one of the auto cabins, gave the detective a surreptitious signal and pointed toward the adjoining cabin.

Registering simply as “P. Drake,” the detective rented the vacant cabin, then settled down with Perry Mason. A few moments later Drake’s operative came across to join them.

“Ever met Pete Brady?” Drake asked Mason.

Mason shook hands, saying, “I’ve seen him once or twice before around your office.”

“Glad to know you,” Brady said to Mason, and then to Drake, “I’m not certain but what the guy who runs the place is getting a little suspicious. I asked too many questions.”

“What’s the dope?”

“The trailer’s out there attached to the car. So far, I haven’t had a glimpse of the man who is in it, but it’s the license number of the car we want okay — 4E4705.”

“Let’s take a look around,” Mason said.

“You’ll have to take it easy,” Brady warned. “Just sort of saunter around.”

“How about the gag of buying a trailer?” Drake asked. “Have you used that?”

Brady shook his head.

“We’ll try that,” Drake said. “You can wait here for a while. What’s the guy’s name who runs the place?”

“Elmo, Sidney Elmo.”

“Did he see you come over here?”

“No. I waited until he was selling gas.”

“Okay. Stick around. I’ll go tell the bird that we heard one of the trailers here was for sale. He won’t know anything about it. That gives us an opportunity to go sauntering around looking them over.”

Five minutes later when Drake returned, Mason joined him and they walked slowly out past the line of somewhat dilapidated cabins into the eucalyptus grove. Late afternoon shadows made the place seem cold and gloomy. The ground was still moist from the rain and the drippings of the trees when ocean fog enveloped that portion of the country.

“There’s the outfit,” Drake said. “What do we do? Go right up and knock and ask him if it’s for sale?”

Mason said, “Let’s try one of the other trailers first. We can talk loud enough so our voices will carry over here.”

“Good idea,” Drake said.

“Take this one,” Mason suggested.

The two walked over to the small homemade trailer Mason had indicated. It was parked about a hundred feet from the green trailer. Electric lights showed a well-fleshed woman in her late forties cooking over the stove. On the outside, a man was taking advantage of the failing light to tinker with the bumper on the trailer. There was an Oklahoma license plate on the car.

“This the outfit that’s for sale?” Mason asked.

The man looked up, a long, thin mouth twisted into a smile. He said with a drawl, “I ain’t saying yes, and I ain’t saying no. You want to buy?”

“We’re looking for a trailer that we heard was for sale here.”

“What sort of a trailer?”

“We just heard it was a good one.”

“That’s the description of this job all right.”

Drake interposed, “You’re not the man who spoke to the manager of the Silver Strand Trailer Camp and said he wanted to sell, are you?”

“Nope. Fact is, I’m not particularly anxious to sell. But if you wanted to buy it, I’d be willing to listen.”

“We’re looking for a particular trailer that’s for sale,” Mason explained. “How about that green one over there? Know anything about it?”

“No. It just came in last night.”

“Don’t suppose you’ve talked with the people who own it?”

“I ain’t seen ’em. They haven’t been around all day.”

Mason said, “That looks like it. Let’s go over there, Paul.”

“Take it easy,” Mason said as they approached. “Ever use a house trailer, Paul?”

“No. Why?”

“The steady weight of the trailer has a tendency to wear out springs. So most trailers are equipped with an auxiliary wheel which can be screwed into position when the trailer is parked.”

“There isn’t any here,” Drake said.

“That’s just the point. Furthermore, no spout bucket has been put out under the spout. And to cap the climax, the cord hasn’t been connected with the electric outlet.”

“What are you getting at, Perry?”

By way of reply, Mason knocked loudly on the trailer door. When there was no response, the lawyer tentatively tried the knob.

The door swung open.

There was still enough afternoon light to show the sprawled figure lying on the floor. The dark pool eddying out from under the body showed little jagged streaks of irregularity, but its ominous significance could not be misjudged.

“Oh-oh!” Drake exclaimed.

Mason stepped up and entered the trailer. Carefully avoiding the red pool, he looked down at the body. Then he bent over, touched the high-heeled cowboy boot, moved it gently back and forth.

“Been dead for some time, Paul. Rigor mortis has set in.”

“Come on out,” Drake begged. “Let’s play this one on the up-and-up and notify the police.”

“Just a minute,” Mason said. “I...” He bent over, and as he did so a shaft of light struck his face.

“What’s that?” Drake asked.

Mason moved slightly so that the beam of light struck his eyes.

“That,” he announced, “is a hole in this trailer, directly in line with the window of that Oklahoma trailer. Light from the window over there where the woman is cooking comes through the hole in this trailer. The hole could have been made by a bullet.”

“Okay, Perry. Let’s notify the police.”

Mason said, “First I want to find out a little more about that Oklahoma trailer.”

“For the luvva Mike, Perry, have a heart! You’re in the clear on this one — so far.”

Mason, moving cautiously, left the trailer. He hesitated a moment when he stepped to the ground. Then he carefully polished the doorknob with his handkerchief.

“That’s removing evidence,” Drake said. “There are other prints there besides yours.”

“How do you know?”

“It stands to reason.”

“You can’t prove it,” Mason said. “The murderer probably wiped his fingerprints off the door just as I did.”

Mason walked back to the trailer with the Oklahoma license. The man, still bent over the bumper at the rear of the trailer, seemed to be working aimlessly, stalling for time. The position of his head indicated an interest in what had been going on over at the other trailer.

“That the one?” he asked as Mason approached.

“I don’t know. No one seems to be home.”

“I ain’t seen ’em leave. They couldn’t go very far without their car.”

“Seen any visitors over there?” Mason asked casually.

“Not today. There was a young woman called last night.”

“What time?”

“I don’t know. We’d gone to bed. Her headlights shone in the window and woke me up when she came. I sat up in bed and looked out the window.”

“See her plain?”

“Yeah — a redhead. Checkered suit — trim-looking package.”

“She go in?”

“I guess so. She switched off her lights and I went back to sleep. Woke me up again when she left. Her car backfired a couple of times.”

Mason glanced at Drake. “I’d like to find these people.”

“I think there’s only one — a man. He drove in last night and had quite a bit of trouble backing the trailer around. You take one of these big trailers and it’s quite a job to park it. You try to back up and everything’s just reversed from what it is when you’re backing just a car. We went to bed pretty early and sometime after I’d got to sleep this other car came up. What really woke me up was headlights shining in my window. I looked out and seen this woman.”

“Remember what sort of car she was driving?”

“It was a rented car.”

“How do you know?”

“From the gasoline rationing stamp on the windshield.”

“Your wife didn’t wake up?”

“No.”

“How long have you been here?” Mason asked.

“What’s it to you?”

“Nothing.”

“I thought not,” the man said, suddenly suspicious, and then after a moment added, “You’re asking a lot of questions.”

“Sorry,” Mason said.

The man hesitated a moment, then, by way of dismissal, turned back to the bumper.

Mason glanced significantly at Paul Drake. Silently the two walked away.

“Okay, Paul,” Mason said in a low voice. “Get Della on the phone. Tell her to put operatives on every drive-yourself car agency within a radius of fifty miles and see if we can find where the woman rented the car. When we spot the place, I’ll handle the rest of it.”

“I don’t like it,” Drake said.

“I don’t like it myself,” Mason told him. “But the young woman who called there last night was Marcia Winnett.”

“And her car backfired,” Drake said dryly.

Mason met his eyes. “Her car backfired, Paul. And in case it ever becomes necessary, remember that the only person who heard it said it was a backfire.”

Drake nodded gloomily. “Not that that will do any good, Perry.”

“It keeps us in the clear, Paul. You don’t rush to the police to report that someone’s car backfired.”

“When you’ve discovered a body, you do.”

“Who knows we’ve discovered any body?”

“I do.”

Mason laughed. “Back to the hotel, Paul. Try to trace that car. And just to be on the safe side, find out where Mrs. Drummond was last night.”

Chapter eight

The last task Mason had given Paul Drake turned out to be simple. Mrs. Drummond had been trying to locate her husband in the nearby trailer camps all the evening before, and she had arranged with a police officer who was off duty to accompany her.

Locating the rented car in which the girl in the checkered suit went to the trailer camp was another matter.

Despite all of Drake’s efficiency, it was nearing eight o’clock when his detectives uncovered the lead Mason wanted. A man who operated a car rental agency in one of the coast cities, some twenty-five miles from Silver Strand Beach, had rented a car to a young woman who wore a checkered suit and who answered the description of Marcia Winnett.

Drake looked up from the telephone. “Want my man to try to pick up the trail from there or do you want to do it, Perry?”

Mason said, “I’ll do it, Paul. And it might be best to let your man think that that isn’t the trail we want.”

“Okay,” Drake said, and then into the telephone, “Describe her, Sam. Uh-huh... uh-huh, well, that’s not the one. Keep working. Cover those other agencies and then report.”

Drake hung up the phone. “Want me to come along, Perry?”

“Della and I’ll handle it,” Mason said. “Start calling your men in. Let them feel it turned out to be a false lead. And you’d better start checking on Mrs. Drummond, Paul. I wouldn’t like to have her show up right now.”

Drake nodded and said solicitously, “Watch your step, Perry.”

“I’m watching it. Come on, Della.”

The man who operated the car rental agency which had furnished a car to Marcia Winnett was not particularly communicative. It took diplomacy to get him in the mood to talk. Even then he confined his information to bare essentials.

He had never seen his customer before. She gave her name as Edith Bascom. She said her mother had died and it was necessary for her to use a car in connection with handling the estate. She was registered at the local hotel.

“Do you check on these stories?” Mason asked. “Or do you just rent cars?”

“Sometimes we just rent cars. Sometimes we check.”

“What did you do in this case?”

“Cars are scarce now,” the man said. “We checked.”

“How?”

The man picked up a daily paper dated the day before and indicated the obituary column. Mason followed the man’s finger to the stereotyped announcement of the death of Mrs. Shirley Bascom and the statement that funeral arrangements would be private.

Mason said, “I guess that covers it all right.”

“What’s your interest in it?”

“I’m a lawyer.”

“I see. Well, she’s okay. Rather upset on account of her mother’s death, but a nice girl. You’ll find her in the Palace Hotel, two blocks down the street.”

“You checked on that?”

“I told you cars are scarce,” the man said. “I checked on it.”

It was but a matter of routine for Mason and his secretary to get the number of the room which had been assigned to Edith Bascom. Two minutes later Mason was knocking on the door.

There was no answer. Mason tried the knob. The door was locked.

Mason made a swift survey of the hall, stooped and held out his hands. “Step on my hands, Della. Take a quick look through the transom.”

She braced herself with a hand on his shoulder, caught the lower ledge of the transom and peered through.

Mason, with his right hand on her hip, steadying her, felt her body stiffen. Then she was scrambling to get down.

“Chief,” she said in an ominous whisper, “she’s stretched out on the bed. She’s... terribly still.”

“Lights on?”

“No, but the shade is up and there’s enough light coming in from the electric sign in front to make out the form on the bed.”

Mason said, “There’s a spring lock on the door... Better take another look, Della. See if she’s breathing and... hold it. Here comes a chambermaid.”

The chambermaid who wearily approached was aroused only momentarily from the lethargy of overwork by the bill Mason pushed into her palm.

“My wife and I seem to have left our key downstairs. If you could let us in, it would save us a trip down...”

“It’s against the rules,” she said, then added tonelessly, “but I guess it’s okay.” Producing her passkey, she clicked back the latch on the door.

Mason boldly pushed open the door, stood aside for Della to enter, then followed her into the dimly lighted room and closed the door behind him.

Della Street crossed over to the woman lying on the bed, as Mason groped for her pulse.

“She’s alive!” Della Street said.

“The light,” Mason said crisply. “Pull the curtains first.”

Della Street jerked down the shades, ran over and switched on the light.

Mason glanced at the bottle of sleeping tablets by the side of the bed, picked up the newspaper on the floor and glanced at it.

“She must have taken them yesterday,” Della said. “We’ll need a doctor and—”

“This afternoon,” Mason interrupted curtly. “This is a late edition of the afternoon paper.”

He dropped the paper, shook the sleeper and said, “Towels, Della. Cold water.”

Della Street grabbed towels and turned on the cold water in the bathroom. Mason slapped Marcia Winnett with cold towels until the eyelids flickered open.

“What is it?” she asked thickly.

Mason said to Della Street, “Run down to the drugstore, Della. Get an emetic. Have room service send up some black coffee.”

“How about a doctor?”

“Not if we can avoid it. Let’s hope she hasn’t had the tablets down long enough to get the full effects. Get an emetic.”

Marcia Winnett tried to say something, but the words were unintelligible. She dropped back against Mason’s shoulder.

Mason calmly started removing her blouse. Della Street dashed from the room, headed for the drugstore.

Thirty minutes later Mason and Della Street assisted Marcia Winnett from the bathroom. There was a dead, lackluster look about her eyes, but she could talk now, and the coffee was beginning to take effect.

Mason said, “Concentrate on what I’m telling you. I’m a lawyer. I’m retained to represent you.”

“By whom?”

“Your husband.”

“No, no, he mustn’t... he can’t...”

Mason said, “I’m your lawyer. Your husband retained me to help you. I don’t have to tell him anything.”

She sighed wearily and said, “Let me go. It’s better this way.”

Mason shook her once more into wakefulness. “You went riding Monday morning. You talked with a man in a trailer. He made demands on you. You had to have money and have it at once. You didn’t dare to ask your husband for it.”

Mason waited for an answer. She made none. Her eyelids drooped and raised as if by a conscious effort.

Mason said, “You went back to the house. You canceled the insurance on your jewelry because you were too conscientious to stick the insurance company. You arranged to have some repairs made to a window on the side of your bedroom so a ladder would be handy. You got up in the night, went out to the balcony, and dumped your jewelry into the swallow’s nest. Then you started screaming.”

Her face might have been a wooden mask.

Mason went on, “You had waited until Tuesday to stage the burglary. You knew that it would be too obvious if it happened Monday night, the day you had canceled the insurance. Wednesday morning you found an opportunity to get most of the jewelry out of the swallow’s nest. There was one piece you overlooked. Now then, suppose you tell me what happened after that.”

She said, with the drowsy calm of one who discusses a distant event which can have no personal bearing, “I wanted to kill him. I can’t remember whether I did or not.”

“Did you shoot him?”

“I can’t remember a thing that happened after... after I left the house.”

Mason glanced at Della Street, said, “If I’m going to help you, I have to know what hold that man had on you.”

“His name is Harry Drummond. He was my first husband.”

“You were divorced?”

“I thought I was divorced. There were reasons why I couldn’t go to Nevada. I gave him the money. He went to live in Nevada.

“From time to time he sent me reports of how things were coming. Twice he asked for more money. Then he wrote me the divorce had been granted. He was lying. He’d gambled the money away. There never had been a divorce.”

“When did you find this out?” Mason asked.

“Monday morning,” she said. “He was clever. He’d kept in touch with me. He knew I rode down along that bridle path. He parked his trailer there. Mrs. Victoria Winnett doesn’t like to have people camp there, so I rode down to ask whoever was in the trailer to please move on down to the public campgrounds.”

“You had no idea who was in the trailer?”

“Not until Harry opened the door and said, ‘Hello, Marcia. I thought it was about time you were showing up.’ ”

“What did he want?”

“Money.”

“And he threatened you with — what?”

“The one weapon Claude couldn’t stand, notoriety.”

“So you promised to get him money?”

“I promised to get him my jewelry. He had to have money at once. He said someone was putting screws on him for cash.”

“You were to meet him there when?”

“Wednesday morning.”

“So you manipulated this fake burglary on Tuesday night after canceling your insurance on Monday. Then you took him the jewelry. Did he ask you how you had managed to secure the jewelry?”

“Yes. I told him the whole story. I told him it was all right to pawn it because the Winnetts wouldn’t report the burglary to the police.”

“And then what happened?”

“I can’t remember.”

“What can’t you remember?”

“I can’t remember a thing from the time... from the time Harry took the jewelry. He made some sneering remark, and I remember becoming very angry and then... then my mind went entirely blank.”

“Did you have a revolver with you when you went down to the trailer Wednesday morning?” Mason asked.

“Yes.”

“Where did you get it?”

“From a bureau drawer.”

“Whose gun was it?”

“I don’t know. I think it was... Mrs. Winnett’s gun — pearl-handled. I thought I might need some protection. It was a crazy idea. I took it along.”

“Where is that gun now?”

“I don’t know. I tell you I can’t remember a thing that happened after I gave him the jewelry and he made that sneering remark.”

“Did he make some further demands on you? Did he tell you you had to meet him at an isolated trailer park last night?”

“I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

“Did you meet him there?”

“I can’t remember.”

“Did you,” Mason asked, “rent an automobile from a drive-yourself agency about two blocks down the street?”

Her forehead puckered into a frown. “I seem to have some faint recollection of doing something like that, but I...” She shook her head. “No, it eludes me. I can’t remember.”

Mason said impatiently, “Why don’t you come clean? You were clever enough to read the obituary notices and pretend to be the daughter of a woman who had just died. I’m trying to help you. At least tell me what I’m up against.”

“I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

Mason motioned toward the bottle of sleeping tablets. “And you thought you could take this way out and it would help?”

“I don’t know. I guess I must have been... perhaps I was nervous. Perhaps I hadn’t been sleeping at all and I just took too large a dose. I can’t remember.”

Mason turned to Della Street. “Willing to take a chance, Della?”

She nodded. “Anything you say, chief.”

Mason said, “Put her in a car. Take her into Los Angeles. See that there’s plenty of money in her purse. Take her to a private hospital. Under no circumstances give your name or address. Put on the rush act. Tell the first nurse you meet that this woman accosted you on the street and asked you to help her find out who she was. That you think it’s a racket of some sort, but that she seems to have money, and if she needs any assistance, the hospital is the place where she should be able to get it. Then turn and get out of the door fast.”

Della nodded.

Mason turned to Marcia Winnett. “You heard what I said?”

“Yes... I... you mustn’t take chances for me. I know that I must have killed him. I can’t remember the details, Mr. Mason, but I killed him. I think it was in self-defense. I can’t remember.”

“I know,” Mason said gently. “Don’t worry about it. Remember you’re a widow now. Don’t get your memory back, and the next time you see me remember I’m a stranger. I’m going to try to help you. Get started, Della. Drive with the window open. Let her get lots of cold air. Get her to a hospital.”

“How’ll you get back?” Della asked.

“I’ll have one of Drake’s men pick me up.”

Della looked at Marcia with cold contempt. “If you ask me,” she blurted indignantly, “this act of hers...”

Mason gently closed one eye in an owlish wink. “Take her to the hospital, Della... and be sure you get out from under.”

Chapter nine

The gravel on the driveway caused the wheels to slide as Mason slammed on the brakes. The car skidded at a sharp angle and Mason didn’t even bother to straighten it out. He snapped off the lights and the ignition, leaped out and headed up the steps of the Winnett mansion, pushed open the door, and strode into the drawing room unannounced.

Mrs. Victoria Winnett and Daphne Rexford were lingering over liqueurs, talking in low voices.

Mrs. Winnett’s smile was distantly friendly. “Really, Mr. Mason,” she said, “you’re rather late — for dinner.”

The lawyer merely nodded, glancing at Daphne Rexford.

Mrs. Winnett reached for the bell. “I presume I can get you something,” she said. “But after this, if you don’t mind—”

“Let the food go,” Mason said. “I want to talk with you.”

The finger which had been touching the bell remained motionless. She said, “Really, Mr. Mason,” in a voice that indicated a polite rebuke.

Daphne Rexford hurriedly arose. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a telephone call I want to make...”

“Sit down, my dear. After all, I can’t permit this human tornado to come bursting in on our tête-à-tête with...”

Mason caught Daphne Rexford’s eye and jerked his head. She made a feeble attempt at a smile and left the room.

“Really, Mr. Mason,” Mrs. Winnett said, her voice now quite cold. “My attachment to my son is such that I am willing to make all allowances for his friends. Even so...”

She let her unfinished sentence carry its own meaning.

Mason drew up a chair and sat down. “Where’s the major?”

“He was called out about twenty minutes ago.”

“You’re fond of Daphne Rexford, aren’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Was she in the observation tower Monday?”

“Really, Mr. Mason. I’m not on the witness stand.”

“You’re going to be,” Mason said.

“I’m afraid you’ve been drinking.”

“If you think this is a joke,” Mason said, “just keep on stalling. Time is precious. The officers may be out here any minute.”

“Officers?”

“Officers. Cops. Bulls. Detectives. Plain clothes men. Newspaper photographers. Walking around here with their hats on, throwing cigarettes on the rugs, taking flashlight pictures with captions — ‘Society Leader Insists on Innocence.’ ”

That last did it. Mason saw her wince.

“You’re a good poker player, but you can’t bluff now. This is a showdown, Mrs. Winnett.”

“Just what do you want?”

“To know all that you know.”

She took a quick breath. “I know some trouble has developed between Marcia and Claude. I think that Marcia has left him. I hope she has.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t feel that they are destined to be happy together...”

“No, I mean why has she left him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Make a guess.”

“I can’t.”

“You know something about what happened on Monday?”

“On Monday? No.”

“Was Daphne in the cupola on Monday?”

“I think she was.”

“Did she come to you and tell you anything about what she saw either Monday or Wednesday?”

“Mr. Mason, you’re being impertinent!”

Mason said, “You’ve found out something about Marcia. You thought she had involved the family good name, and took it on yourself to try to avoid notoriety. Your attempt backfired. I’m trying to find out just how badly it backfired.”

“You can’t prove any of these things you’re saying, Mr. Mason.”

“That,” Mason said, “is only because I haven’t the facilities at my command that the police have. The police may prove it.”

“They won’t,” she said coldly. “I have told you absolutely everything I know.”

Mason pushed back his chair, started for the door which led to the patio, then abruptly whirled, tiptoed swiftly back to the drawing room door, and jerked it open.

Daphne Rexford, plainly embarrassed, tried to pretend she had just been approaching the door. “Heavens,” she said, laughing, “I thought we were going to have a collision, Mr. Mason. You seem in a hurry.” She tried to push easily on past him.

Mason barred her way. “You were listening.”

“Mr. Mason, how dare you say anything like that?”

“Come in,” Mason said. “Let’s have it out. Let’s... no, on second thought, I think I’ll talk with you alone. Come on.”

Mason took her arm. She drew back.

Mrs. Winnett said, “Mr. Mason is completely overstepping the prerogatives of a guest. I dislike to ask him to leave in my son’s absence, but...”

Mason said to Daphne Rexford, “Police are going to be swarming over the place before midnight. Do you want to talk to me or do you want to talk to them?”

Daphne Rexford said over her shoulder to Mrs. Winnett, “Good heavens, Victoria, let’s humor the man! I’ll be back within a few minutes.”

Without waiting for an answer from Victoria Winnett, she smiled disarmingly at Mason and moved away from the drawing room. “Come on, where do you want to talk?”

“Over here’s good enough,” Mason said, stopping in a corner of the library.

Daphne Rexford stood facing him. “What,” she asked in a low voice, “are the police going to be investigating?”

Mason met her eyes. “Murder.”

“Who... who was killed?”

“Let’s talk first about what you know,” Mason said. “You’re the one who has the trick right eye. Mrs. Winnett has been covering up for you.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“Whenever you look through the binoculars,” Mason explained, “you have to move the right eyepiece quite a distance in order to see clearly, don’t you?”

“What if I do?”

Mason said, “You were the one who was watching Marcia on Monday. What did you see?”

“Nothing. I—”

“Were you here Monday? Were you in the observation cupola?”

“I believe I was.”

“You’re over here quite a bit?”

“Yes. Victoria and I are great friends. She’s an older woman, of course, but I like her. I like what she stands for and—”

“And like to be near Major Winnett and see as much of him as you can?”

“Certainly not,” she said indignantly.

“We’ll let it go at that for the time being,” Mason said. “Now, about Monday, what did you see?”

“Nothing. I—”

“You were up in the tower?”

“Yes. I go there quite frequently. I study birds, and I write poetry. I can get inspiration up there, and—”

“And keep an eye on Major Winnett’s wife when she’s around the grounds, I suppose?”

“Mr. Mason, that’s unfair and untrue.”

“All right. You saw her Monday. What did you see?”

“I... nothing.”

Mason said, “You saw her go into that orange trailer that was parked down in the trees. You watched her—”

“It wasn’t orange. It was green.”

Mason grinned at her.

“All right,” she said. “Don’t think you’re trapping me. I just happened to notice Marcia riding, and then I saw a house trailer parked in the trees.”

“Did you see her go in?”

“I saw her tie up her horse and walk over toward the trailer. I wasn’t interested. I returned to the poetry I was writing.”

“How long was she in there?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why did you watch her?”

“I didn’t watch her. I was looking at birds.”

“You had a pencil and a pad of paper up there with you?”

“Yes, of course. I told you I write poetry. One doesn’t write on the walls, Mr. Mason. I keep pencil and paper in the drawer of the table up there.”

“You used the binoculars to get the license number of the automobile. You marked it down, didn’t you?”

“No.”

“When were you up there last writing poetry?”

“Why... why, today.”

“Do you go up there every day?”

“Not every day, but quite frequently.”

“Have you been up every day this week?”

“I... I guess I have. Yes.”

The telephone rang, a sharp, strident, shrill summons.

Mason waited, listening, heard the butler answer it. Then the butler walked with unhurried dignity across the library to the drawing room and said something to Mrs. Winnett. She arose and went to the telephone. Mason heard her say, “Hello, Claude darling... Yes, dear... he’s here... I’m afraid. Claude, that there has been some misunderstanding. Mr. Mason’s activities are hardly such as one would connect with a mining matter. He has shown quite an interest in what Marcia—”

Mason walked over, gently pushed her aside, took the receiver from her hand and said into the telephone, “Okay, Major, I’ve got it now. Get out here at once.”

Major Winnett’s voice was harsh with anger. “Just what do you mean, Mr. Mason? I’m afraid that you and I—”

Mason interrupted. “Your mother is trying to protect somebody. Daphne Rexford is trying to protect somebody. There’s only one person I can think of whom they’d both go to such lengths to protect. That’s you. If you get out here fast, we may be able to beat the police to it.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know damn well what I mean,” Mason said and hung up.

Chapter ten

Major Winnett’s limp was more noticeable as he moved across the drawing room to confront Perry Mason. “I don’t know exactly what’s been going on here,” he said angrily. “I don’t know what prerogatives you have assumed, Mr. Mason. But as far as I’m concerned, our relationship is ended.”

Mason said, “Sit down.”

“I’m waiting to drive you to town, Mason, in case you don’t have a car. If you do, I’ll go with you to your room and you can pack up.”

Mason said, “As nearly as I can put things together, you had previously discovered the trailer parked down in the trees. You were suspicious. You went up to the observation tower and saw Marcia go to the trailer and then later on saw the car and trailer go away. You took down the license number of the car. You looked up the man who owned that car. After that you kept a pretty close watch on what was going on.

“You didn’t say anything when Marcia canceled the insurance on her jewelry and then had such an opportune burglary. You were very careful not to call the police because you knew the police would tab it as an inside job. You let your wife think it was because your mother didn’t want any notoriety, but you got the jewelry and hid it in that twelve-gauge shotgun. After that you kept a pretty good watch on your wife. Where did you get the jewelry?”

“Mason,” Winnett said coldly, “in case you don’t leave this house at once, I’m going to call the servants and have you put out.”

Mason brushed aside Major Winnett’s angry statement with a gesture. “You’ll have to hire more servants, then,” he said, and went on. “When the trailer came back on Wednesday and Marcia went down there the second time, you decided to investigate. When you got down there, you found you had a fight on your hands. You killed Harry Drummond. Then you locked up the trailer, came back to the house and waited until dark. Then you took the trailer with its gruesome evidence of murder, drove to a trailer camp—”

“Mason, watch what you’re saying. By heaven, I’ll throw you out myself!”

“—parked the trailer,” Mason went on, as smoothly as though Major Winnett had said nothing, “but only after some difficulty, then got out and went home. Then you felt it would add an artistic touch to have two shots fired so the time of the killing could be definitely fixed. So you went back, sneaked into the trailer park, stood in the dark outside the trailer and fired two shots in the air.

“You didn’t realize that Marcia had been following you, and when she heard those shots she naturally thought you had killed Drummond out of jealousy, decided that she loved you too much to let you take the rap, and so skipped out. That’s the reason you didn’t go to a detective agency to get someone to try to find your wife. You wanted a lawyer who specialized in murder cases, because you knew there was going to be a murder case.”

Major Winnett snapped his fingers. “A lot of half-baked theories!”

“You see,” Mason went on, “you made a couple of fatal mistakes. One of them was that the first shot you fired missed Drummond and went clean through the trailer, leaving a hole in the double walls that clearly shows the direction taken by the bullet. When you parked that trailer in the automobile camp under the eucalyptus trees, it was dark and you didn’t take the precaution of noticing where a bullet fired under such circumstances would have hit. That was a mistake, Major. As it happened, the hole in the trailer was lined up absolutely with the window of an adjoining trailer.

“At first the police will think the shot might have been fired from the other trailer. Then they’ll make a more careful investigation and find that the direction of the bullet was the other way. Then they’ll know that the murder wasn’t committed there at the trailer park. There’s another little thing you hadn’t thought of. At the time you moved the trailer, the body had been dead for some time but the pool of blood hadn’t entirely coagulated. Near the center of the pool there was blood that was still liquid. It spread around when the trailer swayed from side to side in going over irregularities in the road. That is what gives the pool of clotted blood the peculiar appearance of having little jagged streamers flowing from it.”

Major Winnett was silent and motionless. His eyes were fixed on Mason with cold concentration. The anger had left his face, and it was quite plain the man’s mind was desperately turning over Mason’s words.

“So,” Mason went on, “you knew that when the police started to investigate, they would find the dead man had been Marcia’s first husband. You knew they would then start looking for her. When they found that she had skipped out, you knew what would happen. And so, you came to me.”

Major Winnett cleared his throat. “You made a statement that Marcia had followed me. Do you have any evidence to back that up?”

Mason said, “It’s a logical deduction from—”

“That’s where you’re wrong. Come to my room. I want to talk with you.”

Mason said, “You haven’t much time. The police have found the body. They’re going to be out here looking for Marcia as soon as they have completed an identification and checked up on the man’s history.”

“All right,” Winnett said, “come with me. Mother, you and Daphne pretend you haven’t heard any of this. I’ll talk with you later.”

Major Winnett led the way to his room, opened a portable bar and took out a bottle of Scotch.

Mason refused with a gesture, then when Winnett had poured out a drink, the lawyer reached over and poured half of that drink back into the bottle. “Just enough to give yourself a bracer,” he warned, “not enough to give you a letdown afterward. You’re going to be talking with the police pretty soon. Start talking with me now.”

Winnett said, “I didn’t know Marcia went to visit the man in the trailer on Monday. I did know that Marcia went to the trailer on Wednesday.”

“How did you know?”

“I was watching her.”

“Why were you watching her?”

“Someone told me she had been to the trailer on Monday.”

“Who?”

“My mother.”

“What did you do?”

“After she left the trailer on Wednesday, I went down there to see who was in the trailer and see why my wife was having a rendezvous.”

“What did you find?”

“I found the man dead. I found Marcia’s jewelry spread out on a table in front of him. I realized what must have happened. I saw that one shot had gone into the man’s heart. One had apparently gone past his head and into the wall of the trailer.”

“All right,” Mason said sarcastically, “it’s your story. Go ahead with it. What did you do then?”

“I took Marcia’s jewelry and locked up the trailer. I came home. I waited until after dark, then I moved the trailer to a trailer camp I knew of, where I parked it. I got out and left the trailer and walked to where I had parked my own car earlier in the day. I had driven home before I realized that I could completely throw the police off the scent by letting it appear the murder had been committed late that night in the trailer camp. So I returned, stood near the trailer, fired two shots into the air, then ran to my car and came back home. I thought Marcia was in bed. But when, after a couple of hours, I went up, I found she wasn’t there, that she had left that note. That’s why I came to you. I wanted your help. That’s the truth, so help me.”

Mason said, “You wrote down the license number of that automobile. Later on you tried to cover it up by adding some words and some figures. Then you added the total—”

“Mr. Mason, I swear I did not.”

“Who did then?”

“I don’t know.”

“Someone wrote down the license number of the car,” Mason said, “4E4705, then tried to camouflage it by working in a number of other figures and writing at the top These numbers called — but a mistake was made in the addition. I... wait a minute...”

Mason stood motionless, his eyes level-lidded with concentration.

“Perhaps,” Major Winnett suggested, “it was...”

Mason motioned him to silence, then, after a moment, picked up the telephone, dialed the hotel where Drake had established an office, and when he had Drake on the line, said, “Hello, Paul. Perry talking. I think I’ve got it. There wasn’t any mistake in the addition.”

“I don’t get it,” Drake said. “The total should be 49″37818. Actually it’s 49″37817.”

“And that figure is right,” Mason said. “The number we want is 4E4704.”

“But the license number was 4E4705.”

Mason said, “What happens when you have two cars? You are given license numbers in chronological order. Look up license number 4E4704. You can start your search in room six-thirteen there at the hotel. Make it snappy.”

Mason slammed up the telephone receiver and nodded to Major Winnett. “We’ve got one more chance. It’s slim. The next time you go to a lawyer, don’t be so damn smart. Tell him the truth. Where’s your mother’s room?”

“In the other wing at the far end of the corridor.”

“And the nurse’s room?” Mason asked. “That must be a communicating room?”

“It is.”

Mason said, “Let’s go.”

Helen Custer, answering their knock, seemed somewhat flustered. “Why, good evening. I, ah... is there something...”

Mason pushed his way into the room. Major Winnett hesitated a moment, then followed. Mason kicked the door shut.

“Police are on their way out here,” Mason said to the nurse.

“The police? What for?”

“To arrest you.”

“For what?”

Mason said, “That’s up to you.”

“What do you mean?”

Mason said, “Playing it one way, it’s blackmail. Playing it the other way, it’s being an accessory after the fact on a murder charge. You’d better take the rap for blackmail.”

“I... I... why, what are you talking about?”

Mason said, “I’ve practiced law long enough to know that a man should never torture clues to make them point in the direction he thinks they should go. When that column of figures added up to 49E37817 and I thought it should have been 49E37818, I assumed a mistake had been made in the addition. It wasn’t a mistake. You marked down the number Cal 4E4704. You wanted to preserve that number but you didn’t want anyone to think that it had any significance, so you added the words at the top, These numbers, and then inserted led after the Cal, so that made it read, These numbers called. Then you added other numbers after that number and then totaled the sum. Now then, you probably have less than five minutes to tell us why you wrote down 4E4704.”

She glanced from Mason to Major Winnett. There was dismay in her eyes. “What makes you think I—”

Mason took out his watch, said, “If the police get here first, you’ll be an accessory after the fact. If you use your head, you may be able to get by with a rap for attempted blackmail.”

“I... I... oh, Mr. Mason. I can’t...”

Mason watched the hand ticking off the seconds.

“All right,” she blurted. “It was yesterday morning. I was looking for Mrs. Victoria Winnett. I thought she was up in the observation tower. I went up there. She wasn’t there. The binoculars were adjusted so they pointed down to that grove of trees. I just happened to look through them and saw the trailer. A light coupé was parked beside the big Buick that was attached to the trailer. A man and a woman were having a struggle of some sort. The man tried to strike her and the woman reached into her blouse. I saw the flash of a gun, then another flash. The man staggered back and the woman calmly closed the door of the trailer, got in her car and drove away.

“Through the binoculars I got a look at the number of her automobile. It was Cal 4E4704. I wrote it down on a piece of paper, intending to tell the police. Then... well, then I... thought... I...”

“What did you do with the piece of paper?” Mason asked.

“After a moment I realized that perhaps I could... well, you know. So I changed the focus on the binoculars back to—”

“So what did you do?” Mason asked.

“I didn’t want that number to seem too conspicuous. I had written Cal 4E4704, so I wrote down other things, just as you said.”

“The first number you wrote on a single sheet of paper that was on the table and not on the pad. When you wrote the rest of it, you had placed the paper on the pad.”

“I... I guess I did.”

Mason pointed to the telephone. “Ring up police headquarters,” he said. “Tell them what you saw. Tell them that it’s been bothering you, that you thought you should have reported it to the police, but that Mrs. Winnett is so opposed to any form of publicity that you didn’t know just what to do; that tonight you asked Mrs. Winnett about it and she told you to telephone the police at once; that the reason you didn’t do so before was because the trailer was gone when you looked again and you supposed that the man hadn’t been hurt and had driven the trailer away.”

“If I do that,” she said, “then I...”

“Then you stand about one chance in ten of beating the rap all around,” Mason said grimly. “Don’t do it, and you’re stuck. What did you do — actually, I mean?”

“I looked up the license number. I found that the car was registered in the name of a Mrs. Harry Drummond. I located her, and while I wasn’t crude or anything... I wanted to open up a beauty shop and... well, she agreed to finance me.”

Once more Mason pointed to the telephone. “Get police headquarters. Come on, Major. Let’s go.”

Out in the corridor Major Winnett said, “But how about my wife, Mason? How about my wife? That’s the thing that bothers me. That—”

“And it damned well should bother you,” Mason said. “She must have seen you driving the trailer Wednesday night and followed you to the place where you parked it. She went in, found Drummond dead and thought you had been trying to avenge the family’s good name. You can see now what happened. She gave Drummond money to get a divorce. He told her he’d secured one. She married again. Drummond made the mistake of also marrying again. When the blow-off came, his second wife threatened to prosecute him for bigamy unless he gave her money. The only way he had to get money was to put the heat on Marcia. She was too conscientious to ask you for money or to try to stick the insurance company for money, so she staged a fake burglary, cached her jewelry in the swallow’s nest, then turned over the jewelry to him. When the second Mrs. Drummond came for her money, all her husband had to offer her was jewelry. She thought it was hot. That started a fight and she shot him. And probably shot him in self-defense at that.”

“But how am I going to explain — about moving the body?” Major Winnett asked.

Mason looked at him pityingly. “You’re not going to explain one damn thing,” he said. “What do you think you have a lawyer for? Get in my car. Leave the nurse to put the police on a hot trail.”

Chapter eleven

It was nearing midnight when Perry Mason and Paul Drake walked into metropolitan police headquarters with a description of Marcia Winnett and a series of photographs.

“Of course,” Mason explained to Sergeant Dorset, “the major doesn’t want any publicity. She had a spell of amnesia several years ago. He’s afraid it may have returned.”

Sergeant Dorset frowned down at a memo on his desk. “We’ve picked up a woman who answers that description — amnesia — a hospital telephoned in the report. How does it happen you’re mixed in the case, Mason?”

“I handle the Winnetts’ business.”

“The deuce you do!”

“That’s right.”

Dorset regarded the memo on his desk. “The county teletype says a man named Drummond was murdered. Mrs. Winnett’s nurse saw it all, phoned in a report. She had the license number of the murder car, Drummond’s wife’s.”

“Indeed,” Mason said, his voice showing courteous interest, but nothing else. “May we take a look at this amnesia case now? The major is very anxious.”

“And,” Dorset went on, “when the county officers picked up Drummond’s wife, she swore that not only was the killing in self-defense, but that the nurse had been blackmailing her. The nurse called her a liar. Mrs. Drummond’s confession puts her in a poor position to claim blackmail. I understand the county is so pleased with having cracked the murder case they’re washing their hands of all the rest of it.”

Mason glared at Sergeant Dorset. “Will you kindly tell me what all this has to do with Major Winnett’s wife?”

Dorset sighed. “I wish to hell I knew,” he said, and then added significantly, “but I’ll bet a hundred to one we never find out now.”

Mason said, “Come down to earth. That murder case is county. The sheriff’s office wouldn’t like a city dick sticking his nose in.”

Dorset nodded. “And by the same sign the way you’ve arranged it, the amnesia case is city and the county men won’t mess around with that.”

He regarded the lawyer with a certain scowling respect.

Mason said very positively, “I don’t see what the murder has to do with all this if the sheriff’s office has a solution and a confession, but one thing I do know is that if you have Major Winnett’s wife here she’s suffering from a nervous ailment and if you make it worse with a lot of fool notions, you’ll wish you hadn’t. Do I get her now, or do I get a habeas corpus?”

“Hell, you get her now,” Dorset said disgustedly. “I can’t help feeling that if I knew everything you’d been doing in the last twelve hours I’d get a promotion, and if I try to find out, I’ll be back pounding pavements. Damn it!”

He picked up the telephone and said into the transmitter, “Send that amnesia case number eighty-four on the night bulletin up to my office.”

Content

Erie Stanley Gardner
The Case of the Crying Swallow

Chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter six

Chapter seven

Chapter eight

Chapter nine

Chapter ten

Chapter eleven