Perry Mason - The Case Of The Singing Skirt Part 6

"Involving him?"

"That's right. He filed charges against a girl who had been working there, claimed that she had been stealing money from the cash register and that she had stolen a gun. They found the gun in her possession, and she claimed the whole thing was a frame-up. There was an investigation. I guess the kid had been smoking marijuana. Quite a lot of those people connected with music go for that type of junk. The police found some marijuana in her apartment along with this stolen gun. Then George's friend, the chief of police down there, took the girl's fingerprints and from them dug up an FBI record which showed a prior conviction for marijuana."

"What happened?" Mason asked, interested.

"I think the girl went up, as I remember it, but she was making some wild accusations, claiming that George and his partner had framed her. Just keep an eye on those boys, Perry, and remember they've got the town all sewed up. If you have any trouble with George Anc.l.i.tas, don't leave your car parked in front of a fireplug in Rowena or you'll be in jail for six months. And if they can get you where there are no witnesses, they'll charge you with resisting an officer and show bruises on your face to prove the charge."

"A nice cozy little setup," Mason said.

"It is for a fact," Drake told him. "Well, I'll be on my way, Perry. I'm keeping on the job on that Finsley case. I expect to hear something definite by tomorrow. You get back to your dictation."

"Thank you, Paul," Della Street said sweetly.

"I like to make him work," Drake said and left the office.

Perry Mason sighed, said, "One cup of coffee and one cigarette, Della."

"All right," she said, "only answer those two top letters while you're sipping the coffee and smoking the cigarette."

"Slave driver!" he charged.

Della Street adjusted her shorthand notebook on her knee. "I'm the slave," she said. "What do you want to tell that fellow?"

Della Street's phone rang while she was in the midst of taking Mason's dictation on the letter.

Della said, "h.e.l.lo," listened, then cupped her hand over the mouthpiece and said to Perry Mason, "Your girl friend."

Mason raised his eyebrows.

"Ellen Robb," Della Street said.

"All right," Mason said, "we've wasted enough time with her, Della. She can't keep dropping in on us this way without an appointment. Tell Gertie to explain to her I'm busy, that I see clients only by appointment and . . . well, you'd better go out and tell her yourself. I don't want to be too obvious with the brush-off. I'm afraid this is getting to be one of those things."

"I'll send her on her way," Della Street said.

She pushed back her chair, walked quickly out of the office, and Mason, waiting to resume his dictation, studied the letter to which he had been replying. After some thirty seconds he began to frown impatiently. He put the letter down, took a cigarette from the silver case on the office desk and was just lighting it when Della Street returned to the office.

"Perhaps I've been uncharitable," she said.

"What is it?" Mason said.

"This time," Della Street said, "she has a story and a black eye."

"How come the black eye?"

"George."

Mason's face darkened. "I'm afraid," he said, "George needs something in the way of a lesson."

"I thought you might feel that way."

"How's she dressed?" Mason asked.

"Same outfit she had on yesterday," Della Street said, "and she'll probably lean over and put her hands on the arm of your chair. But . . . well, Chief, you have to feel sorry for her. She's been batted around, and, after all, that figure of hers is her showcase. And someone has planted a gun in her baggage."

"A gun?" Mason asked.

Della Street nodded.

"So," Mason said, smiling, "I take it you didn't send her on her way."

Della Street shook her head. "I told her that I thought perhaps you'd be able to see her, that you were very busy this morning and that you usually only saw people by appointment but that you might be able to see her. She's quite upset."

"Let's take a look," Mason said. "Bring her in. This gun business--I don't understand that. Tell her to come in. But I warn you, Della, I'm going to put her through a wringer this time."

"The poor kid is pretty much upset," Della said.

"You've changed your tune quite rapidly," Mason observed.

"I have," she admitted. "If there's anything that riles me it's the idea of these big burly men who demonstrate their manhood by hitting a good-looking girl in the eye. I hope you take this man George and put him through the hoops. After all, Miss Robb didn't sign anything, and there really wasn't any settlement within the legal meaning of the term. I think sticking George for about five thousand dollars would teach him a mighty good lesson."

"Let's get her in," Mason said. "I'm interested in the gun."

Della Street returned to the outer office and ushered Ellen Robb into Mason's presence.

Ellen Robb tried a lopsided grin. "Isn't it a beaut?" she said, fingering her swollen eye.

"All right," Mason said, "let's cut out the window dressing and get down to bra.s.s tacks. What happened?"

"I don't know. George was in a terrible mood last night. Every time I said anything he'd snap me up, and finally I couldn't take it any more and I told him I didn't have to. Then he really gave me a bawling out."

"What sort of a bawling out?" Mason asked.

"I think a lawyer would refer to it as loud, vulgar and obscene language."

"And then what?"

"Then he said something I just wouldn't take, and I slapped his face and .-. well, I have a s.h.i.+ner to show for it."

"No one interfered with your packing up?"

"No one interfered with my packing up. I got out and took a taxi to another motel. This morning when I was going through my things, I looked in my bag and . . . well, there was a gun in it."

"What sort of a gun?"

Ellen Robb opened her purse. "This," she said. "And I'm quite certain it's one of the guns he keeps there for protection. He has three or four of them by the various cash registers. This looks exactly like one of those guns. So, what do I do?"

Mason took the gun, motioned to Della Street to take her notebook. "A .38-caliber Smith & Wesson revolver with the number stamped in the metal, C 48809," he dictated.

He pushed the catch which released the cylinder, swung out the cylinder, said, "One empty cartridge case in the cylinder."

Mason put the gun down on his desk, then after a few seconds picked it up and dropped it in his right coat pocket.

"Let's a.s.sume someone put this revolver in your bag," Mason said. "When was it done--before your altercation with George Anc.l.i.tas or afterwards?"

"Before. The minute he hit me I went right to my locker and started getting my things out, then I went to my room in the motel and packed my bag."

"Could he have gone to your room while you were getting your personal things out of your locker?"

"I suppose he could have, but somehow I don't think he did. I don't know. I have an idea . . . it's hard to tell, Mr. Mason, but I have a definite feeling that George had decided he was going to pick a fight with me over something and get rid of me. I think the whole thing had been carefully planned and was all cut and dried."

"Did you go and see Mrs. Ellis?"

"I tried to, but I never got to see her."

"What do you mean, you tried?"

"They have a yacht. I rang up the house and tried to talk with her. I found she and her husband were going on a cruise and she was supposed to be aboard the yacht, getting it ready for the cruise. I went down to the yacht, but she wasn't on board."

"Did you go out to the yacht?"

"Yes. I got a skiff, rowed out and went around the yacht calling her name. Then I went aboard. There wasn't anyone there. I thought it over and felt that since they were going cruising together they had probably patched things up and it would be best for me to say nothing."

"This was before your altercation with George?"

"Oh, yes, quite a bit before. The fight didn't start until nearly eleven o'clock, but I felt he was just looking for an excuse to pop me one from the minute I started to work."

"What time did you go on duty?"

"Eight o'clock."

Mason said, "Look here, Miss Robb, you have had stenographic training, haven't you?"

She seemed surprised. "Yes. How did you know?"

"You were taking down my conversation yesterday when I was talking on the phone."

She flushed, seemed embarra.s.sed, then said, "Well, yes. I-- You were talking about me and . . . well, you were talking with Mrs. Ellis' lawyer, and I just wanted notes on what you said."

Mason said, "You told me that you'd been married?"

She nodded.

"Want to talk about it?" Mason asked.

"No."

"And you've been around?"

"I've been around. I'm twenty-four years old and thought I was smart. I won a beauty contest. I thought I was going to be a Hollywood actress. I had a darned good husband and I guess I just took him too much for granted. When he started getting restless and playing around, I played the jealous wife to perfection. I nagged him and made his home life a h.e.l.l. I drove him right into her arms. I told you that before."

"And then?" Mason asked.

"Then," she said, "I just didn't seem to care. I went out and tried to get away from everything and everybody I knew. I found that good stenographic jobs were rather difficult to get. I got a job as hat-check girl in The Green Swan. We .only got to keep a very small percentage of our tips there, and George had his eye on me. He found out I liked to sing and he offered me a good job with a salary and a chance to keep all my tips-- Look, Mr. Mason, your time is valuable. If I tried to tell you about all of my career, you'd have to charge me more than I could afford to pay."

"Have you ever had any trouble with the law?"

"Never."

Mason turned to Della Street, said, "If you'll excuse us, Miss Robb, I have to make a rather confidential phone call at this time." Mason walked around his desk, opened the door to the law library and nodded to Della Street.

She joined him and Mason pulled the door shut.

"Well?" Della asked.

"I don't like it," Mason said. "I have a feeling that I've been suckered into a trap."

"By Ellen Robb?" she asked.

"By George Anc.l.i.tas," Mason said, "and I don't like it."

"What do you think happened?"

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

"Your weakness?" Della Street asked.

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

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

"The gun?" she asked.

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

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

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

"You intend to do that?"

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

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

"She slapped his face," Della pointed out.

"He egged her on," Mason said.