Perry Mason - The Case Of The Singing Skirt Part 10

She reached in the shoe box which contained dry ice and pulled out a twelve-inch cylinder of ice.

"All right," Mason said. "We'll try it for strength."

The lawyer took the gun which Ellen Robb had brought with her, ran the tube of ice through the trigger guard, then moved up two chairs and suspended the revolver between the two chairs, the cylinder of ice resting on the back of each one.

"Perfect!" he said, quickly removed the tube of ice and put it back in the box containing the dry ice.

"Now what?" Della Street asked.

"Now," Mason said, "we go down to Rowena. I stop on the block back of The Big Barn, where there's an entrance to the motel. You get out, walk through the motel, around the swimming pooi and into The Big Barn by the back entrance. You go to the women's powder room--"

"Carrying this shoe box?" Della Street asked.

Mason shook his head. "You'll be carrying a purse by that time. The purse will be filled with dry ice, this tube of ice and the gun. We'll also stuff the hollow of ice with dry ice. You go into the women's powder room and look for a place to plant the gun, either high up by suspending the gun from two corners of a part.i.tion, or preferably, if you can find a washbowl that has open plumbing underneath it, and I think you can, you can suspend the two ends of the ice tube from the two shut-off valves which you'll find underneath; one on the hot water, one on the cold water pipes."

"And then?" she asked.

"Then after a period of time, depending on temperature, the ice tube melts enough so the gun drops down to the floor. The ice will melt into a pooi of water, and someone will find the gun on the floor."

"And they'll connect it with us?" Della Street asked.

"If you do it right," Mason said, "and go in from the back entrance this early in the evening, no one is going to see you. I don't like to ask it of you, Della, but I am an attorney of record now with interests adverse to George Anc.l.i.tas, and it's not ethical for me to talk with him except in the presence of his attorney. If I should go there, he'll want to talk with me. And I want the gun found in the women's powder room."

"Why there?" she asked.

"Because there's an attendant there," Mason said, "and because it's right near the back door which leads to the motel. You can pop in there, wait until some other woman comes in, plant the ice tube, give the attendant a quarter and leave the place. You can rejoin me in the car. We'll have stuffed the hole in this ice with dry ice, which will keep it from melting for some little time. When the gun falls to the floor, either the attendant will see it, or some woman who is in the place will see it within a few minutes after it has fallen. If we're lucky, the attendant will swear the gun couldn't possibly have been there over four or five minutes."

"And we'll be long gone?" Della Street asked.

"We'll be long gone," Mason said.

"How much of a crime am I committing?"

"I've told you," Mason said, "we're returning lost property. That's highly commendable."

"How about suppressing evidence?"

"Evidence of what?"

"Of theft."

"I didn't steal anything," Mason said.

"How about Ellen Robb?"

"She's a client."

"She's a client," Della Street said thoughtfully, "but don't go overboard on that girl. She knows which side of the bread has the b.u.t.ter and she doesn't intend to have anyone give her bread that isn't b.u.t.tered."

Mason grinned. "Meaning, perhaps, that she might b.u.t.ter up people?"

"Particularly her lawyer," Della Street said. "I wish you'd play this one close to your chest, Chief."

Mason nodded. "That's why I want to get that gun back where it belongs."

"What will George Anc.l.i.tas think when the gun is reported as having been found in the women's powder room?"

"That, of course, depends," Mason said, "on what he's planning to do."

"You think George Anc.l.i.tas intends to file charges of theft against Ellen?"

Mason's forehead puckered into a frown. "I wish I knew the answer to that, Della," he said. "I certainly thought that was what he had in mind when he planted the gun in Ellen's suitcase, but why is he holding his fire? He's waiting for something. What is it?"

"Perhaps waiting to find out where she is," Della Street said.

"I doubt it--and there's one thing that bothers me."

"What?"

"Suppose he's playing a much deeper game than that?"

"What could it be?"

"I don't know," Mason said, "but I want to get that gun back into his possession. I want it planted in the women's powder room. The attendant there will find it. In all probability she's frightened to death of a gun. She'll cause something of a commotion and . . . well, George will know he's got his gun back."

"Of course he'll suspect you," Mason said. "And he'll also conclude that he waited too long before lowering the boom on Ellen Robb, that she found the gun in her suitcase and managed to return it. George will naturally be furious."

"When do we go?" Della Street asked, Mason said, "You go down to the shop that sells handbags, on the corner, and get a leather handbag in which you can stuff the dry ice, the gun and the tube of ice. Then we're on our way."

CHAPTER SEVEN.

Perry Mason eased the car to a stop.

"Everything okay, Della?"

Della Street put her hand on the catch of the door. "Everything okay."

"Now, look," Mason said, "there's just a chance something may go wrong at either end of the line. If anything goes wrong with you, if anybody catches you, you send for me. I'll come in and we'll face it. I'll state that you were acting under my instructions, that I was returning a gun that had been planted in my client's baggage. We'll take it from there.

"Now, get that straight, Della. I don't want you to try this on your own. If anything goes wrong, you just step back out of the picture and I step in and take the responsibility. Understand?"

She hesitated a moment, then nodded.

"Now, those are instructions," Mason said. "Don't try to take the responsibility if you get into a jam. Now, here's the other situation. Something may go wrong out here. 'Someone may spot me.

"I'm going to drive around the block, into the alley and turn my lights on. If you see my lights on, everything is clear. You come on out and get in the car. . You can see those lights from the end of the swimming pooi there.

"If, however, anything goes wrong, I won't have my lights on. If you come to the end of the swimming pool and see that my lights are off, don't come anywhere near the car. Understand?"

"For how long?" she asked.

"Until you see the car in the alley with the lights on. Then come across and join me."

"And if it's a long time, say over half an hour?"

"Under those circ.u.mstances," Mason said, "get back the best way you can. Take a bus or hitchhike."

"Okay," she said, "I'm on my way."

She opened the car door, slid out to the sidewalk, crossed the sidewalk and walked past the entrance to the motel around back of the swimming pooi.

Mason circled the block to the left, came to the alley, drove down the alley until he was in a position where he could see the end of the swimming pool, then shut off his motor and waited, with his lights on.

So intent was the lawyer on watching the swimming pool that he failed to keep an eye on the rearview mirror and did not see the car which pulled up behind him.

Two men got out and walked up to where Mason was sitting.

Miles Overton, the chief of police, said, "This is the lawyer I was telling you about."

Mason snapped to quick attention, turned and said casually, "h.e.l.lo, Chief."

"Want you to meet a friend of mine," the chief said. "This is Ralston Fenwick, Mr. Mason."

A heavy-set, bullnecked individual with smiling lips and cold green eyes extended a pudgy hand on which a scintillating diamond made sparks of fire. "How are you, Mr. Mason? Mighty glad to know you."

"What are you doing here?" the chief asked.

"Parking," Mason said wearily, switching off the lights on his car. "Looking over the lay of the land. I want to make a diagram of the premises."

"How come?" the chief asked.

"My client is suing George Anc.l.i.tas for seventy-five hundred dollars. Or hadn't you heard?"

"I'd heard," the chief said noncommittally.

Fenwick pushed the chief of police slightly to one side, eased an elbow over against Mason's car, smiled at the lawyer. "I'm just sort of getting oriented here, Mr. Mason. I wanted to see the lay of the land myself. Then I was going to come and have a talk with you."

"Yes?"

"That's right."

"What's your interest in me?" Mason asked.

"Well," Fenwick said, "I'm in public relations. I represent an a.s.sociation. George Anc.l.i.tas is a member of that a.s.sociation."

"What's the a.s.sociation?" Mason asked.

Fenwick grinned. "It wouldn't mean a thing to you if I told you. It has a high-sounding name, but there's no reason for you and me to beat around the bush, Mason. The a.s.sociation is composed of men who are in the gambling business."

"I see," Mason said.

"You have some peculiar ideas about the law," Fenwick went on, "but because of your position, Mr. Mason, and the fact that you are a pretty shrewd lawyer, those ideas of yours could do us a lot of damage."

"They're not ideas of mine," Mason said. "They're ideas of the courts of the State of California."

"So I understand," Fenwick said.

Mason saw Della Street walk quickly to the end of the swimming pool, look across at the car, then as she was aware that the lights were not on and that two men were talking to Perry Mason, she moved around the end of the swimming pool and out of sight.

Fenwick said, "You know, this a.s.sociation is pretty powerful, Mr. Mason. That is, we have a lot of mighty nice people who are members, and it isn't just in this county. In fact, it isn't just in this state, although my territory is all within the state--places in Nevada, for instance, have--"

"I take it," Mason said, "you also look after the legislative interest of gambling establishments."

"Among other things," Fenwick said. "You know, Mason, a lot of people like to knock gambling; but, after all, there's nothing wrong with it. Gambling is an outlet for the emotions. All people gamble. It's universal. You can't stop it. Prisoners in penitentiaries gamble, every fraternal organization has its little gambling setup. Even the society women with their bridge clubs gamble.

"I'll tell you something else, Mason. Gambling makes good business. It puts money in circulation. It encourages sociability, and it's darned good business for a community. Now, you take right here in Rowena. You'd be surprised how much money comes into this city from gambling. People come in from all over this part of the country to do a little card playing--and they leave money here."

"I take it," Mason said, "the gamblers don't quite break even."

Fenwick threw back his head and laughed. "You're a card, Mr. Mason, you really are! Of course that's the whole principle of organized gambling, Mr. Mason. The customer doesn't break even. h.e.l.l's bells, he doesn't want to. If he wanted to break even, he'd stay home. He wouldn't go out to a gambling place at all.

"That's the real philosophy back of gambling. Sometimes the customer makes a profit. The gambler always makes a profit. Everybody knows that. The gambler isn't doing business for nothing. Some people lose and some people win. More people lose than win, but the people that win, win heavy. They sit in a game with fifty dollars and they leave it with five hundred or fifteen hundred. That's the lure. That's what keeps the wheels running.

"On the other hand, a gambler knows that while somebody may win fifteen hundred dollars in a game in the course of a week, the majority of people who sit in the game are going to contribute. That's where he makes his living, and, believe me, Mr. Mason, gambling is a good thing for a community."

"It's a matter of opinion," Mason said.

"Now, you look at this place here at Rowena," Fenwick went on. "It's well policed, orderly, quiet and law abiding. You don't have any holdups here. You don't have any problems with gangsters. The place just runs along smoothly, and people like George Anc.l.i.tas are heavy taxpayers--I mean really heavy taxpayers."

"You mean gambling is a good thing for the community," Mason said, "for the citizens who make up the community?"

"That's right. Now you're getting the idea."

"Then there's no reason why we shouldn't tell the married women that the husband has the management of community property but he can't gamble it away. If a gambler wins the wife's share of community property, he can't keep it."

The smile faded from Fenwick's face. "Now that's a horse of another color, Mason. You're getting things all mixed up. I didn't say that, and we don't feel that way.

"In the first place, I think that when you make a careful study of the law you'll find you're mistaken, and frankly I'd like to have you make a careful study of the law. That's going to take some time, Mr. Mason. You're a lawyer, and we don't want you to do it for nothing. My a.s.sociation needs some representation here, and we'd like to retain you to sort of keep us advised on the law.

"One of the first things we'd like to have you do would be to take a year or so and really study up on the decisions relating to gambling and games of chance. We'd put you under a retainer of, say, fifteen thousand a year."

Mason grinned. "What do you want me for, Fenwick? You've already hired Gowrie."