The Case of the Dangerous Dowager (18 page)

Mason said, "Come to think of it, I noticed it myself. Well, that's that." He smoked in thoughtful silence for several minutes while Sylvia finished reading the newspaper account of Oxman's accusation and the current developments in the case.

Sylvia Oxman folded the paper and said indignantly, "It makes me sick! Of all the lies…"

Mason interrupted her to say, "Wait a minute, Sylvia. I think I can tell you what happened."

"What?" she asked.

"There's some chance," he told her, "that Frank actually did see you in that office."

"I tell you it's a lie! He's just…"

"Hold everything," Mason warned. "Don't jump at conclusions. The evidence of the man who was shadowing you is that Frank Oxman went down the corridor to the offices while you were still in the offices. He was only gone a minute or so, then turned around and came out. Now then, let's suppose, just for the sake of the argument, that while you were sitting in the outer office, you couldn't have heard the electric buzzer in the inner office. Now, let's suppose that Frank Oxman came down the passageway while you were still in the outer office, but just as you were about to push open the door to the inner office. You, therefore, wouldn't have heard the buzzer which announced his coming down the corridor. His statement says he hesitated for some little time in front of the door to the outer office. Let's suppose, for the sake of the argument, that he did.

"Then he opened the door, walked in, saw you leaning over the desk, and saw Grieb's body. He was at first frightened, then recognized the wonderful opportunity he'd have to pin a murder charge on you. He felt, of course, that you'd take and destroy the IOU's which were lying in plain sight on Sam Grieb's desk. Having done that, he felt that you were completely in his power. So he retraced his steps back down the corridor. As he went over that wired section of floor, you heard the signal, because you were then in the inner office. You thought it was someone coming, so you went back to the outer office, picked up the magazine and sat reading. A few minutes later, I came down the corridor, but you couldn't hear the electric signal then, because you were in the outer office. That would tie everything together. What you heard when you were in the inner office wasn't the signal of my approach, but the signal made by Frank Oxman as he left."

There was dismay in her eyes. "You make it sound so d-d-damn logical," she said. "I could almost hate you for it."

"Keep cool," Mason told her, "and don't cry."

"I'm not crying," she said in a harsh, strained voice.

Mason flipped ashes from his cigarette and said, "Okay, Sylvia, I think I know what to do."

"What?"

"I had to destroy those IOU's," he said, "because I didn't want them found on the scene of the crime, and I certainly didn't want them found on me. But you're the only one who knows I destroyed them. Now then, I'm going to step into a stationery store and get a book of blank notes. I can find exactly the same form which Grieb and Duncan kept aboard the ship. Then, using these facsimiles to go by, we'll make duplicate IOU's, duly signed and dated."

"But won't that put my head right back in the noose?" she asked.

"It will if we make them public," he said, "but think of the spot it's going to put Frank Oxman in if he thinks the original IOU's are in the hands of the district attorney. That will brand his IOU's as forgeries and his whole statement as a lie, fabricated out of whole cloth."

She nodded and said, "I see your point. Go get the blanks."

Drake said, "Seen the papers?"

"Yes."

"How do you figure it?"

"I don't figure it yet. Where's Oxman?"

"He signed that written statement and was released. He went to his hotel. A couple of reporters nailed him there for an interview. Then he sneaked out the back way and went out to Hollywood. He's registered in the Christy Hotel in five-nineteen, under the name of Sydney French."

Mason gave a low whistle. "Think he knows his wife is there?"

"I don't see how he can."

"Then what's his idea?"

"I think he's trying to dodge reporters."

Mason said slowly, "I don't like it, Paul."

"Well, after all," the detective said, "it's a reasonably prominent hotel. It may be just a coincidence they both picked it."

Mason thought for a moment, then said, "Hardly a coincidence, Paul, but it may be that the hotel has associations for them or they may have used it before when they wanted to hide out… Tell me, Paul, what's the latest on Belgrade?"

Drake's voice was bitter. "If I told you what I think of that snake it'd melt the telephone wire."

"Never mind what you think of him; what's he doing, Paul?"

"Hell, I don't know, Perry. I haven't kept tabs on him. They served him with a subpoena to appear before the Federal Grand Jury this afternoon. They also served one on me and they're trying their damnedest to serve one on you. One of the newspapers was trying to keep Belgrade sewed up, but after the subpoena was served it was no dice."

"Where did he spend the night, Paul?"

"How the devil should I know?… Who cares where he spent the night?"

"I do."

"Why?"

"Because," Mason said, "he's going to be wanting some clean clothes, a bath, a shirt, socks, change of underwear, and, if he's going before the Federal Grand Jury and have his picture taken for the newspapers, he'll probably want to put on his best suit."

"So what?"

"So," Mason went on, "I thought perhaps we could drop around to his house and find him there."

"Now listen, Perry, if we go around there and start making a beef, it won't do us a damn bit of good and the first thing he'll do will be to get on the line and tell the detectives where they can find you. I feel the same way you do about him, but…"

"Forget it," Mason interrupted. "I'm working on an entirely different theory. What does he look like, Paul?"

"You mean a physical description?"

"Yes."

"He's around fifty, weighs about a hundred and ninety pounds, is five feet six-and-a-half inches, wears a short mustache, and has a little scar on the top of his right ear where a bullet nicked him, and…"

"What kind of a suit was he wearing?"

"He wears a blue serge suit when he's on duty," Drake said. "Figures it's less conspicuous and blends well in the dark. Most of the men who do shadow work wear dark clothes."

"What's his residence address, Paul?"

"A little bungalow just off Washington Boulevard on Fifth Avenue. It's pretty well out."

"How far from Washington?"

"Only a couple of blocks, as I remember the place. I drove out to see him two or three days ago."

"Tell you what you do, Paul," Mason said. "Climb in your car and meet me out at the corner of Fifth Avenue and Washington. I'm in Hollywood, driving a rented car. We should get there just about the same time."

"Now wait a minute, Perry. You're in bad enough on this thing already. For God's sake, don't go messing around…"

"Better start right now," Mason said, and hung up the receiver.

The lawyer beat Paul Drake to the rendezvous by more than five minutes. Drake drove up, parked his car, and came across to the lawyer and renewed his protestations. "I don't think this is going to get us anywhere, Perry," he said.

"Well," Mason told him, "I want you to know more about Belgrade. He's the only one of your men who was on the ship when the murder was discovered. I'm particularly anxious to know whether his report of what happened out there is accurate."

"He's a double-crosser, or he'd never have betrayed you," Drake commented bitterly. "I'll see he never gets another detective-agency job as long as he lives."

"Forget it," the lawyer told him. "It was a chance for a clean-up and he fell for it. Aside from that one slip, he may be okay."

They walked in silence for a block, then Drake said, "There's the house over there, the one which sits back from the street."

"Does his wife know you?"

"Yes."

"But she doesn't know me?"

"I don't think so. Not unless she's seen your picture somewhere."

Mason said, "That'll be swell. Now, what I want to do is to get into that house, so don't make any explanations, don't perform any introductions. When his wife comes to the door, put on an act and we both go in, see?"

"Maybe we both go out," Drake said.

"What sort of woman is she?"

"A blonde. She does things with her eyes."

"Think she's on the up-and-up?"

"Not this baby. I've seen her only once, but I wouldn't trust her around the block. She has one of those baby stares veneered on a face that's hard as cement, if you know what I mean."

"I know what you mean," Mason told him. "The last time I saw an expression like that was on the face of a nineteen-year-old blackmailer." He chuckled and added, "While she was waiting in the outer office, I asked Della Street what she looked like, and Della said she looked like a synthetic virgin."

"That's the type," Drake said. "Only this dame is in the late thirties."

"Okay," Mason told him, "let's barge in."

They turned from the sidewalk, walked up the narrow strip of cement to the porch stairs. Mason hung behind while Drake climbed the stairs first and rang the bell.

A few moments later a woman wearing a printed house dress opened the door and said with over-effusive cordiality, "Why, it's Mr. Drake! Why, good morning, Mr. Drake! How do you do? Did you want to see George?"

Drake said, "Yes," and stepped forward.

For a moment the woman's eyes became hard as blue quartz, but her full red lips maintained a fixed smile. "He isn't here," she said.

"I'm to meet him here," Drake told her, very apparently waiting for her to move.

"Oh, all right," she said sullenly, and stepped to one side. As Mason was walking past her, she said, "Won't you gentlemen come in and sit down? When was George to meet you here?"

Mason selected a comfortable chair, caught Drake's questioning glance, and asked, "When did you see him last, Mrs. Belgrade?"

She turned to face Mason, her eyes cautious, her face expressionless. "You're Mr. Mason, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"I thought so."

"When did you last see your husband?"

"Why?"

"I just wanted to know."

"Not since last night. He couldn't get home. He was detained."

"How was he dressed when you last saw him?" Mason asked.

"Why do you want to know?"

The lawyer indicated Paul Drake and said, "After all, he's working for Mr. Drake. He's been out on a case. We want to talk with him."

"You mean," she asked Paul Drake, "that he's still working for you?"

"Of course."

"He thought perhaps you'd feel sore at what you read in the papers and…"

Her voice trailed away into silence, and Drake said, "Of course I'm sore; but, after all, he's still working for me."

Mason inquired again, "How was he dressed, Mrs. Belgrade?"

"Why, he wore his business suit, his blue serge suit."

Mason said casually, "Well, we're all subpoenaed to appear before the Federal Grand Jury this afternoon. I thought it might be a good plan for us to have an informal chat before they ask us questions."

A look of relief came over the woman's face. "Oh," she said, "that's it. Well, I'm glad you men feel that way. George had a chance to make some big money giving a story to the newspaper. He'd have been a chump not to have done it. I can understand how you gentlemen feel; but you must make allowances for a man who's working on wages. Both of you make big money. George doesn't. Lots of times we have to struggle along to make both ends meet."

Mason nodded. "Yes, I know how he must have felt. Too bad he got gypped."

She said bitterly. "That subpoena certainly put George on the skids. He was in a position to sell some follow-ups to the newspaper. Then this subpoena was served, and the newspaper wouldn't have anything more to do with him. They figure whatever he says now is going to become public property."

Mason nodded, said, "Uh-huh," looked at his watch, asked, "How soon were you expecting him?"

"He telephoned me about an hour ago and said he'd be home in an hour. I'm expecting him any minute. He wanted to change his clothes."

Drake looked at his wristwatch, then glanced across at Mason. Mrs. Belgrade said nervously, "I think he'll be here any minute now… That sounds like his car." The worn rivets on brake linings squeaked against drums as a dilapidated car swung wide in the street and turned into the driveway.

"There he is," Mrs. Belgrade said. Mason nodded, walked to the door.

Steps sounded on the porch. Mason pulled the door open and said to the heavy-set individual who was pounding his way across the porch, "Welcome home, George. Come in and join the party."

Belgrade came to a dead stop. Paul Drake appeared in the doorway beside Mason and said, "Well, don't stand there gawking. Come on in."

Belgrade slowly walked toward the door, his eyes glancing about him apprehensively as though he were seeking some means of escape.

"I'd feel the same way myself if I'd sold out a client," Paul Drake said.

"Skip it, Paul," Mason cautioned.

Belgrade, avoiding their eyes, entered the house. His wife came running across, flung her arms about him, and clung to him for several seconds.

Drake coughed, and they separated.

Belgrade said, "I'm sorry about this whole business, Mr. Mason. I owe you an apology. I know how you fellows must feel. You think I'm a two-time, chiseling crook."

Mason said, "Suppose we sit down and talk things over for a while, George. I've practiced law long enough to know that people are only human, after all."

Belgrade glanced across at his wife. "You got my things all ready, Flo?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Sit down, George," Drake said.

Belgrade kept his eyes fixed on his wife. "How about mixing up some Scotch and soda, Flo? Perhaps the gentlemen would like…"

"Would like nothing better than to have Mrs. Belgrade stay right here in the room," Mason said, grinning.

Belgrade looked puzzled.

"She might want to telephone a friend," Drake explained.

"Oh," Belgrade said.

When they were all seated, Belgrade looked across at Drake. "So I'm all washed up in the detective business, am I?" he asked.

"That depends," Mason told him, before Drake could answer. "We want you to tell us just how you happened to sell out, George. Perhaps it won't look so bad after we hear your side of it."

Belgrade turned to him. "You're certainly taking this mighty fine, Mr. Mason. You make me feel like an awful heel. I don't know as I can explain it, but I'd like to have you gentlemen understand my position. I haven't been working steady, and I have a wife to support, a house to keep up, and all sorts of expenses.

"Well, I went out on that gambling ship and walked right into the middle of a murder case. It's the first time I've ever stacked up against anything quite like it in all the time I've been working as an operative. I was tailing Sylvia Oxman, you'll remember, and when I'd followed her back to the wharf, Staples stepped up and said he'd been instructed to relieve me. That left me standing there, all washed up for the evening. I telephoned in my report, and Drake said that'd be all. I knew Drake was working for you, Mr. Mason, and I knew you were still out aboard the ship, so I thought I might do you a good turn by going back to the ship and seeing if I could help you."

Drake said, "Wait a minute, Belgrade. Do I understand you went back to the ship?"

Belgrade nodded. "That's right."

"Why?"

"I told you why. I wanted to see if I could help Mr. Mason."

Drake said, "Why the devil didn't you go on home after I told you you were through for the night?"

"Well," Belgrade explained, shifting uncomfortably in his chair, "… well, to tell you the truth, Mr. Drake, I may as well come clean. I knew that Mr. Mason kept you busy most of the time. I didn't think I stood very high with you. There were too many men ahead of me who copped off all the important jobs. You remember, you'd given me the job of tailing Sylvia Oxman's maid. The only reason I got into the big-time stuff was because the maid went to Sylvia. And as soon as I contacted Sylvia, you yanked me off the case and put Staples on. Well, I figured that I might be able to make a good impression with Mr. Mason and then perhaps he'd speak to you about keeping me on his work regularly. Then I'd get the important jobs."