The Case of the Sleepwalker's Niece (5 page)

"I sneaked up to tell you I'd unlocked Uncle's door and to ask you to smuggle me a cup of coffee."

"Can't you ring for the butler and have him bring it to your room?"

"No. I don't dare to. No one must know I didn't go to Santa Barbara. Uncle Pete would be furious if he thought I'd slipped something over on him. And then I have Helen to consider."

Mason nodded. "Which is your room?" he asked.

"In the north wing, on the ground floor next to the 'dobe wall. It opens on the patio."

"I'll do the best I can," he promised. "Your uncle's up?"

"Oh, yes, he's been up for half an hour, packing and puttering around."

A door knob rattled. Edna Hammer gave a startled exclamation and was gone with a flutter of silken garments. Mason walked toward the stairway. Peter Kent, freshly shaved, opened a door, stepped out into the hallway, saw Mason and smiled. "Good morning, Counselor. I hope you slept well. It's splendid of you to get up to see us off."

"I always get up to see my clients married," Mason said, laughing, "but it looks as though I'm going to be the only one. Dr. Kelton's sound asleep and refuses to budge."

Peter Kent looked at his watch. "Five o'clock," he said musingly. "The sun rises about six. We're to be at the field at five forty-five. That will give us time for bacon, eggs and toast, but we'll have to make it snappy."

He accompanied Mason down the flight of stairs to the big sitting room, where the butler had a cheerful fire going in the fireplace and a table set in front of it. Lucille Mays came toward Peter Kent with outstretched hands, starry eyes. "How did you sleep?" she asked solicitously.

Kent's eyes met hers. "Wonderfully," he said, "Counselor Mason inspires confidence. I'm sorry I didn't consult him earlier."

Mason returned Lucille Mays' smile. They seated themselves at the table, had a hurried breakfast. As Kent started upstairs, Mason poured himself another cup of coffee, sugared and creamed it, strolled toward the door, ostensibly to look out into the patio.

Mason waited until they had left the room, then moved quickly down the long corridor. Edna Hammer was waiting for him, the door of her room open. Mason handed her the cup of coffee, said in a whisper, "You didn't tell me whether you liked sugar or cream, so I took a chance."

"Just so it's hot coffee," she said. "My Lord, I feel all in!"

"Cheer up," he told her. "It'll soon be over. We'll know by ten o'clock, perhaps a little before."

She took the coffee, thanked him with a smile, slipped into the room and closed the door. Mason returned to the living room. The butler, cleaning up the things, said, "Your cup and saucer, sir?"

Mason made a shrugging gesture. "Set it down somewhere," he observed, "and can't remember where. Doubtless it'll show up. I was looking at some of the paintings in the corridor and then I walked out into the patio for a while."

"Very good, sir," the butler said.

"What's your name?" Mason asked.

"Arthur – Arthur Coulter."

"You act as chauffeur as well as butler?"

"Yes, sir."

"What make of car does Mr. Kent have?"

"A Packard sedan and a Ford cabriolet. I'm getting out the sedan this morning. I believe he said you were to drive it."

"That's right. You'd better get started, Arthur."

The butler vanished with the smooth, noiseless efficiency of a well-trained domestic. A moment later, Kent, carrying a suitcase and an overcoat, stood in the doorway, said, You'd better get your coat, Mr. Mason."

"It's in the hall," Mason answered.

He went to the reception hall, found his coat and hat. Almost at once they were joined by Lucille Mays. Kent opened the door. There was the sound of a purring automobile motor. The beams of headlights crept around the curve in the driveway. A shiny Packard sedan slid smoothly to a stop. Coulter climbed from the driver's seat, opened the car doors, handed in the two light bags. Mason slid in behind the wheel, laughed and said, "There should be one or two more. I feel as if I were chaperoning a honeymoon."

"You," Kent told him, "are Cupid."

"It's a new role," Mason said, "but I'll try to live up to it." He slid back the shifting lever, eased in the clutch and as the car purred into smooth motion, said, "Let's go over things now to be sure we have everything straight."

Kent pulled up one of the folding seats, sat in it and leaned forward so that his head was within a few inches of Mason's shoulder. "I'm to go directly to the courthouse in Yuma," he said. "Is that right?"

Mason nodded and for a few moments gave his attention to shifting gears. Then he said, without taking his eyes from the road, "Yes. Hunt up the telephone operator if they have a private switchboard, and, if they don't, find out who answers the telephone in the clerk's office. Tell them you're expecting an important call and make arrangements so it'll come through without delay. I'll telephone you as soon as the final decree has been granted.

"After that, you can make headquarters at the Winslow Hotel at Yuma. Wait there. If you don't hear from me again by six o'clock in the afternoon you can start on a honeymoon, but let me know where I can locate you."

"You're going to file action against Maddox?" Kent asked.

Mason's jaw squared. "I'm going to take that boy down the line," he promised, "but I think we'll file the action in Chicago. There's a matter of venue I want to look up."

"You'll let him know that there'll be no compromise?"

"You can leave Maddox to me," Mason said grimly, pushing the accelerator down almost to the floorboards.

"Very much up in the air," he answered, grinning, "and I hope you don't throw me out for that one."

"Come in and tell me about it. Remember, I'm a woman, and marriage means a lot to us, so don't you omit one single detail."

Mason seated himself, grinned and said, "We went to the airport. A pilot with a helmet dangling in one hand came forward and introduced himself. There was a cabin plane drawn up. The motors were running. Your uncle and Miss Mays entered the plane. We did a little wisecracking back and forth. Miss Mays blew me a kiss. The pilot got in, taxied the ship down the field, turned around, tested first one motor, then the other, came back into the wind and took off. The sun was just rising. The hills back of Burbank were a beautiful blue, and… Oh, yes, I nearly forgot, the weather report said there was clear visibility, gentle shifting winds, unlimited ceiling and good flying conditions all the way to Yuma."

"Oh, you unromantic lawyers!" she exclaimed.

"And what did you do?" Mason asked.

"I was simply ravenous," she said. "As soon as you folks had left I telephoned for a taxicab to come to the corner and wait. I sneaked out the back door, took the cab into Hollywood and got myself a light breakfast. Then I came sweeping back to the house in a taxicab, and announced I'd taken a bus back from Santa Barbara and was famished. I've ordered breakfast. It's coming up in a few minutes.

"The butler," Mason said, "wondered what happened to my coffee cup. I strolled off with it and he missed it."

She frowned. "It's here in the room. I'll take it out on the patio and leave it on one of the tables. Perhaps we'd better go now." She picked up the cup and saucer from the dresser. "My, I really feel like a criminal. Do all lawyers make people so delightfully furtive?"

"I'm afraid you can't blame your capacity for intrigue upon your counsel… not after the way your stars told your uncle he should consult an attorney whose name contained five letters and stood for a stone or something similar."

She giggled delightedly and said, "I don't know what I'd do without my astrology. And the funny part of it is my uncle claims he doesn't believe in it."

"Do you believe in it?" Mason asked.

"Why not?"

The lawyer shrugged his shoulders.

Sun was peeping into the patio. Edna Hammer sat down in one of the reclining chairs, placed the cup and saucer on a coffee table, inspected it critically and said, "It doesn't look exactly right there, does it?"

"No," Mason said. "Frankly, I think your butler was just a little suspicious – not that it makes any great difference now your uncle has gone."

"Oh, but it does," she said. "I couldn't run out on Helen Warrington. You don't know Bob Peasley. My heavens, he'd tear Jerry limb from limb – that is, he'd try to." She paused to laugh at the idea of the somber Peasley becoming physically violent with the big, broad-shouldered Harris. She picked up the cup and saucer, moved a few steps to one of the tiled coffee tables and pulled a catch. The hinged top swung upward, disclosing an oblong receptacle underneath the top. "I presume it was originally designed for holding knives, forks, spoons and napkins, but it makes a fine place to ditch things," she said.

Mason watched her. Turning, she caught his eye and asked, "Why the expression?"

"What expression?"

"The peculiar look in your eye."

"I didn't know there was one."

"What were you thinking of?"

"I was just thinking how little chance a clumsy man has when it comes to dealing with the finer mind of a woman."

"In other words, that's a nice way of saying that you think I keep bamboozling my uncle?"

"It depends on what you mean by bamboozling."

"I don't see anything wrong with using such mental faculties as you have in order to get what you want, do you?" she asked.

He shook his head and added, "Particularly when those mental faculties are accompanied by beauty."

She said wistfully, "I wish I were beautiful. I'm not. I've got a swell figure, I know that. But my features aren't regular. There's too much animation in my face. I think a girl, to be beautiful, has to keep her face in repose. It makes for that virginal, doll-like something men like in their women, don't you think so?"

"I hadn't given it any particular thought – not along those lines," Mason replied.

"I've given it lots of thought. I'd like to use my beauty. That's what it's for. Lots of people think I deliberately dress to show my figure. I do. I'm proud of it. Perhaps I'm a pagan little animal. Bob Peasley says I am. But I revel in having a good-looking figure. I guess I don't know what modesty…"

"I think," Mason interrupted, "your butler seems to have something on his mind. He's approaching rather purposefully."

She broke off, stared at the butler and said in swift, low tones, "Remember, he mustn't know I was here last night."

She faced the butler, said, "What is it, Arthur?"

"Beg pardon," he said, "but the sideboard drawer – I can't get the top drawer open. It seems to be locked."

"Oh!" she exclaimed, then, after a moment, "are you sure you looked all around for the key, Arthur?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Did you look in the little brass bowl over to the right of the pitcher?"

"No, ma'am, I didn't look there."

"Well, let's go look. It must be around there somewhere." She gave Mason a meaning glance, started walking rapidly. Mason fell into step at her side and the butler followed, a deferential pace or two in the rear. At the sideboard, she tried the drawer, said, "It's locked all right," and then started looking around on the top of the sideboard, her hands fluttering swiftly about various places. "It must be here somewhere, Arthur," she said, in the tone of a magician handing out a line of "patter" by which the attention of an audience is kept from his hands. "The key was in the drawer yesterday, I know. Someone must have inadvertently locked the drawer and placed the key somewhere nearby. It's inconceivable that anyone would have carried it away. There can't be anything in that drawer which… Why, here it is! It was right under the fold of this throw."

The butler watched her as she fitted the key to the drawer and turned the lock. "I'm sorry that I bothered you," he said. "I couldn't find it. I thought perhaps you knew where it was.

She turned the lock, pulled the drawer open, suddenly gasped, and stood staring downward at a plush-lined receptacle for a carving set. A smooth-finished black horn-handled fork glittered in its hollowed receptacle, but the place which should have held the carving knife was empty. She glanced significantly at Perry Mason, her eyes dark with panic. Then she said, "Just what was it you wanted, Arthur?"

"I'll get it, Miss Edna, it's quite all right. I just wanted the drawer opened." He took out some salt dishes, and closed the drawer.

Edna Hammer raised her eyes to Perry Mason, then slipping her hand under his elbow, gripped his forearm and said, "Do come back out in the patio. I love it out there in the early morning."

"What time are you going to have breakfast?" Mason asked. "I think we should go up and arouse Dr. Kelton."

"Oh, we sort of single-shot on breakfast. We have it whenever we get up."

"Nevertheless," Mason said significantly, "I think Dr. Kelton would appreciate it if we called him."

"Oh, I see," she exclaimed quickly. "Yes, yes, you're quite right. Let's call Dr. Kelton."

They walked toward the stairs. She said in a low voice, "I didn't get you for a minute. You want to look in Uncle's room?"

"We might as well."

"I can't understand it. You don't suppose there's any possibility… that…"

As her voice trailed away into silence, Mason said, "You didn't look in the drawer last night before we locked it."

"N-n-n-no," she said, "I didn't, but the knife must have been there."

"Well," Mason said, "we'll see what we'll see."

She ran up the stairs ahead of him, her feet fairly flying up the treads, but when she had approached the door to her uncle's bedroom she hung back and said, "Somehow, I'm afraid of what we're going to find here."

"Has the room been made up yet?" Mason asked.

"No, the housekeeper won't start making beds until around nine o'clock."

Mason opened the door. She entered the bedroom a step or two behind him. Mason, looking around him, said, "Everything seems to be in order – no corpses stacked in the corners or under the bed."

"Please don't try to keep my spirits up, Mr. Mason. I've got to be brave. It's under the pillow, if it's anywhere. That's where it was the other morning. You look, I don't dare."

Mason walked to the bed, lifted the pillow. Under the pillow was a long, black-handled carving knife. The blade was discolored with sinister reddish stains.