The Case of the Sulky Girl (7 page)

There was a keen concentration in the intentness of her gaze; she might have been a motion picture director, studying a new star for the strong, as well as the weak, points. She was short and broad, but not particularly fat. She seemed heavily muscled and big-boned; a woman of immense strength, capable and self reliant, and in her eyes was a glitter of greedy vitality.

Her features were rugged; the chin rounded and heavy, the nose distended at the nostrils. The lips were not thin, but uncurving. The mouth was a straight line, stretching under the nose and calipered at the ends by wrinkles which came from the nostrils. The forehead was rather high, and the eyes black and snapping – highly polished eyes that glittered as though they had been huge, black glass beads.

Perry Mason continued his pacing for several seconds before he sensed her presence. Then, as he turned, the woman's form struck his vision, and he came to an abrupt pause.

Mason looked at her with eyes that were steady in their scrutiny, yet seemed to take in every detail of the woman's appearance from head to foot.

She said: "You're the lawyer."

"Yes," he said, "I'm Perry Mason."

"I want to talk with you," she told him.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Mrs. Mayfield."

"I don't know that that conveys anything to me, Mrs. Mayfield," he said. "Could you be more explicit?"

"I live here," she told him.

"Indeed," he said tonelessly.

"Yes, sir," she said, "my husband and myself."

Mason stared at the broad shoulders, the thick arms, the black dress which covered the rugged lines of her body.

"You're the housekeeper?" he asked.

"Yes."

"And your husband?"

"He acts as gardener and general man about the place."

"I see," said Mason, unsmilingly, "and what was it you wanted to talk with me about?"

She took three steps toward him, lowered her voice, and said: "Money."

Something in her tone caused the lawyer to glance over her shoulder to the door of the room. Then he took her arm and led her to the far corner of the room.

"Exactly what," he asked, "was it about money that you wanted to discuss with me?"

The woman said in a low, intense voice: "You're an attorney. You're not in business for your health. You're representing Miss Celane. She's going to get a lot of money, and when she gets it, you're going to get a big slice of it. I want some money. I want some from you, and want some from her."

"Just why," asked Mason, "should you want money from her and from me?"

"Because," said the woman, slowly, "if I don't get it, you don't get it."

"Exactly what do you mean by that?"

"Just what I say. If you think you can deal me out on this, you've got another think coming."

Mason laughed, a laugh that was utterly mechanical.

"Really, Mrs. Mayfield," he said, "you have got to explain. Things have been happening rather rapidly to-night, and I was called in at the request of Miss Celane. I don't know exactly what my duties will consist of, but I presume it is possible that I may have charge of handling the estate. I don't know whether or not there was a will."

"Never mind that," said the woman, "it isn't Norton's estate that I'm talking about. I'm talking about the trust money."

Mason simulated surprise, but his eyes were patiently watchful and very hard.

"Why," he said, "that matter is all taken care of by a decree of distribution made months ago. Miss Celane doesn't have to employ an attorney to collect that money for her. It will be distributed to her by an order of the court under the provisions of the trust."

"You're not fooling me any with all that line of talk," said the woman.

"Exactly what," asked Mason, "do you have reference to?"

"I have reference that if she ain't careful she don't get any of that money at all," said the woman.

"And you are intimating, I take it," said Mason, cautiously, "that you can assist her in being careful?"

"I don't know what you're driving at now," she said, "but I think you've got my idea."

She smirked and put her hands on her broad hips, tilted her chin upward, and stared with unwinking intensity into the attorney's face.

"Suppose," he said, "you should be more explicit."

"The girl's married," she said.

"Indeed," said Mason.

"Yes," she said, "does that mean anything?"

"Not now it doesn't," said Mason. "In the event what you say is true, I understand that Mr. Norton had the right to terminate the trust by delivering a small amount of the principal to Miss Celane, and giving the balance to charitable institutions. But that was something entirely in his discretion. He died without the discretion having been exercised. Therefore, the trust has terminated."

"Don't be too sure he didn't do anything about that trust," said the housekeeper.

"Did he?" asked Perry Mason.

"Suppose," said the woman, without directly answering his question, "Fran Celane and her uncle had a big fight after you left last night? And suppose that he then and there told her he would give her five thousand dollars of the money, and give all the rest to charity?"

"Did he?" asked the lawyer.

"I'm asking you what would happen if he had."

"Well," said Mason, "there certainly isn't any evidence that he did, is there?"

"There ain't now," she said.

"Exactly what do you mean?" he asked.

"Suppose there should be some evidence like that?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," said Mason.

"Well," she snapped, "if you don't do business with me, you'll come to it."

"That's hardly possible," said the lawyer. "Come, come, Mrs. Mayfield, if you want to make any insinuations against Miss Celane, you will have to make them in a manner which will be substantiated by the circumstances of the case.

"The evidence in this case shows that Miss Celane left the house before eleven o'clock and didn't return until after the police had arrived."

"Yes," said the woman, "that's what the evidence shows, and you'd better see that it ain't changed."

"I still don't get what you mean," said Perry Mason.

"You will," said the woman, "when you've made Fran Celane come clean and quit pulling the wool over your eyes. I'm not going to stand here and have you high hat me with your lawyer talk. I've told you what I want, and I'm too smart to make any threats."

"In other words," said Mason, "you want money."

"Yes."

"Very good," said Mason. "I take it that everyone wants money."

"You know what I mean," she said, "and if you want to get some more evidence, you might look up what Bob Gleason was doing at the time this murder was committed."

"Gleason?" said Mason, arching his eyebrows. "Why Gleason wasn't even here in the house."

"Oh wasn't he?" said the woman.

"Was he?" asked Mason.

"Ask your Frances," she said.

Mason suddenly turned, planted his feet wide apart, and stared at her.

"Look here, my woman," he said, in his best courtroom manner, "I don't know whether it's ever occurred to you, but you may be guilty of a very serious crime. If you are seeking to frighten me or to frighten Miss Celane into paying you money by making insinuations, you are guilty of a crime known as extortion, and in a case of this kind it might be a very serious crime."

The beady black eyes stared at him snappingly with hostility reflected from their burnished surfaces.

"You're not frightening me a bit," she said.

"And," said Perry Mason, "may I advise you that you are not frightening me in the least?"

"I ain't trying to frighten you – yet," she said. "I just told you certain things."

"What things?" he asked.

"That I'm going to get some money out of it. Otherwise, nobody gets any money."

"Nobody?" he asked.

"Neither you nor the girl," she agreed.

"That would be unfortunate," said Mason tonelessly.

"Wouldn't it?" she said. "And then again I might find somebody that would pay me, if you didn't see which side of the bread had the butter. Some of these charities for instance."

"Really," said Mason, "I don't get you. You've got to give me more particulars of what you're driving at."

She said: "I'm too smart for you, Mister Lawyer. You go ahead and make your own investigation. Don't think that you're dealing with an ignorant woman, because you ain't. You talk with Frances Celane, and then you can talk some more with me."

"I have talked with Miss Celane," said Mason.

The woman's laugh was harsh and bitter.

"Oh no, you haven't," she said, "you've listened to her. Frances Celane is the best little liar in the world. Don't listen to her. Talk to her. Make her mad and then see what she says."

And the woman turned and walked from the room with quick, vigorous strides, a veritable bundle of energy.

Perry Mason stared at her broad back until she had left his field of vision. His eyes were clouded with speculation.

He was standing so, when a man with keen gray eyes and bushy white hair came walking through the room beyond, to the door of the solarium. His manner was grave and dignified, his walk unhurried, his face placidly serene.

Perry Mason bowed to him.

"Judge Purley," he said, "I have practiced before you, Judge."

The judge fastened his keen eyes upon the attorney, and nodded.

"Perry Mason, I believe. Good evening, Mr. Mason."

"We can call it morning, I think," said Mason. "It will be daylight pretty soon."

Judge Purley frowned.

"I was in a hurry to get home too," he said. "I was very, very tired."

"The police about finished with their investigation?" asked Mason.

"I think so," said Purley. "They've got the man who did it, beyond any doubt."

"This chap, Devoe?" asked Mason.

"That's the chap. He made rather a bungling job of it, too, if you ask me."

"I didn't get the details," said Mason invitingly.

Judge Purley selected one of the reclining chairs, stretched himself in it, gave a sigh of weariness, and took a cigar from his waistcoat pocket.

He carefully clipped off the end of the cigar, smelled the wrapper and muttered: "Pardon me, Mr. Mason, but this is my last, and I need it."

"Go right ahead," said Mason. "I only smoke cigarettes anyway."

"Yes," said the judge, speaking gravely and judiciously, in measured tones, "the thing that confused the murderer, of course, was the fact that our machine turned around and came directly back to the house. He had counted on an interval of half an hour or so during which he could have masked his crime.

"However, when he heard us returning to the house, he knew that the only thing for him to do was to get into bed and pretend he was dead drunk. He managed to get the odor of whisky pretty well on his breath, and put up rather a credible imitation of intoxication.

"In fact, it is possible he imbibed enough so that he was genuinely intoxicated. A man can drink a lot of whisky in a short time."

Perry Mason smiled.

"That is, judge," he said, "if he has it to drink."

The judge saw no humor in the remark. He looked at Perry Mason with judicial appraisal.

"Well," he said, "this man had plenty to drink."

"He's the chauffeur, I believe?" asked Mason.

"Yes, the chauffeur."

"Wasn't he going out some place?" asked Mason. "Didn't Norton telephone for him to take one of the cars and run an errand?"

"If my understanding is correct," said Judge Purley, "that is what happened. Norton wanted his secretary to get some papers at Mr. Crinston's house, and the chauffeur was to go and pick him up."

Perry Mason eyed the judge in shrewd appraisal.

"Well," he said, "let's see if we can figure out what happened. Norton asked you to permit Graves to ride in your car, is that right?"

"That is correct. That is, Norton addressed his comment, I believe, to Mr. Crinston, but I, of course, heard it. He called out the window."

"Okay, then," said Mason. "Let's start from there. Graves went downstairs to join you two. It's reasonable to suppose that Norton then sent for the chauffeur. He probably simply told him to come to his office. Now, it would have taken the chauffeur a minute or two to get there."

"That's right," said Judge Purley wearily. "But if you'll pardon me, counselor, I don't see as there's anything to be gained by going over the ground."

"No," said Perry Mason, almost dreamily, "I was just wondering how much time the two men had to quarrel."