The Case of the

  Glamorous Ghost

  by

  Erle Stanley Gardner

  Copyright © 1955 by Erle Stanley Gardner. Renewed 1983 by Jean Bethel Gardner.

  Electronic Book: Copyright © 2012 by The Erle Stanley Gardner Literary Trust.

  All rights reserved.

  Contents

  Copyright

  Foreword

  Cast of Characters

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  About the Author

  FOREWORD

  George Burgess Magrath has exerted a tremendous influence in the field of legal medicine and in the detection of crime.

  Dr. Magrath’s life is a splendid example of the manner in which a man’s dynamic personality can spread out over the years, affecting the lives of others long after he is gone.

  Many of my readers will remember what I have written about Frances G. Lee, the fabulous character who is mainly responsible for founding the Department of Legal Medicine at Harvard Medical School; a woman in her seventies who is respected by police officers everywhere, who is an authority in the field of homicide investigation and who has been appointed a captain in the New Hampshire State Police.

  The fact that Captain Frances G. Lee became interested in legal medicine was due to the influence of Dr. Magrath. The fact that Captain Frances G. Lee invented her famous nutshell studies in unexplained death has been responsible for training hundreds of competent officers so that they can detect murders which otherwise might go not only undetected but unsuspected.

  One of Dr. Magrath’s greatest contributions to investigative science was his devotion to truth.

  In every one of his field notebooks he wrote just inside the front cover a quotation from the writings of Dr. Paul Brouardel, the noted French doctor who was one of the first pioneers in legal medicine.

  The quotation is as follows:

  “IF THE LAW HAS MADE YOU A WITNESS, REMAIN A MAN OF SCIENCE: YOU HAVE NO VICTIM TO AVENGE, NO GUILTY OR INNOCENT PERSON TO RUIN OR SAVE. YOU MUST BEAR TESTIMONY WITHIN THE LIMITS OF SCIENCE.”

  Dr. Magrath was a colorful personality. There was about him a flair for the dramatic. He was tall and heavy-set with superb shoulders and one of his greatest pleasures was rowing, or, more properly, sculling on the Charles River. He wore his hair long like Paderewski, his dress was informal, usually of soft tweeds, and his tie was invariably a dark Windsor.

  There was about his personality something compelling that enabled him to dominate situations without apparently making the slightest effort to do so. He was in spirit a pioneer, blazing a trail in the investigative field, and he had all of the personality of the true pioneer. He was born on October 2nd, 1870. He died December 11th, 1938. During his lifetime he examined over twenty thousand cases of unexplained deaths, and the present highly efficient science of homicide investigation is in large measure due to the trail blazed by Dr. Magrath. The blaze marks on that trail are Truth, Accuracy, Efficiency and Scientific Integrity. Today many feet follow along that trail, and the wayfarers either follow those same blaze marks or become hopelessly lost in the forest of prejudice.

  The truly scientific investigator of homicide remains on the one trail that follows those same blazes which Dr. Magrath used for his own guidance.

  And so I dedicate this book to the memory of:

  GEORGE BURGESS MAGRATH, M.D.

  —Erle Stanley Gardner

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  DELIA STREET—She first spotted the newspaper account of the beautiful nude wraith in Sierra Vista Park

  PERRY MASON—As a man, he was intrigued; as an attorney, he soon became involved in the ghost’s pre-park peccadilloes

  OLGA CORBIN JORDAN—The well-heeled, well-groomed half sister of the ghost, who somehow managed to give the impression of putting on a false front

  DOUGLAS HEPNER—Eleanor said their shipboard romance had ended in marriage; he wasn’t available to substantiate her claim

  ELEANOR CORBIN—Mason’s ghostly client. Olga called her an exhibitionist, an opportunist and a liar, type cast for a sylvan dance of the seven veils

  DR. CLAUDE ARIEL—Mason’s indebted former client, he was eager to execute Perry’s most cryptic requests

  PAUL DRAKE—Crack private detective. He had to give up eating and sleeping when Perry put him on a case

  HOMER CORBIN—The very picture of a Southern colonel, the girls’ father possessed a dignified demeanor and a pair of exceptionally cold, steel-gray eyes

  MRS. SADIE PAYSON HEPNER—A beautiful brunette who flitted about like a robin in the springtime, her interest in Doug was something more than maternal

  WEBLEY RICHEY—Desk clerk at the Belinda Apartments, he saw a great deal—and heard even more

  ETHEL BELAN—Her choice of a roommate was unfortunate

  SUZANNE GRANGER—Art student and world traveler, she spent an interesting weekend à deux in Las Vegas

  HAMILTON BURGER—As district attorney, he was confident it was an open-and-shut case

  Chapter 1

  It was Della Street, Perry Mason’s confidential secretary, who first called the lawyer’s attention to the glamorous ghost.

  “Why the grin?” Mason asked, as Della Street folded a newspaper and handed it to him.

  “This should interest you.”

  “What is it?”

  “A ghost that people saw last night out at Sierra Vista Park, a very glamorous ghost. A seductive ghost. It should make a case you’d be interested in.”

  Mason said, “You’ve already interested me.”

  He took the newspaper Della Street had handed him and read in headlines:

  SEXY SPOOK STARTLES SPOONERS

  GIRL GIVES CHASE WITH JACK HANDLE

  The story had been written up in a light vein, a combination of news and humor. It read:

  Last night was a night of witchery. The moon was full and fragrant wisps of breeze gently rustled the trees and greenery.

  George Belmont, 28, of 1532 West Woodwane Street and Diane Foley were sitting in their parked car, looking at the moon. Suddenly a beautiful wraith, apparently in the nude save for a fluttering diaphanous covering, drifted out of the shadows toward the car.

  According to George, the wraith was making the motions of a classical dance. Diane, outraged, described the same occurrence to police with far less imagery—a difference in viewpoint, no doubt.

  “We were sitting there talking,” Diane told Officer Stanley of the park patrol, “when a girl appeared in little or nothing and deliberately started vamping my boy friend. She wasn’t dancing, she was giving the old come-on, and don’t think I didn’t know it.”

  “A seductive come-on?” Officer Stanley inquired.

  “Call it seductive if you want to,” Diane snorted. “It was just a wiggle as far as I’m concerned.”

  “And what did George do?”

  “He said, ‘Look at that,’ and started to get out of the car. That was when I went into action.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I grabbed up the first thing that was available and took after her, saying that I’d teach her better than to come prancing around without any clothes on, making passes at my boy friend.”

  According to police the “first thing that was available” was a jack handle which would certainly have inflicted what the law refers to as “grievous bodily injury,” and, beyond any question, was within the classification of a deadly weapon.

  The ghost, however, did not seem to realize its desperate plight. It was too busy getting out of there—but fast. Diane Foley, hampered by her more conventional garb, took after the ghost in a headlong pursuit which was punctuated from time to time with infuriated screams, arousing the attention of residents who bordered on the park and resulting in more than half a dozen calls to the police.

  According to Diane the ghost did the screaming. According to neighbors Diane certainly was doing some screaming herself. As one man who telephoned the police said in a later report, “It sounded like a couple of coyotes out in the desert—and you know what that sounds like. One sounds like half a dozen. Two sound like … well, that was the way it sounded out there in the park. I certainly thought someone was getting murdered, or that at least it was a hand-to-hand hair-pulling match.”

  Be that as it may the “ghost,” which George described as having a figure “simply out of this world,” won the race and a breathless, indignant Diane, still carrying the jack handle, returned to the car.

  Police, however, alerted by a dozen calls, converged on the neighborhood and soon were rewarded by picking up a young woman walking demurely along clad in an opaque raincoat. In view of the cloudless night the raincoat seemed incongruous.

  Interrogated by police, the young woman professed complete ignorance as to her name or address. Her mind, she said, was a blank.

  Once at headquarters, it was soon discovered that her mind wasn’t all that was blank. Under the raincoat, her only apparel was the remains of an expensive, gossamer slip, torn into the equivalent of Salome’s seven veils.

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  Police felt they had apprehended the ghost, but the evidence was circumstantial. Diane was vague as to any identification and she refused to permit George to be called as a witness.

  In view of the seeming amnesia the “ghost” is at present being held in the emergency hospital while police seek to learn her identity.

  “Well,” Mason said, “it would make a most interesting problem in identification. She should have committed some crime. It’s too bad.”

  “Don’t bewail your luck so soon,” Della Street said. “I didn’t call your attention to the article in the paper simply to send your thoughts woolgathering, but in my official capacity as your secretary.

  “The half sister of this glamorous ghost is impatiently waiting in the outer office.”

  “The deuce!” Mason exclaimed. “What does she want?”

  “Apparently the family wants you to represent the ghost. There seems to be a consensus of opinion that the ghost is up to her neck in a scrape of some kind and that you must get her out.”

  “What’s the half sister’s name, Della?”

  “Mrs. William Kensington Jordan, and she seems to have the trappings of wealth and respectability.”

  Mason grinned. “Your build-up, Della, is excellent. By all means, let’s see Mrs. William Jordan—but first tell me what she looks like.”

  “Neat, refined, well-groomed, nice clothes, neat ankles, expensive shoes…”

  “How old?”

  “Twenty-eight to thirty.”

  “Good-looking?”

  Della Street hesitated a moment. “The lips are just a bit too thin. She tries to build them up with lipstick and … well, somehow it throws her face out of balance. A full mouth just doesn’t go with that type of face. But she has nice, intelligent eyes.”

  “Well, let’s take a look at her,” Mason said. “I’m interested in the ghost.”

  “You would be,” Della said dryly, heading for the outer office.

  Mrs. Jordan, on being ushered into Mason’s private office, stood for a moment in the doorway, regarding the lawyer with searching scrutiny. Della Street said, “This is Mr. Mason, Mrs. Jordan.”

  “Thank you,” Mrs. Jordan snapped without moving her eyes in the slightest.

  Mason smiled affably. “How do you do, Mrs. Jordan?”

  She came forward and gave him her hand. “How do you do, Mr. Mason? It’s a pleasure to meet you—and see that your looks measure up to your extraordinary reputation.”

  “Thank you,” the lawyer said gravely, avoiding his secretary’s amused eyes.

  Mrs. Jordan’s speech had that sharp, precise articulation which should go with thin lips, and her manner was incisive.

  “Do sit down,” Mason said, indicating the client’s comfortable chair, “and tell me what you wanted to see me about.”

  “Have you read the paper?” Mrs. Jordan asked, seating herself, crossing her knees and carefully smoothing the skirt down over her legs.

  Mason glanced at Della Street, nodded to Mrs. Jordan.

  “Well,” she said, “then you’ve read about this ghost, this exhibitionist in Sierra Vista Park who made a naked spectacle of herself in the moonlight.”

  Mason nodded. “I take it,” he said, “from your description that you are not a believer in the supernatural.”

  “Not when Eleanor is concerned.”

  “And who is Eleanor?”

  “The ghost. She’s my half sister,” she said.

  “You have communicated that information to the authorities?” Mason asked.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I… I want to know where I stand first.”

  “Perhaps,” Mason told her, “you’d better explain.”

  Mrs. Jordan made no attempt to disguise the bitterness in her voice.

  “Eleanor,” she said, “is an exhibitionist and an opportunist. She’s also a liar.”

  “Evidently you have very little affection for your half sister.”

  “Don’t misunderstand me, Mr. Mason. I hate the ground she walks on.”

  “I take it,” Mason said, “that you have recognized the picture that was published in the newspaper, the picture of the young woman who has amne—”

  “Amnesia my foot!” she interrupted. “She doesn’t have any more amnesia than I do. She got in a jam once before and pulled that amnesia business to get herself out. She’s done something that’s a lulu this time and this is just her way of arousing sympathy and easing herself back into the family fold.”

  “I think,” Mason said, “you’d better give me all the circumstances.”

  “About two weeks ago,” Mrs. Jordan said, “Eleanor ran away with Douglas Hepner.”

  “And who’s Douglas Hepner?”

  “A drifter, a traveler, a fortune-hunter and an opportunist. He’s as phony as a three-dollar bill.”

  “And you say your half sister ran away with him?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Marriage?” Mason asked.

  “That’s what she says.”

  “You were not at the ceremony?”

  “Of course not. They simply took off. My husband, my father and I were away for the week end. When we returned we found a wire stating that they were happily married.”

  “Where was the wire from?”

  “Yuma, Arizona.”

  “Lots of marriages are solemnized in Yuma,” Mason said dryly. “People go there simply to get married.”

  “That’s probably why they went there.”

  “To get married?”

  “No, because Yuma has that reputation.”

  “You don’t think they’re actually married?”

  “I don’t know what to think, Mr. Mason. As far as Eleanor is concerned I’ve given up trying to think a long time ago.”

  “Well, suppose you tell me about her.”

  “My maiden name was Corbin. I’m Olga Corbin Jordan.”

  “Is your husband living?”

  She nodded.

  “You’re living together?”

  “Of course. Bill and I are very happy. I came here alone because he couldn’t get away.”

  “But he knows you’re coming?”

  “Certainly. I don’t have any secrets from Bill. Dad doesn’t know all the details. I simply told him I was going to see a lawyer and that he wasn’t to say a word to the police or to the newspapers until after he heard from me.”

  “You recognized your half sister’s picture in the paper?”

  “Yes. It’s a good likeness. Other people will recognize it too. That’s why I was so impatient trying to get in to see you. We don’t have much time.”

  “All right, just what do you want me to do?”

  “Eleanor has been in four or five scrapes. Someone has always come to the rescue and got her out. Dad has always been most indulgent with her and … well, I think she’s the apple of his eye. She’s spoiled and thinks she can wrap any man around her little finger. She’s loaded with sex appeal, and does she use it!”

  “Is she oversexed?” Mason asked.

  “No, but the men whom she comes in contact with think they’re oversexed. You’ve been around, Mr. Mason. You know that type of woman.”

  “How does she get along with women?”

  “She doesn’t deal with women. She makes her play for men and, believe me, she’s clever at it. Of course, it’s flattering—she makes them think they’re wonderful—but when you have to live with that sort of thing day in and day out, week in and week out, when you know each new victim will be a sucker, you become disgusted with the whole thing.”

  “Particularly if you don’t like her in the first place,” Mason said dryly.

  “Well, I don’t like her,” Olga Jordan blazed. “She’s been a devastating influence on Dad ever since she was five years old.”

  “Is your mother living?”

  She shook her head.

  “You say Eleanor is your half sister?”

  “I’ll give you the highlights, Mr. Mason. I was born when Father was thirty years old. I’m twenty … I’m thirty now. Dad is sixty. Mother died when I was five years old. Then when I was eight this Sally Levan came into Dad’s life.”

  “She was Eleanor’s mother?”

  “That’s right. And she had one definite, fixed idea in mind from the time she first met Dad. That was to throw her hooks into him and take him for all she could get. She raved about Dad and about how she loved every hair of his head. She wanted to raise a family and Eleanor was the result—not because she gave a hang about a family but she knew that as long as Dad had me she couldn’t compete with that bond unless she had a child of her own who would be Dad’s daughter and … Oh, I was only eight years old at the time, and I know an eight-year-old child isn’t supposed to notice those things, but, believe me, I saw it just as plain as day.”