Mason said, “There’s more to it than Dorothy Fenner’s case, Paul.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Drake said. “That’s what I gathered.”

  Mason said, “This has to be in strict confidence, Paul.”

  “I’ve never let you down yet, have I?”

  “Nope,” Mason said, “but when you take a look at this, you’ll see that it’s loaded with dynamite.”

  Mason took from his pocket the copy of the letter which had been contained in the bottle and passed it over to Paul Drake. “Take a look at that, Paul.”

  Drake read the letter, at first with nervous impatience, his eyes on the sheet of paper, but his ears listening for the telephones. Then suddenly he snapped his attention to sharp focus on the letter, and muttered half under his breath, “For the love of Mike!”

  “Some dynamite, eh Paul?”

  Drake didn’t answer. He remained utterly engrossed in the letter.

  Della Street looked up from the newspaper, started to say something, then folded the paper and waited until Drake had finished reading.

  Mason adjusted himself to a more comfortable position, interlaced his fingers over his kneecap.

  One of the telephones rang.

  Drake, with his eyes still on the letter, groped absently for the telephone.

  With swift efficiency, Della Street picked up the phone and put it in Drake’s groping hand.

  “Thanks,” Drake said. Then, into the telephone, “Yes, hello?”

  He listened to words which came rattling from the receiver, said, “Well, that’s a lot better! Give me some more facts.”

  He listened for a few seconds, then put down the letter he was reading, picked up a pencil, and started making notes.

  For some two or three minutes the receiver made noises and Drake kept on taking notes.

  “That all?”he asked.

  He listened to some more talk on the receiver, said, “Okay, I think you’re doing good. Now, you’ll have help down there in just a little while. I want to get all the facts I can and I want to find out what the police are doing. I’ll be sitting right here. Keep feeding in the facts.

  “Good lord, Perry,” Drake said, “that letter is really something. Where did you get it?”

  Mason said, “Apparently it was found in a bottle that had drifted ashore and was picked up by a beachcomber who turned the thing over to Alder. Now, that’ll show you something of what I have in mind. What did you learn just now, anything new?”

  “Looks like a real break for your client,” Drake said.

  “Shoot.”

  “That is,” Drake went on, “unless Dorothy Fenner went back to Alder’s house to finish the job she started Saturday night.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Mason told him. “Dorothy Fenner is a good little girl. She’s following my instructions. I took her home, and she’s staying at home.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I told her what to do. I think she has enough confidence in me to do exactly what I told her. What have you found out, Paul?”

  Drake said, “That was my man down at Alder’s place. He contacted a deputy sheriff who gave him all the dope. It looks as though the same prowler that was down there Saturday night came back and went to work again. This time she didn’t jump out of the window. The dog was shut up in the closet and when Alder surprised her, she gave him the works with a thirty-eight caliber double-action revolver.”

  “What makes them think it’s the same one?” Mason asked, his eyes narrowing.

  “Because of what police refer to as ‘modus operandi,’ the person who was in the study ran out through open French doors at the back of the study. These French doors open on the bay side. Sally Bangor, the servant who made the discovery of the body, had enough presence of mind to close the gate across the bridge when she ran back to the mainland. That left the murderer marooned on the island.

  “The maid’s screams got action from a passing motorist, and radio cops were on the job within a matter of minutes. When they heard Sally Bangor’s story they drew their guns and started making a routine search of the premises, leaving a committee of curious citizens who had gathered to stand at the mainland end of the bridge and see that no one doubled back behind them and got off the island that way.”

  “And?” Mason asked.

  “And they found precisely nothing,” Drake said, “no sign of the murderer. The only way that the murderer could have escaped was by water, just as she did the other night.”

  “What’s the rest of it?” Mason asked.

  “Well, George Alder was lying face down in a huge pool of blood. He’d been shot through the neck with a thirty-eight caliber revolver, and the bullet had severed one of the big arteries, gone clean on through the neck and apparently didn’t lodge anywhere in the room. That gives police the line of fire. The woman who shot him must have been standing right by the desk. Alder apparently fell in his tracks.”

  “How do the police figure she was standing by the desk?”

  “Because only in that case could the bullet have gone through Alder’s neck and then out through the open French doors. Alder pitched forward. The girl must have thrown the gun at him as he fell.”

  “How come?”

  “The gun was found under the body, all crusted with blood, and one shell fired. So there they have things in a nutshell, Perry.”

  “Where was the dog all this time?”

  “Locked up in a closet where apparently he stays most of the time when Alder is entertaining visitors in his study. The dog is rather unsocial. He’s been trained as a combat dog … not the type that does much barking, but the kind that goes into action. He had the regular routine Army training, pursuing people, dragging them down, and all that stuff.

  “As I understand it, if a person stands perfectly still with his hands up in the air, the dog is trained to crouch and not do anything, but the minute the person moves or assumes a threatening gesture, the dog will tear him apart.”

  “And what was the dog doing all the time the murder was taking place?”

  Paul Drake looked completely blank. “Flow the dickens—Oh, I see. I’ll get my man to look into it and let you know later.”

  Mason said, “How long ago did all this take place, Paul?”

  Drake said, “As nearly as police can tell from a superficial examination, the murder must have taken place around nine o’clock this evening. It was the servant’s night out and she didn’t return until around ten o’clock.”

  “So the murderer must have been in there searching for an hour?”

  “Apparently so.”

  Mason looked at his watch. “Hell, Paul, it’s twelve o’clock now.”

  “I told you,” Drake said, “that I probably made a slip-up by not having a man down there covering the house sooner. As it was, I sent this fellow down, told him to go on duty at midnight and keep the place under observation until eight in the morning, when I’d have a relief for him. Gosh, Perry, you wanted dope on Alder, but you didn’t want anybody tailed, and I even debated with myself whether to put anyone on watch at the house or not, but finally decided I’d do it just to get the license number of cars that might drive up, and … ”

  “It’s all right,” Mason said. “I think I’ll go get Dorothy Fenner out of bed and tell her about it. That may forestall some interviews with the newspaper, and … ”

  Della Street, who had been waiting for a break in the conversation, said, “Before you go, Chief, you might take a look at this.”

  “What?”

  Della Street raised the paper and said, “Here’s a want ad: ‘If Carmen Monterrey, who was in South America nine months ago, will communicate with the undersigned, she will receive information to her financial advantage. Box 123J.’ “

  “Sure,” Drake said, “that’s the ad I put in the paper.”

  “And how did you get it in the afternoon paper?” Della Street asked.

  Drake suddenly jerked upright to startled attention. “What?” he yelled. “Let me have that paper.”

  Mason said, “Looks as though someone might be one jump ahead of us, Paul. Better try and find out if you can what that Box 123J is. Della, get yourself a taxi and go on home and try and get some sleep. I’m going down, get Dorothy Fenner out of bed, and beat the police to the punch.”

  “Think they’ll call on her?” Drake asked.

  “Oh, sure,” Mason said, “unless they have already. However, I’ll have a nice little heart-to-heart talk.”

  “You don’t want me with you?” Della Street asked, somewhat wistfully.

  “No. You go get some sleep.”

  “Gosh, I don’t feel as if I ever wanted to sleep.”

  “Take a pill,” Mason advised. “You’re going to have to be on the job in the morning.”

  “But how about you?” she asked.

  “I,” Mason said, somewhat grimly, “am going to have to get on the job right now.”

  Chapter 10

  The Monadnock Hotel Apartments had an ornate front which made an imposing impression of glittering white stucco and red tile. The sides of the building were plain uncovered brick, with narrow windows indicating that most of the apartments were spaced at the conventional cramped intervals required by tenants in the lower economic brackets.

  Mason parked his car, ran up the front steps, entered the long, narrow lobby, saw the light over the desk, and approached the night clerk.

  “You have a Dorothy Fenner living here,” he said. “I’m Perry Mason.”

  The clerk ostentatiously looked at the clock.

  “Her lawyer,” Mason said. “Ring her, please, and tell her I’m here.”

  The clerk plugged in the line, depressed a key several times, then said, “I’m afraid she doesn’t care to answer, or … oh, just a minute.”

  Into the mouthpiece he said, “Mr. Perry Mason, your attorney, wishes to see you.”

  He hesitated a moment, frowned, once more looked at the clock,, then said to Mason, rather dubiously, “You may go up, Mr. Mason. It’s Apartment 459.”

  Mason took the elevator to the fourth floor, followed the numbers of the apartments down the corridor, tapped on the door of 459.

  Dorothy Fenner, attired in a housecoat, opened the door and said, “Why, Mr. Mason.”

  Mason said, “Sorry, I have to see you.”

  She stood to one side, swinging the door open for him to come in, then closed it behind him.

  She said, “The apartment’s a mess. It’s a single and—well, there’s the bed down and—I was sound asleep. I am hardly awake yet.”

  “Okay,” Mason told her. “Let’s do some fast talking. George Alder is dead.”

  “Dead!”

  Mason nodded.

  “How in the world. Why … what happened?”

  “Murdered.”

  “Good heavens! Who killed him? What … ”

  “They don’t know,” Mason said. “A preliminary report states that Sally Bangor, a servant, found his body lying on the floor when she returned from her evening off.”

  “Sally Bangor!”

  “You know her?” Mason asked.

  “I know who she is, yes. I’ve been at the house as a guest several times.”

  Mason said, “Well, the police may come here to question you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of what happened Saturday night.”

  “What does that have to do with it?”

  “Nothing,” Mason said, “except that there’s some indication the person who committed the murder escaped by water. The police may decide they’ll put two and two together. Have you been out anywhere tonight?”

  “No, I’ve been in my room ever since I was released.”

  “How about dinner?”

  “I didn’t want any. I just fixed myself a cup of chocolate and let it go at that. I had all the materials here so I didn’t go out.”

  “Any proof of that?”

  She said irritably, “A single woman is hardly in a position to furnish an alibi for the time she’s in bed.”

  “I mean during the evening. Anyone know that you didn’t go out?”

  “Why, of course, the man at the desk would have seen me if I’d gone out.”

  Mason sat down on the edge of the bed. Dorothy Fenner came over and sat down beside him.

  “Alder didn’t try to telephone you or get in communication with you, did he?” Mason asked, “—after court, I mean.”

  She crossed her knees. The housecoat fell away from her right leg. She gathered the garment, started to draw it into place, then regarded her flesh contemplatively and said, “You know, Mr. Mason, for an office girl, I really have a nice sunburn, haven’t I?”

  She stretched the leg out, and moved the housecoat up so that he could see the bronzed blonde skin.

  Mason gave her leg a casual glance, nodded, said, “Nice.”

  “Thank you.”

  “We were talking about George Alder,” Mason reminded her.

  “Oh, yes, what about him?”

  “Whether he telephoned or tried to get in touch with you.”

  She touched her bare leg at about the place where the top of her stocking would have been, moved her fingers along it slowly as though tracing some invisible line.

  Mason said, “For heaven sakes wake up, pay attention to me. Let’s get this stuff over with. Answer the question, can’t you? It would seem that you are deliberately trying to distract my attention in order to gain time.”

  She deliberated for two or three seconds, then said, quietly, “He was here.”

  “Here!” Mason exclaimed.

  “Yes.”

  “The deuce he was. When?”

  “I presume after he’d finished a conference with the deputy district attorney, and before he went back home.”

  “Can you fix the time?”

  “Oh, I’d say somewhere around six or half-past.”

  Mason said, “Now look, this hearing was in an adjoining county. After I secured your discharge I drove you back here. That took forty minutes. Now, how long after you arrived here at this apartment hotel, and

  I had let you out of the car at the curb, did Alder get here?”

  “Oh, I’d say it was an hour. Perhaps a little over.”

  “And during that time he’d been closeted with the district attorney down there?”

  “Some of the time, yes. At least that’s what he said.”

  “Why didn’t he go directly back to his island home? Why did he come all the way here?”

  “He wanted to see me.”

  “What did he want?”

  “He was holding out an olive branch. He said he wanted to make some sort of a settlement.”

  “Why didn’t you notify me?”

  Her eyes were wide with innocence. “Why, I was going to—first thing in the morning.”

  “But why didn’t you let me know immediately?”

  “You said you could only be reached through this Drake Detective Agency and not to call you unless it was something extremely urgent. I thought that could wait until tomorrow.”

  “What was his idea of a settlement?”

  “He wanted to pay me some money, I know that.”

  “How much?”

  “He was indefinite.”

  She had extended her right forefinger now and was tracing intricate patterns on the flesh of her leg.

  “Go ahead, what happened?”

  “He suggested that he’d acted hastily. He admitted that he had gone out to my yacht, searched it, found the bottle and taken possession of that letter again. He said he could prove to me the letter was a forgery and said he wanted to make some sort of adjustment for the trouble I’d been to.”

  “And you didn’t call me?”

  “Why, I thought that could keep until morning.”

  “And what did he want you to do?”

  “Just make a settlement.”

  “Did he offer you any amount?”

  “Nothing specific, but he said that if I’d come down to his house he could first prove to me that the letter was a forgery, and then … ”

  “When?”

  “When I got there.”

  “No, no. I mean when did he want you to come?”

  “Tonight, or … What time is it? … Oh, it’s morning. Well, then, it was last night.”

  “What else did he say?”

  “He said he’d be expecting me, that he’d leave the gate unlocked across the bridge and the gate in the wall unlocked. I could open both gates and walk right around to the side of the house where I was to go directly into his study. He said he’d have the dog shut up and he’d be waiting for me.”

  “You didn’t go?”

  “Of course not. You told me not to.”

  “But you didn’t tell him you weren’t coming?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “I thought I’d better keep your instructions to myself.”

  “To whom have you said anything about this conversation?”

  “To no one.”

  “You’re certain you didn’t go?”

  “Of course I didn’t go. Naturally I didn’t want to see him unless you were along.”

  “And exactly what did he want?”

  “He wanted my promise that we’d never say anything about that letter to the newspapers. He said he could convince both of us that it was all a fraud, a pack of false statements.”

  Mason got up off the edge of the bed and began pacing the floor. “You haven’t told anyone about this?”

  “No.”

  “Don’t.”

  “Why not?”

  Mason said, “Don’t be silly. They’d try to hang the murder on you then. They know that Alder was expecting someone and the assumption is that that person was responsible for his murder. If they found out Alder was expecting you they’d … ”

  “But I had no intention in the world of going down there. He kept insisting that he’d keep the gates and door open for me, and that the dog would be chained up.”

  “The dog was shut up in a closet,” Mason said.

  “I think he keeps the dog there much of the time when he’s expecting people around the house, doesn’t he?”

  “I guess so. How do you get along with the dog?”

  “I’ve virtually never seen him except that Saturday night when he came running after me. Whenever I’ve been there as a guest the dog has been shut up in that sort of closet. It’s really a little dog apartment, and Prince is quite happy there.”