“What kind of a deal did Alder want to make with you?

  “I don’t know. I told him he’d have to negotiate it with my lawyer.”

  “So he may have been expecting you down there tonight?”

  “Of course. He wanted me to come, but I told him that I wouldn’t.”

  “Did he take that answer as final?”

  “He seemed to think he could hypnotize me, or browbeat me, or coax me into coming. Almost the last thing he said was that he’d be waiting there for me and that the gates would be left unlocked. I was to come right on into his study.”

  Mason said, “Don’t tell anybody that. If the police come here, and it begins to look now as though they might, simply tell them that 1 was the one who told you George Alder was murdered. Explain to them that I came here especially to tell you not to make any statements to the police or to newspapers or to anyone, because technically your case is still pending in the courts. Use that as an excuse to keep from talking. Don’t make any statements whatever other than, ‘no comment.’ “

  She nodded.

  “Think you can do that?”

  “But yes, of course.”

  Mason said, “I don’t want you to lie about anything, but I don’t want you to tell anyone Alder was here tonight. And definitely, positively, absolutely, and finally, I don’t want you, even by admission, intimation or otherwise to let anyone know that Alder had asked you to come down there tonight.”

  “But won’t I have to tell that sooner or later. Isn’t it evidence, and … ”

  “You can tell it as evidence and at the proper time—if you have to,” Mason said. “In the meantime we’re going to watch and see what develops. You know Carmen Monterrey?”

  “Of course.”

  “You didn’t put an ad for her in the paper, did you?”

  “Me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Heavens, I haven’t heard from her for weeks. She was down in South America and … well, I guess she stayed there for quite a while, hoping that there’d be some trace of Corrine. She was very much attached to Corrine, and I know she felt bitter against Minerva Danby because of the way Minerva Danby walked out. Well, after reading that letter, I don’t know as I blame Minerva—I’d always felt rather bitter toward her from what I’d understood from Carmen’s letters, and then—well, I can see now how it was from Minerva’s standpoint. I think Carmen came back once when it seemed that Corrine might be here in this country, but it turned out to be a false lead and she went right back to South America. I don’t know where she is now.”

  Mason nodded, said, “Don’t try to pull any fancy stuff with the police. Get dressed, tell them I’ve been here, told you Alder was murdered and that you were not to give any interviews to the press or make any statements to the police, other than to state that you hadn’t left this apartment since you returned to it around five-thirty or six o’clock.”

  “But when they ask me how you knew about the murder what shall I tell them?”

  Mason grinned, and said, “Tell them you employ a lawyer to answer questions for you, that you don’t want to start answering his questions for him. Okay?”

  “Okay,” she said, smiling.

  Mason picked up his hat, started for the door.

  She came over to stand with her hand on the doorknob. “You’re nice.”

  “Thanks.”

  Abruptly she raised her lips. “Good night,” she said.

  As Mason bent to kiss her, her arm moved up around his neck, then her fingers were at the back of his head pulling the hair, pressing his head down to hers.

  Then suddenly she released her hold, stepped back and looked at him with eyes that were dark with emotion.

  “You are nice,” she half whispered.

  “Thank you,” Mason said, and slipped out into the corridor.

  It was two or three seconds before he heard the door close behind him and he had taken three more steps before he heard the bolt shoot angrily into place.

  Chapter 11

  When Perry Mason entered his office at nine-thirty Tuesday morning Della Street said, “Dorley Alder is out there.”

  “What’s new?”

  “Drake has a report here—a lot of stuff—mostly an elaboration of what he told you last night.”

  “That’s fine. Give me a resume and then I’ll see Dorley Alder.”

  “Apparently the dog was raising Cain at the time of the murder,” Della said, “but when the police got there, the dog was lying quiet in the closet. The maid said that the dog had been trained to lie there, and when he was shut up in the closet he knew that was where he was supposed to stay.

  “Police thought the murderer might still be on the island, or hiding in the house somewhere, and they wanted to use the dog to track her down. They asked the maid if she could control the dog, and the maid said, she didn’t think so and wasn’t anxious to try. She said the dog had been fairly friendly with her, but that no one except George Alder was permitted to feed or go near it, and while the dog would tolerate her while Alder was around, the dog was always shut up when Alder wasn’t there, and she didn’t want any part of the animal.”

  “And the dog was quiet all this time?”

  “You mean while the police were moving around?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s the way I understand it from Drake’s report,” Della said.

  “And how did they know he’d been raising Cain when the murder was committed?”

  “Well,” Della said, “the police finally decided to open the door a crack, hold a rope with a noose in it, get the dog out of there and see if perhaps the maid could make him track down the person who had committed the murder. In the event the dog wasn’t tractable, they’d have the rope around his neck.

  “So, they opened the closet door, the dog lunged against the opening, came through like a shot, knocked one of the policemen over and tore out of the house, running nose to the ground.”

  “And trailed the murderer?” Mason asked, interested.

  “No,” said Della. “He tried to get away, ran to the closed gate in the bridge, and started scratching, trying to get out through the gate.”

  Mason said, “That would be a pretty good indication the murderer had gone that way, Della.”

  “Apparently she couldn’t have. The servant ran out and closed the gate behind her, and was absolutely certain that no one crossed the bridge, nor could anyone have swum from the mainland across to the island. There’s a sheer brick wall on both sides.”

  Mason frowned thoughtfully.

  “Now, then, getting back to the way they know the dog was raising Cain when the murder was committed,” Della said. “When the police looked inside the closet, they found that the door was all scratched up and blood streaks on the door indicated the dog must have torn one of his claws loose trying to get out. He probably went into a frenzy when he realized his master was in danger.”

  “The dog hadn’t clawed the door before?” Mason asked, interested.

  “Never. The maid said that this closet had been fixed up as the dog’s own. There was a mattress in there, a pan of water, and all the dog trappings. And of course there was ventilation which came in from a high window that was heavily barred. The dog had learned to stay in there quietly when he was put in there. Now, then, that’s the story. You’d better see Mr. Alder.”

  She started for the doorway to bring Dorley Alder into the office, then paused. “Did you see your client last night?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Everything under control?”

  “Everything except the client.”

  “How come?”

  “She was very grateful for all I was doing for her.”

  “She should be grateful.”

  “She had been in bed,” Mason said. “She put on a housecoat.”

  “And then?” Della Street asked.

  “Then,” Mason said, “she commented on how brown her leg was, pointing out to me what a nice sun tan she’d managed to get despite the fact she was a working girl. It sounded like a stall.”

  “Well, what of it?” Della Street asked. “Didn’t she have a right to be proud of her sun tan?”

  “And when I left,” Mason went on, “she came over to hold the door open for me and her good night was slightly more affectionate than I had anticipated.”

  Della Street laughed. “Perhaps the poor gal thinks she can use some influence to determine the amount of your fee.”

  “It’s a legitimate deduction from all the circumstances,” Mason said.

  “You mean a deduction from the facts, or a deduction from the fee?”

  He said, “You’re too sharp for me this morning. Did you sleep?”

  “After two aspirin and two hours of tossing.”

  “Drake hasn’t found anything of Carmen Monterrey, has he?”

  “Not yet. He did find out something though that he’s not supposed to know. He can’t tell us how he learned it—through some contacts of his.”

  “What?”

  “The box 123J. That was George S. Alder.”

  Mason paused to think that over, then nodded thoughtfully. “Of course. That was Alder’s logical move. He realized what he was up against as soon as he saw this letter in the bottle. He knew that he had to find Carmen. And perhaps through her find some way of discrediting some of Minerva Danby’s statements. Okay, Della, go bring Dorley Alder in and we’ll see what he wants.”

  Dorley Alder entered the office as Della Street held the door open. He wasted no time in preliminaries. “Mason, this is a damn bad business.”

  “It is for a fact.”

  Alder said, “My nephew was a bachelor and apparently I’m the next of kin upon whom the responsibilities fall in such a case.”

  Mason nodded, keeping his face without expression.

  Dorley Alder seated himself in the big client’s chair, said, “What will happen with this case against Dorothy Fenner now, Mr. Mason?”

  “I presume it’ll be dismissed. There won’t be any complaining witness, no one to testify what, if any, articles were missing.”

  Dorley said, “Has it ever occurred to you, Mr. Mason, that the authorities might try to implicate Dorothy Fenner in the murder?”

  “It’s a possibility,” Mason said, his voice showing casual unconcern. “We’re dealing with a county sheriff, of course—and anything may happen. However, if they try to throw suspicion on the Fenner girl they’ll wind up by making themselves ludicrous.”

  Dorley Alder took a leather-backed notebook from his pocket, said, “I told you that you’d made an ally. I’ll now prove it. The gun with which my nephew was shot was his own gun.”

  “The devil it was!”

  “That’s right, one of the new Smith and Wessons with a two inch barrel, a .38 special.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “Quite. Not only have I checked the invoice where he purchased the gun, but the weapon was evidently one he was carrying on his person at the time of his death. The sheriff, I believe, is trying at the moment to keep this information from the press.”

  “It could very well have been suicide then?”

  “I’m not prepared to state. There are, I believe, such matters as powder tattooing to be taken into consideration. A technical expert has given it as his opinion that the gun must have been too far away for the wound to have been self-inflicted.”

  “But the gun had been fired?” Mason asked.

  “Not only had one shell been discharged, but I understand a test made with paraffin for nitrate stains indicated that my nephew had held the gun when it was fired. He’s left-handed and there was a very definite reaction to the paraffin test, so-called, on his left hand … and the sheriff took Dorothy Fenner into custody five hours ago.”

  Mason thought that over. “I was afraid he might do something like that. Did you find the bottle and the letter?”

  “I did not, but the authorities made a rather thorough search of the desk and of the study before admitting me.

  They may have found it and decided to say nothing for the moment.”

  “Look here, if George Alder had fired that gun and the bullet didn’t go into his body, where could it have gone?”

  “Apparently nowhere. The only possible place for a bullet to have left that room without leaving a telltale hole was to go through the French doors.

  “The medical evidence is that George dropped in his tracks. He fell forward on his face. He was facing the desk when he was shot and his back was to the French doors.”

  “How was he dressed?”

  “In slacks and a soft weave sport coat which he evidently wore quite a bit around the house. He had been painting on his yacht a few days before and there were some paint stains on the coat, and there was also a very small triangular rip on the left coat sleeve near the cuff. If he had been expecting a visitor, and apparently he had, he had not deemed it necessary to dress up. His visitor was one whom he would have greeted informally.”

  “Just as one of the family?” Mason asked.

  Dorley Alder smiled dryly. “I was about to use that same expression, Mr. Mason, until I realized that except for Corrine, who disappeared under such circumstances I have no hopes for her, I am the only member of the family.”

  “You have an alibi?” Mason asked, making his voice light with banter.

  Dorley said gravely, “You are a shrewd lawyer, Mr.

  Mason. Your manner is facetious, but your question is barbed.”

  “Well?” Mason asked.

  “I am a bachelor, and a retiring one, Mr. Mason. My chief relaxation is reading. I am sixty-three and I had only hoped to continue to draw my annuities from the corporate trust and pursue the even tenor of my ways.

  “Both of the other beneficiaries were younger people. I certainly should have been permitted the assumption that the mortality tables would give me a chance to ease out of the picture with the two younger people surviving to inherit the trust funds.

  “Now I find myself in a position of sole responsibility and sole beneficiary under the trust fund, and I don’t like it. I have no one to whom to leave the money and the responsibilities will probably decrease my life expectancy.

  “My alibi is largely circumstantial, such as proof from the man who greased my car yesterday afternoon that the speedometer shows a trip to my nephew’s house was out of the question, and evidence that the speedometer had not been disconnected.

  “And I am not fool enough, Mr. Mason, to think that the authorities are not skeptical and arc failing to check my every moment and movement with great care.

  “As you can judge, I am very, very busy this morning, Mr. Mason. I have a thousand and one things to handle. There is a vast, far-flung empire presided over by our corporation. I confess that I am not fully familiar with the details and I suddenly find myself with a terrific responsibility. Added to that is the knowledge that there is certainly whispering behind my back. It is not an enviable position.”

  Mason nodded.

  “But I wanted to drop in to assure you that I meant what I said to you yesterday. You have made a friend and you have an ally, not only individually, but as the surviving member of Alder Associates, Incorporated.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Among my nephew’s things I found one bit of information which I think might be of value to you.”

  “What is that?” Mason asked.

  “I found that after learning the contents of this letter, my nephew tried frantically to get in touch with Carmen Monterrey.”

  “Naturally he would,” Mason said.

  “He put ads in the various papers and I have reason to believe that Carmen Monterrey got in touch with him over the telephone. I find on his memo pad a note containing the initials ‘C.M.,’ and an address. The address seems to be that of a Mexican restaurant catering to the tourist trade. I know no more about it than that, but I have brought you the address. I thought that perhaps you might be interested.”

  Mason nodded.

  “I feel,” Dorley went on, “that your client’s interests will necessitate an investigation of that letter. I think that perhaps you can make that to better advantage than I can, and I am hoping that any information you do secure, you will feel free to communicate to me. I think we will both be in a better and more satisfactory position when the mystery of my nephew’s death is cleared up. If it was a suicide let us determine that point. If it was an accidental death due to the unexpected discharge of his gun, let us prove it. And if it was murder, let us apprehend and convict the murderer.

  “And I will be willing to contribute time, effort and money to help you in whatever you do along those lines.”

  “Thanks. I may call on you.”

  “Please do so. If there is some fee … ”

  “Don’t misunderstand me on that point,” Mason interrupted. “Until this is cleared up I have only one client and that’s Dorothy Fenner.”

  “Yes, yes. I can appreciate your position, Mason. A lawyer can only ride one horse—but after this is all over, I can assure you that I’ll then approach you—financially. In the meantime you owe your client everything, and me nothing.

  “I deem it fair to tell you that for some strange reason the authorities are rather triumphant over evidence they have found implicating someone, and I think that someone is Dorothy Fenner.

  “However, you now know my position. Please call on me for any co-operation.”

  “Well,” Mason said, “as you know, I’m representing Dorothy Fenner and I’m also representing this syndicate which has property adjoining yours, and which … ”

  “As far as the syndicate is concerned,” Dorley Alder interrupted, “you can definitely assure your clients that as soon as the necessary preliminary arrangements have been made so that I can take over the reins, they can count upon the full co-operation of the Alder Associates.”

  “You mean you’ll join in a fair lease?” Mason asked.

  “Exactly. There has been rather a ruthless policy of exploitation on the part of the corporation,” Dorley Alder explained. “A policy which I personally have deplored. I want you to feel that so far as lies within my power, and apparently a great deal now does lie within my power, that policy is going to be reversed.”