Mason said, “That’ll be very welcome news. Could you perhaps find time to drop me a note about the oil lease which I could show to my clients in the syndicate? It would make them feel that I had accomplished something tangible.”

  Dorley Alder smiled. “You are both tactful and shrewd, Mr. Mason. I’ll send you such a letter within the next few hours by special messenger. In the meantime, here’s a memo with the address which I assume is either an address at which Carmen Monterrey can be reached, or where some definite information about her can be discovered.

  “I want to thank you for your professional courtesies and I can assure you that you will have no reason to regret them. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m really terribly busy this morning, but I did want you to understand the situation as soon as you came in.”

  Alder shook hands and once more made a dignified exit through the door to the corridor without once looking back.

  Mason glanced at Della Street, then looked down at the address on the memo pad.

  “Well, Della,” he said, “it looks as though you and I were going to have dinner at a Mexican restaurant tonight.”

  “An early dinner?” she asked.

  “An early dinner,” Mason said, “and in the meantime we’ll get hold of Paul Drake, give him this address, get him to dig up a description of Carmen Monterrey and put some of his men on the job watching the place.”

  “Sounds like an interesting evening,” Della Street said.

  “Darned if it doesn’t,” Mason grinned.

  “And,” she pointed out, “if your client was grateful for what you had done up to last night, think of how she’s going to feel tonight.”

  “I’m afraid to.”

  “I think,” Della Street told him, “you’d better have your secretary take notes during your next interview with Dorothy Fenner. How long will they hold her?”

  Mason shrugged his shoulders and said, “That depends on whether she follows my instructions and doesn’t talk.”

  “Suppose she doesn’t?”

  “Then they may hold her for quite a while.”

  “Suppose she does talk?”

  “Then they’ll turn her inside out and let her loose, and promptly start trying to twist her statements so they can be used against her.”

  “And what are we going to do?”

  “We,” Mason said, smiling, “are about to prepare an application for writ of habeas corpus, Della, and in the event Dorothy Fenner doesn’t communicate with us by two o’clock this afternoon, we’ll drive down to call on Judge Lankershim, of Department One, who seems to be a reasonable chap, and get him to issue a writ of habeas corpus. And that will force the sheriff’s office to either fish or cut bait.”

  “Perhaps they’ll decide to fish.”

  “Then,” Mason said, grinning, “we’ll cut the bait and try our best to arrange it very temptingly on a very sharp hook.”

  Chapter 12

  Paul Drake said, “Well, Perry, here’s the dope. We’ve tried our damnedest to trace that woman who was at Los Merritos and find out where she came from. Such a person was there, all right. The description seems to answer that of Corrine Lansing. This person was suffering from amnesia, hallucinations, complete hysteria, and what they refer to as manic-depressive psychosis.

  “She was there on the date Minerva Danby wrote that letter. She never did tell them who she was, so they could depend on what she said. She was kept in the south wing where they had that disastrous fire about four months ago. Some half dozen inmates were burnt alive. She was one of them.”

  “The body?” Mason asked.

  “Burnt beyond recognition,” Drake said. “Identified, however, by means of a metallic tag.”

  “Any chance it wasn’t the same person?”

  “Lots of chance that it wasn’t Corrine Lansing,” Drake said, “but no chance that it wasn’t the person who had been confined there and whom Minerva apparently identified on the day of her death.”

  “No other clues?” Mason asked.

  “No. We just can’t find out a single thing that will give us a definite answer. She was picked up on the streets of Los Angeles about two o’clock in the morning. The first diagnosis was that she was drunk. She was confined as an alcoholic, then taken to the psychopathic ward, then sent to Los Merritos.”

  “That’s a private institution?”

  “That’s right. Here’s what happened. Police naturally were trying to locate relatives. They had this person listed with Missing Persons and all that stuff. A woman who was looking for a sister who had disappeared thought this person answered the description, was taken to see her; said that it was not her sister but listened to her ravings, became sympathetic and said she would send money for private treatments. The superintendent naturally thought the contribution would be in the form of a check. It wasn’t. It was in the form of cash, a package of currency which was delivered by messenger, and a note stating that the woman preferred to remain anonymous.”

  “In other words,” Mason said, “there’s absolutely no chance of making an identification now, either that the body is or is not that of Corrine Lansing.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Burial?” Mason asked.

  Drake shrugged his shoulders. “She was listed as ‘Unidentified Dead’ You know what happens in those cases. The bodies are turned over to the state for purposes of dissection and what have you. They’re supposed to be held for thirty days.”

  “A burnt body?” Mason asked.

  “I understand they’re somewhat in demand, in classes on police administration, arson, criminology and homicide investigation.”

  “And how about this message in the bottle?”

  “If police found it there in Alder’s desk they certainly have clammed up. They haven’t let out a peep.

  “What do you hear from your client?”

  “I don’t. I filed habeas corpus a couple hours ago.”

  “The sheriff thinks he has something on her, Perry. Incidentally, police, acting on the sheriff’s orders, grabbed the night clerk at the Monadnock Hotel Apartments, and are keeping him sewed up as a material witness. Now why would they want him unless he could give them something on Dorothy?”

  Mason said, “Damn it, Paul, Dorothy Fenner was in her apartment when the crime was committed. She was released from jail and went directly to her room in the hotel. I drove her up to the place. Now, I’ll tell you in confidence why the sheriff wants that night clerk. He may be able to prove that George S. Alder came to see Dorothy Fenner at her room at the Monadnock Hotel Apartments, but that’s all they can prove. Dorothy Fenner assures me that she was in her room all the time.”

  “Well,” Drake said, “there’s something funny about the way they’ve got this night clerk sewed up, Perry.”

  Mason said, “It’s just as I told you, Paul. They’ve got him sewed up because they want to prove that Alder came to call on Dorothy Fenner. I know all about that. He gave the clerk five dollars to let him go up without being announced. So what? That doesn’t prove anything.”

  “Well, the sheriff seems to think it does. They’re certainly laying for you.”

  “Let them lay,” Mason said grimly. “They may find they’ve laid an egg. Did you locate Pete Cadiz?”

  “Yes. He’s a specialized sort of beachcomber who lives on a sailboat. You want us to get a statement?”

  “Gosh, no. Lay off of the guy, Paul. I can’t even show any interest in him without tipping my hand. I’m not supposed to know anything about that letter. Do you suppose it was taken by the murderer, Paul?”

  “I don’t know a thing about it, Perry. All I do know is that the police here are working with the sheriff’s office and they’re all feeling very smug.”

  Mason frowned. “Hang it, Paul, they must be barking up a wrong tree. Have you located Carmen Monterrey?”

  “She’s at that restaurant address, acting as hostess and fortuneteller. She’ll be there tonight, but no one seems to know where she is today. I have men covering the place. Want anything special on her?”

  Mason shook his head. “Della and I are going to eat there tonight—and have our fortunes told.”

  “Hope you’re lucky,” Drake grinned. “Ask her what the authorities really have on your client, Perry. I’m satisfied they think they have an ace in the hole.”

  “Let ‘em have it and we’ll trump it,” Mason announced optimistically.

  Chapter 13

  A fat Mexican, smiling fixedly in a travesty of carefree good nature, a serape thrown over his shoulders, a big straw sombrero on his head, played a guitar.

  He was seated in front of the entrance which went down a short flight of stairs to the basement restaurant and the smile had long since ceased to be anything more than the facial distortion of wearied muscles.

  Mason, Della Street on his arm, trying to give the impression of sauntering along, hesitated momentarily in front of the restaurant, then went down the stairs into a dimly lighted dining room where there was a heavy accent on local color.

  Tables, covered with red and white checkered tablecloths, were grouped around a dance floor which could not have been over fifteen feet square.

  At one end was a microphone, and four men with serapes and sombreros furnished music for four or five couples who were dancing. Out of some three dozen tables in the place, about half were filled.

  Waitresses in Mexican costume carried food and drinks. A fortuneteller moved about from table to table, smiling impersonally and with a fixed grimace purely as mechanical as that of the lonely guitar player on the outside.

  Paul Drake’s man moved up to Mason’s side, said in a low voice, “She came in about fifteen minutes ago.”

  “She’s the fortuneteller?”

  “That’s right. This is her aunt coming now. The aunt owns the joint.”

  The big woman Drake’s man had pointed out came sweeping toward them, a smile of welcome on her face, her eyes shrewdly searching.

  “Friend of mine,” Drake’s operative said. “I’m over here in the booth. He’ll join me.”

  “Oh, that ees fine,” the hostess purred. “Your frien’, no?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, that ees so nice. He an’ the senorita weel be weeth you. I am glad you haf come.”

  Mason walked over to the booth indicated by Drake’s operative and sat down.

  “Had your fortune told?” Mason asked.

  “No,” the man said. “She only came in fifteen minutes ago, and Paul’s orders were to case the joint, keep her spotted, find out everything we could about her background, and wait for you.”

  “We’ll wait a minute and see what’s doing.”

  Drake’s man said, “The Spanish rice is about the best bet if you’re going to eat. The other stuff is pretty heavy. Gosh, when you’ve once known the real Mexican friendly hospitality, this tourist stuff is ghastly. If you order beer they give you about ten minutes before the waiter comes around, picks up the empty bottle suggestively and gives you the benefit of a silent suggestion to order another one … Watch the dancing, it’s good.”

  Mason seated himself and watched the couples on the floor.

  “The two girls with the older guys are a kick,” the detective said. “Evidently they’re stuck with entertaining some out-of-town buyers. They’re not party girls, probably stenographers in the office, and they don’t like the job. The men are all organized to go great guns, and are cutting loose and being devilish. The girls would like to have it all over with, and are wondering just what’s going to happen when it comes time for good nights. They duck out to the powder room every twenty minutes or so for a conference, and as soon as they go, the men get their heads together and start plotting in low voices.

  “Notice the snaky-looking gal with the tall chap. She has her eye on the situation with the two out-of-town buyers. I’m betting even money that the next time the two girls duck out to the powder room the snaky gal will do something to attract attention. Notice the way she dances. You’d think she was trying to crawl inside the guy’s coat.

  “Then notice the guy who’s taking his wife out for a celebration. That’s more dancing and exercise than he’s had in ten years. She’s enjoying herself, but they’re both going to be stiff in the morning and by tomorrow night at this time the doctor will coil up the stethoscope, shake his head gravely, and tell the fellow he has to remember he’s thirty-five years older and forty pounds heavier than he was when he was voted the best dancer in his college class.

  “I always like to watch people in a joint like this and … ”

  A waitress handed Perry Mason a menu.

  Mason said, “Bring me some beer and some of those little corn doodads to go with it. Then we’ll order.”

  The waitress brought beer and Fritos, paused for their orders. Mason persuaded Della to try the Spanish rice and tortillas.

  Della Street said, “She’s coming now, Chief.”

  Carmen Monterrey, with a smile, moved over to the table. “Do you wish your fortunes told?” she asked, arching her eyebrows, glancing at the men but concentrating on Della Street.

  “Oh,” Della Street exclaimed enthusiastically, “that would be … ” She broke off abruptly and glanced apprehensively at Perry Mason.

  Mason, acting the part, said expansively, “Sure, sure. If you want it, go right ahead.”

  Della Street said contritely, “Oh, I didn’t mean—is it all right?”

  “Sure it’s all right,” Mason said. He handed Carmen Monterrey three folded dollar bills. “Here,” he said. “Give her a good reading.”

  Carmen Monterrey slipped the money down the front of her blouse, moved into the vacant seat opposite Della Street, said, “Let me have your hand.”

  For several moments she studied Della Street’s hands, then she said, “You work. You have a very important position. No?”

  “That depends on what you mean by important,” Della Street said modestly.

  “You love your work,” she said, “but perhaps that is because you love someone who is connected with the work.”

  She raised her eyebrows.

  Della Street, suddenly embarrassed, said, “Well, after all … ”

  Carmen Monterrey glanced comprehensively at Perry Mason. “Oh,” she said, and then added quickly. “You have such a great loyalty to your work. Perhaps that is because the man you work for is a big man, a noble man. He inspires confidence.”

  Mason gravely peeled off another dollar bill and handed it to Carmen Monterrey. “You’re doing fine,” he said.

  There were dimples on her face as she laughingly added that dollar bill to the others.

  She said, “You work very hard, long hours, but you feel that you are a part of this work that you love. And this love will bear fruit—no?”

  Della Street started to say something, then checked herself.

  “Nice fruit,” Carmen Monterrey said. “Beautiful fruit. First there comes the blossom, then the fruit … There are times when you wish to rest but you do not wish to leave your work. You have been alone in the world for a long time. Your mother died when you were young and your father … Perhaps there was a separation before your mother died and your mother died from a broken heart—no?

  “And this thing has made an impression on you. You have been aware that when a woman gives her heart she gives everything … Perhaps … ”

  Della Street suddenly jerked her hand away.

  “That’s plenty,” she said, laughing nervously.

  Carmen Monterrey looked at her understandingly. “The future,” she said, “is perhaps even now shaped by the past. The ship that never leaves port because it is afraid of the storms cannot bring back a wealthy cargo—no?”

  “No,” Della Street agreed.

  Carmen Monterrey glanced at Perry Mason, started to reach for his hand, but turned instead to Harry Frink. “Do you wish your fortune told—no?”

  “No,” Frink said, shortly and emphatically.

  Mason said, “I think you’re a pretty good fortuneteller, Miss … ”

  “Carmen,” she said, “call me Carmen.”

  “You’re good.”

  “I have always been psychic. I can see things. And sometimes in the lines of the hand … ”

  “Do you really believe that?” Mason asked.

  She shrugged and laughed. “How do I know what I believe? When one believes something it is a part of one. I only know that when I take the hand of a person I feel something come to me. It flows from that hand into mine, then into my blood and into my brain, and ideas come. I look at the lines on the hand and I hold the hand, but the things form in my brain. That is what you call psychic—no?”

  “I suppose so,” Mason said dubiously. “Were you born here?” She shook her head. “I was born in Mexico.”

  “You are wise,” Mason said. “You have traveled—no?”

  She laughed and said, “Already you have acquired the Mexican custom of ending a sentence with a question. My aunt laughs at me about that habit but she has it herself. We will make a question and say ‘no’ on the end when perhaps the answer, of course, is ‘yes,’ but we say ‘no’ as a question to make it easy for the person who answers.”

  “Where were you educated?” Mason asked.

  “I have traveled,” she said, somewhat wistfully.

  “Europe?”

  “No.”

  “South America?”

  She nodded.

  Mason said, “I have always wanted to go to South America. Tell me, is it beautiful?”

  Carmen rolled her eyes. “Oh, Senor, it is beeeeeauti-ful.”

  “It is long since you have been there?”

  “I have but just returned.”

  “Indeed.”

  “This thing which enables me to tell fortunes, works for others, but in my own case I cannot see things so clear. My one great friend, she disappeared and no one knows where she has gone. Some say she must be dead.

  But they cannot say when she died or how she died. For myself I can only admit I do not know.