“Do I say anything about his offer to be of service?”

  “Tell him we may call on him—later.”

  “Do you want to sign the letter?”

  “No, you do it. Pretend you’re sending the remittance on your own responsibility. You sign the check on the special account.”

  She nodded.

  “What else is in the mail? Anything?”

  “Nothing too important.”

  “Ring Paul Drake,” Mason said. “Ask him to come down right away if he can.”

  Mason busied himself at reading the mail until Drake’s code knock sounded on the door.

  Della Street admitted the detective.

  Mason said, “Take a look at this, Paul.” and handed him the report of the Beckemeyer Detective Service.

  Paul Drake gave the matter frowning and careful consideration.

  “Well?” Mason asked.

  Drake said. “You can search me. Perry.”

  Mason said, “It becomes very important to find out whether Ed Davenport was actually the one who wired the money to the Pacific Palisades Motor Court. Suppose you can find out, Paul?”

  “Under the circumstances it may be a little difficult. There may be a little red tape. In view of the fact that Fresno has decided it has a murder case against Myrna Davenport the authorities won’t take kindly to anyone who is digging up information having to do with Davenport. Are you absolutely certain that Frank L. Stanton and Ed Davenport are one and the same?”

  “I’m not absolutely certain,” Mason said. “But I’m morally certain. The description checks and the license number of the automobile checks, but we’d better get the registration and have an expert on handwriting make a report.”

  “You stopped in at that motel in Fresno?”

  “That’s right. Stanton checked in early in the evening. He had two heavy suitcases with him. Presumably they contained ore from a mine and he was working on some sort of a mining deal. He was very anxious to see that the suitcases remained in his possession. He took them into the motel with him. He had also purchased a brand new traveling bag and he unwrapped that in the motel.”

  “What about the suitcases?”

  Mason said, “If they were in his car or in the motel at Crampton the authorities haven’t said anything about them.”

  “Think someone got away with them?”

  “I don’t know. There’s some evidence Davenport was rolled while he was staying in Fresno. If that happened who ever did the job must have taken the suitcases. They may have had valuable ore samples.”

  “How valuable?”

  “That’s the point. Even rich ore would hardly be worth all that trouble.”

  “Unless it was a job of salting a claim somewhere.”

  “Could be,” Mason said. “The district attorney at Fresno, for your information, Paul, is a deadly, two-fisted fighter who isn’t going to be easy.

  “I think he’s a square-shooter. I don’t think he’d want to prosecute Myrna Davenport if he didn’t think she was guilty. Her preliminary hearing is set for tomorrow.”

  “Think he’ll show his hand?” Drake asked.

  “He’ll show only enough of it to get her bound over,” Mason said. “He’s working hand in glove with the district attorney here and the idea is they’ll get Mrs. Davenport convicted of the murder of her husband up there. They may or may not get the death penalty. As soon as that case is finished they’ll take her down here and make a try for the death penalty in the case of Hortense Paxton. That’s going to be a cinch, particularly if they’re able to get a conviction of anything from manslaughter on up in the Fresno court.”

  “You mean they’ll drag in both cases?”

  “They may have some difficulty connecting up the two cases,” Mason said, “even under the liberal rules that are allowed these days for showing a general scheme. The D.A. in Fresno might drag in the Hortense Paxton poisoning under the theory that he was showing motivation for the death of Davenport. The Los Angeles authorities would have a hell of a time dragging the Davenport murder in as part of the Paxton case.

  “That’s probably why they decided to try her first in Fresno on the murder of her husband. But let her get a conviction in either case and the minute she takes the stand in the other they can impeach her by showing she’s been convicted of a felony and letting the jury know what that felony was.”

  “I get you.” Drake said.

  “Therefore,” Mason said, “it becomes vitally important for us to get the facts and all the facts, and if possible to get them first.”

  “That’s quite an order,” Drake told him. “The authorities up there have the inside track. They have all kinds of manpower. They have the authority. They know the ropes.”

  “I know,” Mason said, “but they may not know the importance of getting all the information on Stanton and getting it correlated fast.

  “Now here are certain things that are very definitely established. Ed Davenport had something on which he was working, something which was important. His wife probably didn’t know anything about it.

  “Here’s the low-down on that San Bernardino job. While Della and I were up in Paradise the twelfth the telephone rang. It was a pay station from Bakersfield. Della Street answered the phone. A man came on the line and immediately said, ‘Pacific Palisades Motor Court at San Bernardino, unit thirteen and hung up.”

  “That was absolutely all of the conversation?” Drake asked.

  “Every word of it,” Mason said.

  “Well,” Drake said. “It all ties in with the idea that that motel was to have been used for something rather important. Now why would Davenport have paid the rent on it and then kept it under surveillance? Particularly if he intended to occupy it himself.”

  “His wife is quite certain that he didn’t intend to occupy it himself, that he was leaving Fresno and intended to drive straight home.”

  “You can’t depend on what his wife tells you,” Drake said. “She’s an interested party—and she may be a guilty party.”

  “There was one thing significant about the call to Paradise,” Mason said. “It didn’t occur to me at the time. I knew there was something strange about it but the significance didn’t dawn on me until later.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The man talking from Bakersfield didn’t ask if he was talking with Mabel Norge. As soon as Della Street said hello he gave the message.

  “Now if it had been Ed Davenport who was calling he would have known that Della Street wasn’t Mabel Norge. He would either have detected a difference in the voices or he would have talked enough to have made certain. And, of course, we know now that Ed Davenport was dead when that call was made.

  “Moreover,” Mason went on. “If it had been anyone delivering a message in accordance with instructions you would have thought that he would have taken some steps to have ascertained the identity of the party to whom he was talking.”

  “But he didn’t?”

  “That’s right, he didn’t.”

  “Why?”

  “There’s only one solution,” Mason said. “He didn’t know anything about the setup at Paradise. He didn’t know who Mabel Norge was. Her voice meant nothing to him, and her identity meant nothing to him. He simply called up, left a message, and hung up fast.”

  Drake thought the matter over, then slowly nodded.

  “And there’s one more thing,” Mason said, “we’re going to look up Sara Ansel all the way along the line.”

  “Now you’re talking,” Drake agreed.

  “Remember,” Mason told him, “that as it turned out Sara Ansel received some substantial benefit from the death of Hortense Paxton.”

  “Rather indirect,” Drake said. “She couldn’t have been certain at all that Delano was going to change his will and cut her in.”

  “She couldn’t have been certain according to any information we have at the present time,” Mason said, “but when we get more information we may find she had reason to know what would happen.”

  “If she knows you’re investigating her she’s going to be a handful,” Drake warned.

  “She’ll be a handful anyway,” Mason told him. “Get what information you can, Paul. Start men working in Fresno and keep them working. We’re going to trial tomorrow morning on the preliminary examination.”

  “Aren’t you letting them rush things a bit?”

  “I’m doing the rushing,” Mason said. “I want to ask some questions before the D.A. knows the answers.”

  “Let’s hope the answers don’t crucify your client,” Drake said.

  “That,” Mason told him, “is why I want you to get busy and keep busy. I don’t want to ask the questions that are going to elicit that type of answer.”

  Chapter 11

  It was quite apparent that whatever mistakes Talbert Vandling, the district attorney of Fresno County, might be about to make, the mistake of underestimating Perry Mason as an adversary was not one of them.

  Vandling, cool, courteous, wary and watchful, started putting on his case with that careful thoroughness which characterized a trial before a jury rather than a preliminary hearing before a magistrate.

  “My first witness,” he said, “will be George Medford.”

  George Medford turned out to be a nine-year-old boy, freckle-faced, rather embarrassed, with prominent eyes and ears, but who gave the impression of telling the truth.

  “Where do you live?” Vandling asked.

  “In Crampton.”

  “How long have you lived there?”

  “Three years.”

  “You are living with your father and mother?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What’s your father’s name?”

  “Martin Medford.”

  “What does he do?”

  “He runs a service station.”

  “In Crampton?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now, George, I’m going to ask you if you went out with your father on the thirteenth to a place about three miles out of Crampton?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Were you familiar with that place?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Where is it?”

  “It’s on a little hill up in some kind of brush, sort of. You know, little live oak trees and some shorter brush. I don’t know, sagebrush or greasewood I guess, or something. You know, just kind of brush.”

  “You had been out there before?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How did you get out there?”

  “I rode my bike.”

  “Did anyone go out there with you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Who?”

  “Jimmy Eaton.”

  “Jimmy Eaton is a boy about your age?”

  “Six months older.”

  “And how did he get out there?”

  “He’d ride his bike.”

  “Now, why did you go out there, George? What were you doing out there?”

  “Oh, just playing.”

  “Why did you go out there to play?”

  “Well, it was a good place to ride our bikes. There’s a road near there and cars hardly ever go on it. The folks didn’t want us to ride our bicycles on any of the main highways because of the traffic and—well, we used to go out there. There’d been an old house up on the hill and the people had moved away or something and the house had started to cave in and—oh, we just used to go out there and hunt bird eggs and play and talk and things.”

  “How long had you been going out there?”

  “Oh, off and on for about six or eight months.”

  “Now did you notice that a hole had been dug up there?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “When did you notice that?”

  “Well, the first time we seen it was on Friday.”

  “That would be Friday, the ninth?” Vandling asked.

  “Yes, sir. I guess so. The ninth. Yes.”

  “And what time did you go out there?”

  “Along in the afternoon, about three or four o’clock.”

  “And what did you see?”

  “We saw this hole.”

  “Can you describe the hole?”

  “Well, it was a big hole.”

  “About how big, George? Now this is important. Can you hold your hands to show about how big?”

  The boy held his hands apart.

  “Indicating a distance of about three and a half feet,” Vandling said. “Now about how long was it?”

  “Long enough so you could lie down in it and still have lots of room.”

  “You mean lie down straight out, stretched out?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How deep was it?”

  George stood up and placed his hand about even with his stomach. “It came up to here.”

  “Had you been out there on Thursday, the eighth?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Had you been out there on Wednesday, the seventh?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Was that hole there then?”

  “No, it wasn’t.”

  “What was there at the place where the hole was?”

  “Just ground.”

  “Now when you went out Friday, at four o’clock, the hole was there?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “That hole was completed?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What kind of a hole was it?”

  “A good hole.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Well, it had been made with a shovel so it was straight down. The sides were straight. The comers were good and clear. It was a nice hole.”

  “What had been done with the dirt which was taken from that hole, George?”

  “That dirt had been piled up over on the side.”

  “Which side?”

  “Both sides.”

  “You mean not on the ends of the hole but on the sides of the hole?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And what about the bottom of the hole?”

  “It was just nice and even. It was a good hole.”

  “And this hole was there on Friday, the ninth, in the afternoon?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And it was not there on Wednesday?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Were you boys out there Saturday?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And what did you do?”

  “We played in the hole.”

  “How did you play in it?”

  “Oh, we’d jump down in it, and then we played it was a fort and then we’d lie down so as to be out of sight and see if birds would come close and—oh, we just played.”

  “Were you out there Sunday?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Did you go out there Monday?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Did you go out there Tuesday, the thirteenth?”

  “You mean this last Tuesday?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, we went out there.”

  “And what had happened?”

  “Well, the hole had all been filled in.”

  “So what did you do, if anything?”

  “Well, I told my dad that—”

  “Never mind what you told anyone, George. What did you do?”

  “Well, we played.”

  “And then what?”

  “Then we went home.”

  “And did you return again that day?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How soon after you got home?”

  “About an hour afterward.”

  “Who went with you?”

  “My dad and Jimmy.”

  “And your dad is Martin Medford, the man who is here in court?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “That’s all,” Vandling said.

  “No questions,” Mason said, “at least at the present time. I may state, Your Honor, that with some of these witnesses, where the importance of the testimony is not readily apparent, I might like to recall them for cross-examination if it appears that the testimony should subsequently be connected with matters of importance to the defendant’s case.”

  “These witnesses are all important,” Vandling said. “I can assure the Court and counsel of that. I may also assure counsel that the prosecution in this case is just as anxious as the defense to get at the truth of the matter and we will have no objection to counsel recalling any witness that he may desire for any cross-examination at any time, subject only to the fact that the cross-examination must be pertinent.”

  Judge Siler, the magistrate conducting the hearing, said, “All right, we’ll consider that in the nature of a stipulation. Defense has that right.”

  “My next witness will be Martin Medford,” Vandling said.

  Martin Medford testified that he was the father of George; that on the late afternoon of the thirteenth the boy had returned and told him about the hole having been filled in; that he had decided that the matter should be looked into, had taken a shovel and driven out to the place, accompanied by his son and Jimmy Eaton: that he had found the soil rather loose over the area indicated and had dug down in the hole; that at a distance of approximately two and a half feet he had encountered a rather yielding obstruction; that he had scraped away the dirt and found that this was the leg of a man; that he had immediately discontinued his digging and rushed to a telephone where he had notified the sheriff.

  “Cross-examine,” Vandling said.

  “You returned to the place with the sheriff?” Mason asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And stood there while the hole was excavated?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Did you help in the digging?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What was uncovered?”

  “The body of a man.”

  “How was it dressed?”

  “In pajamas.”

  “And that was all?”

  “That was all.”

  “No further questions,” Mason said.

  The sheriff took the stand, told of going out with two deputies to the location indicated by Martin Medford. There they excavated the dirt which had apparently recently been placed in the hole, that is, the dirt had not settled. It was soft, although there had been some tramping around on the top of the hole.

  The body of Edward Davenport had been found buried in the hole. The body had been removed to the morgue. At a later date the sheriff had returned and very carefully excavated the loose dirt in order to find something of the dimensions of the original hole; that the hole was in soil firm enough to retain the imprints of the original digging, and it had been quite apparent that a hole approximately three feet five inches by six feet had been very carefully excavated in the form of a very neat rectangle.