“There’s no doubt but what they’re the same,” Mason said.

  Bend said, “Say, look at this card, buddy. No address on it. Just the word ‘transient.’ How come? Do you let people register that way and get rooms?”

  The clerk said, “Just a minute. There’s a notation on the edge of this card.”

  He observed the pencilled notation, then looked at a memo book said, “As it happens, this particular room was reserved by Mr Putnam, the manager of the hotel. He telephoned instructions to have the room reserved for Veronica Dale and said that if she happened to have no baggage it was quite all right, that the room was to be reserved for her and …”

  “When did this call come in?” Bend asked.

  “About nine-thirty. That was about fifteen minutes before Miss Dale checked in.”

  “You got enough rooms so you can deal them out like that?” Bend asked suspiciously.

  “When the manager says so,” the clerk told him. “We always keep a couple in reserve for emergencies. This was an emergency room. Officially we were all filled up.”

  Bend turned to Veronica Dale. “Do you know this man, Putnam?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  Bend said wearily to the clerk, “Give me a key. We’re going up.”

  The clerk reached in the box and handed them the key to Room 309.

  Veronica Dale walked over to the elevators with them, as calmly and naturally as though they were trusted friends of the family. Harry Bend snapped the floor number at the operator and the cage shot upward.

  Bend stopped in the corridor just outside the elevator. His eyes were crafty. “Which way?” he asked Veronica Dale.

  “Left,” she answered with no hesitation.

  They walked down the hall to the left. Near the end of the corridor they came to Room 309. Bend inserted the key and opened the door.

  The room was fresh, the bed undisturbed. A small handbag stood on the baggage rack, apparently in the same position as it had been placed by a bellboy.

  Bend calmly walked over, snapped back the catches on the handbag, opened it and looked at the meagre assortment of feminine wearing apparel.

  “This stuff yours?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ve got a driving licence?”

  “No. I don’t drive.”

  “Social security number?”

  “No.”

  “Any identification?”

  “I have some cards.”

  “What are you going to do,” Mason asked angrily, “arrest her all over again?”

  “I’d like to,” Bend said. “There’s something cockeyed here.”

  “I fail to see it,” Mason announced indignantly. “This young woman has a room in a local hotel. She has baggage. She goes out on the street looking for a place to eat and while she’s trying to size up a suitable restaurant, you pounce on her, browbeat her, and accuse her of soliciting. Naturally her feelings toward you are somewhat less than friendly and …”

  “Oh, save it for the jury,” Bend said. “The hell with it.”

  “You going to suggest a dismissal?”

  “You going to sue for false arrest?”

  “Not the way the thing stands. You don’t want to sue, do you, Veronica?”

  “Of course not. It was a matter of principle with me, that’s all.”

  Bend thought for a moment, then said, “Guess I’ll dismiss.”

  “Okay,” Mason said. “I’ll take your word for it. I won’t bother to do anything more about it. After the charge is dismissed, they can mail back the two hundred dollars I put up for bail.”

  Bend studied him dubiously for a moment, then said, “And I suppose someone’s paying you a five hundred dollar fee.”

  Mason smiled and said nothing.

  Bend grunted, turned on his heel and walked back down the corridor.

  The girl walked over to the open travelling bag, snapped it shut and said, “These officers don’t give a girl any privacy. You want to close the door?”

  “I do not,” Mason said, “and you don’t want me to. You watch your step from now on. Whenever you have a man in the room, keep the door open.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s house rules.”

  “What difference does it make?”

  “It might make a lot.”

  “I’m hungry.”

  “Didn’t you have breakfast?”

  “Just a little coffee and some mush. I could hardly eat the mush. Only gagged a spoonful or two down.”

  “You got any money?”

  “A little.”

  “How much?”

  “I think around a dollar and twelve cents.”

  Mason said, “Do you know a man by the name of …”

  “Yes?” she asked as Mason broke off.

  “Nothing,” Mason said.

  He opened his wallet, took out two twenties and a ten and handed it to her.

  “What’s this for?” she asked.

  Mason said, “Don’t bother about it. I’ll put it on my bill as expenses.”

  “You mean that’s for me?”

  “Yes.”

  Her gratitude was childlike in its simplicity. She came toward him, put her hands on his arm, looked up at him with round innocent eyes. She puckered inviting lips.

  “But why,” she said softly, “should you do this for me?”

  Mason said, “I’m damned if I know,” gently disengaged her hand and walked out of the room.

  From a telephone booth in the lobby he called the number of the big department store on Broadway and asked for John Racer Addison.

  The feminine voice on the other end of the telephone said, “I’ll give you Mr Addison’s office.” The connection clicked, and another feminine voice said, “Mr Addison’s office.”

  “Mr Perry Mason,” the lawyer said. “I want to talk with Mr Addison.”

  “Just a moment, please. I’ll connect you with Mr Addison’s secretary.”

  A few moments later a third feminine voice came over the line. “Put your party on, please.”

  “I’m on,” Mason said. “I’m Perry Mason. I want to talk with Mr Addison.”

  “Is this Mr Mason?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mr Perry Mason?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re on the line?”

  “Exactly,” Mason said.

  “Just a moment. I’ll get Mr Addison.”

  A few seconds later Addison’s voice came booming over the wire. “Hello, Mason. Where are you?”

  “I’m in a booth at the Rockaway Hotel. I’ve been thinking over your complaint about not being able to get me on the telephone unless you go through a lot of red tape …”

  “Yes, yes. Where’s the girl? What happened? Where’s–?”

  “She’s upstairs in her room here at the hotel,” Mason said. “Room 309.”

  “Yes, yes, I know.”

  “Technically she’s out on bail,” Mason said, “but I have the assurance of the arresting officer that the complaint will be withdrawn and the case dismissed. Anything else?”

  “No, no. That’s fine! That’s swell, Mason! That’s good work. Very good work. Send me a bill. I knew I could depend on you! That’s the sort of service I like, Mason.”

  “Under the circumstances,” Mason said, “the bill will perhaps seem out of proportion to the importance …”

  “No it won’t! No it won’t. Send me a bill. I’ll send you a cheque. I’m glad you got her out.”

  “As a matter of curiosity,” Mason said, “how long have you known Veronica Dale?”

  “I don’t know her,” Addison said testily. “I’ve just met her. I don’t want my name connected with it at all. I intended to tell you not to let her know who was hiring you, but you hung up on me. You …”

  “I didn’t let her know,” Mason said. “Your name hasn’t been mentioned. You did tell me not to let her know, and I didn’t hang up on you.”

  “That’s fine. That’s fine. That’s perfectly fine, Mason! Send me a bill.”

  “I will,” Mason promised. “And here’s something you can be thinking over. Either that girl is pretty dumb, or she tried hard to get herself arrested.”

  “What do you mean, Mason?”

  “I’m not certain I know,” the lawyer answered, “but I’m just telling you for what it’s worth – either she’s dumb or she tried pretty hard to get herself arrested.”

  “Bosh!” Addison snorted. “She’s not dumb, she’s naïve.”

  “Perhaps you’re the one who’s naïve,” Mason warned and hung up.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Della Street slipped unobtrusively into Mason’s private office.

  The lawyer looked up from his work.

  “Mrs Laura Mae Dale to see you.”

  “What about?” Mason asked.

  Della Street smiled. “She says it’s highly personal and confidential.”

  “Well, tell her to give you an idea of what it’s about if she wants to see me,” Mason said irritably, “and then make an appointment for …”

  “Mrs Laura Mae Dale,” Della Street said archly, “is Veronica’s mother.”

  “Veronica?” Mason said, frowning, striving to recall the name. “Veronica. She … Oh, yes, the incarcerated virgin.”

  “Exactly.”

  A grin spread over Mason’s face. “Do you know, Della, I rather thought there might be a sequel to that case. Did we send Addison a bill?”

  “Yes, five hundred dollars. The statement went out this morning. Addison’s secretary rang up and asked for an immediate bill.”

  “What does Mrs Dale look like?” Mason asked.

  “Rather capable. She’s about forty-five years old and seems to have a lot of poise. She’s plainly dressed but they’re good clothes and she wears them well.”

  Mason said, “Bring her in, by all means, Della. Let’s see what she wants.”

  Mrs Laura Mae Dale, escorted into Mason’s private office by Della Street, moved with swift efficiency. She might have been accustomed to offices. She certainly was accustomed to meeting people.

  “How do you do, Mr Mason? I’ve heard so much about you. And you were so nice to my daughter.”

  She glided across the office to shake Mason’s hand.

  Mason sized her up.

  She weighed perhaps a hundred and thirty pounds and wore her simple clothes with an air of calm assurance. She might have been nervous but she had quite evidently learned self-control and poise. She seemed to know exactly what she intended to do and how she intended to do it.

  “Sit down,” Mason invited.

  “Thank you. I want to express my appreciation for what you did for Veronica.”

  “Nothing at all,” Mason assured her.

  “It certainly was something. It was splendid! To think that a big lawyer like you would drop your business to befriend an innocent young girl. How did she happen to call on you, Mr Mason?”

  Mason said, “That’s a matter I don’t feel free to discuss. So any surmises you care to make must necessarily be met with a simple ‘No comment.’ ”

  “You don’t have to be cautious with me, Mr Mason.”

  “No comment,” Mason said.

  Her smile was gracious. “Veronica is such a nice girl, Mr Mason, but terribly impulsive.”

  The lawyer nodded.

  “She wanted to start out for herself, and she started hitchhiking. Of course, I didn’t have any idea she was leaving. She knew I’d put my foot down. She left me a note, just saying that she was going out to make her own way in the world and that she’d get in touch with me when she became established.”

  “And you followed her here?” Mason asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “How did you know she was here?”

  Mrs Dale smiled. “Children are so simple. Even when they think they’re being inscrutable they’re like open books. Veronica had been talking about coming here for a couple of months. Then, all of a sudden, she quit talking about it. Heavens, the child was as transparent as window glass.”

  “When did you get here, Mrs Dale?”

  She smiled indulgently. “Not until the morning after Veronica arrived. Veronica hitchhiked and so did I. But she made better time than I did.”

  “How did you find out what had happened? In other words, why did you come to me?”

  She said, smiling, “I made a round of the hotels, trying to find out where Veronica was registered. I tried the cheaper ones first. I had a hotel directory with rates and all that information. Finally I found the right hotel, the Rockaway. Of course, Mr Mason, I didn’t want Veronica to know I was following her. She would have been furious, but, after all, she’s my only chick, and I wanted to make certain she was all right.”

  Mason nodded.

  “So, I rang her room,” Mrs Dale said. “I just wanted to hear her voice on the line and then I would have hung up, but she didn’t answer. So then I got in touch with one of the chambermaids and a little bribery did a lot. She told me she thought the girl had been in trouble, that she’d returned to the hotel with an officer and with Mr Mason, the famous lawyer. You really are famous, Mr Mason. The chambermaid recognized you from your pictures. Well, of course, with that as a clue I found out all about her. I felt terribly about it, Mr Mason, but there’s no use worrying about water that’s gone under the bridge. Never cry over spilled milk, that’s my motto. I have a philosophy of living my life from day to day. I’ve tried to teach Veronica to be the same way.”

  “How old is she?” Mason asked.

  “That girl’s barely eighteen, but you wouldn’t believe it.”

  “Eighteen is rather young.”

  “It certainly is, but Veronica is a nice girl, a level headed girl, and you can trust her that way.”

  Mason said, “She looked older than eighteen to me.”

  “Doesn’t she?” Mrs Dale beamed. “But that’s all she is, just barely eighteen.”

  “You’re going to talk with her?” Mason asked.

  “Heavens, no! I wouldn’t let her know I was here for anything on earth. I just followed along to keep an eye on her and see that she didn’t get into any trouble. I thought she was a bit young to go out by herself in the world, but if she could make it all right, I wanted to – well, I didn’t want to do anything that would interfere with her career or her independence.”

  Mason’s nod was vague encouragement to go on.

  “You see, Mr Mason, I think that’s the way people learn. That’s the way I learned, anyway. I started out for myself, only I do wish I’d had a mother to keep an eye on me and help me … Well, that’s water under the bridge. Never cry about spilled milk. Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof and all that stuff. Don’t you think so, Mr Mason?”

  Again the lawyer nodded.

  “Well, it looks very much to me as though Veronica can make her own way now. She’s landed a job in a department store – thirty-one dollars a week.”

  “I see you have pretty accurate information,” Mason said.

  “Heavens, yes. I’ve been keeping tabs on her in a roundabout way. She is a peculiar girl. She’s friendly like a puppy. She’ll talk to people who are friendly. Take a chambermaid for instance. She’ll tell everything she knows to a friendly chambermaid. But that officer, the way he approached her – why, Mr Mason, she wouldn’t have told him a thing even if he’d tortured her.”

  “You’re going to stay here?” Mason asked.

  “Well, I have some business of my own, a little restaurant that I have to run, just a small town in Indiana, a place you’d never have heard of. Now that I know Veronica is all right, I’ll go back, but I want to pay your bill, Mr Mason. I can’t begin to thank you.”

  Mason gave the subject a frowning concentration for a moment, then said, “Well, if you really want to pay me, you can give me fifty dollars to square things up.”

  “Nonsense, Mr Mason. You put up bail money. You’re a high-priced lawyer. You …”

  “That’s all right. I’m going to get the bail back. They’ve dismissed the case.”

  “But, Mr Mason, it’s absurd to think that you could do anything like that for fifty dollars. Five hundred dollars would be more like it.”

  “No,” Mason said, “fifty dollars will be all right under the circumstances.”

  Mrs Dale opened her purse, took out a single blank cheque and a fountain pen. “May I have something to write on?”

  Della Street said, “Right this way,” and seated Mrs Dale at her secretarial desk.

  Mrs Dale filled in the bank with pen and ink, the Second Mechanics’ National of Indianapolis, made a cheque payable to Perry Mason in the amount of one hundred and fifty dollars and then having signed it in a firm hand, wrote on the back, “In full payment for services rendered in the case of my daughter Veronica Dale.”

  “There,” she said, blotting the cheque. “I think that will do it. That’s more like it. My conscience wouldn’t let me settle for any fifty-dollar fee. Fifty dollars to Perry Mason! Bosh!”

  She cocked her head on one side, surveying the cheque, then nodded and passed it over to Della Street.

  Della Street wordlessly handed the cheque over to Perry Mason.

  “And may I have a receipt?” Mrs Dale asked.

  “The cheque will be sufficient receipt the way you’ve made it out,” Mason said.

  “But I think it’s more businesslike to have a receipt. I would really prefer …”

  Mason said to Della Street, “Make out a receipt, Della. Show that we have received a cheque drawn on the Second Mechanics’ National in the sum of one hundred and fifty dollars, that when this cheque is paid it will constitute payment in full for services rendered Veronica Dale to date.”

  Della Street nodded, placed duplicate receipt blanks in the typewriter and had just started to type when the phone on her desk rang.

  She picked up, said, “Hello,” listened for a few moments, frowned, glanced dubiously at Perry Mason, then at Mrs Dale. She said into the telephone, “It’s impossible right at the moment. We’ll call you back in a few moments … Yes, a very short time.”

  She hung up, scribbled a note, then went on and finished typing the receipt.

  When she handed Mason the receipt, the note on top of the receipt read, “Addison phoned that he has to see you right away. He seems terribly upset.”