Esther Dilmeyer had been raising her glass to her lips. She lowered it again to the table. “Then you’re—you’re Bob’s sister-in-law. You knew him all the time … that accident.”

  Mildreth met her eyes and said, “Yes. I came here to try and find out something about what was going on. I intended to try and pump you, but after I saw you, I realized that you weren’t an enemy of mine—just a woman trying to get along in the world.”

  “Then you were stringing me along about that offer?”

  “Don’t be silly, Esther.”

  “How do I know it isn’t just a scheme to try and pump me?”

  “Because, you goose, I told you my name. Otherwise, I’d have handed you a line and tried to get what I could.”

  Esther Dilmeyer fumbled with a cigarette.

  “Yes,” she admitted, “that’s right.”

  “Do you want to work for me?”

  “What do I have to do in order to get the job?”

  “Just give the business the best that’s in you, try and get along with the customers, build up good will and …”

  “No, I mean how much do I have to tell you?”

  “Not a thing unless you want to.”

  Esther Dilmeyer thought that over for a few seconds, then said, “No, that wouldn’t work. I’ve been mixed up in giving you a double cross. I could never work for you unless I told you the whole thing and you said it was all right after you knew what had happened.”

  “Do you want to do that?”

  “I’m not particularly crazy about doing it, but it’s the only way I could ever go to work for you.”

  “Well, if you want to do it, you can have the job. You can have it without that.”

  “No. I’d come clean.”

  “Do you know where Lynk is right now?” Mildreth asked abruptly.

  “Yes, at his cabin waiting for that little trollop to …”

  “But do you know where the cabin is?”

  “Sure,” she said, and laughed bitterly. “I’ve been there. All of the girls who worked here went there.”

  Mildreth said, “I have to go telephone. While I’m gone, make a note of the address of the cabin and give it to me, will you?”

  Esther nodded.

  Mildreth went over to the telephone booth and once more put in a call for Mason’s night number.

  “I think you can get him at his office if you call right now,” she was advised. “He said he was going to be there for a couple of hours, and that was only about an hour ago.”

  Mildreth dialed Mason’s office, heard Della Street’s voice on the other end of the line. “This is Miss Faulkner again, Miss Street. I’m in a very precarious position. I have to see Mr. Mason tonight.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry. Mr. Mason is working on an important brief right now, and won’t finish the dictation until midnight. He simply can’t see anyone.”

  “Could he see me after midnight?”

  “I’m afraid not. He has to sleep, you know.”

  “Listen, this is very important. I’m willing to pay any amount within reason. I’m afraid that tomorrow morning may be too late.”

  “Why? What’s the matter?”

  “I’ve just learned that my sister, who’s an invalid, has turned over all of her securities to her husband. Apparently he’s put those up as security on some gambling debts. Among these securities is a block of stock in the flower stores I operate. I’ll know a lot more about it by midnight, and … Oh, couldn’t you please persuade Mr. Mason …”

  “Just a minute,” Della Street said. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  She came back on the line after a thirty-second interval. “Mr. Mason won’t finish dictating until around midnight, then he’ll go out for a cup of coffee. If you want to be here at one o’clock, he’ll meet you.”

  “Thank you ever so much! Now listen, I’m working on a witness. Her name is Esther Dilmeyer. Please make a note of that. I’m going to try and get her to come in. If she does, please hold her there and be nice to her. She knows all the facts. I doubt if I can get anywhere without her.”

  Della Street said, “I’ll have to bill you for this appointment whether you keep it or not. If you’ll give me your name and address …”

  “Mildreth Faulkner. I run the Faulkner Flower Shops. My address is 819 Whiteley Pines Drive. I have a telephone. If you wish, I can send you some money before midnight.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Della Street said. “Mr. Mason will see you at one o’clock.”

  Mildreth Faulkner hung up the telephone. Her face was resolute as she walked back to the table where Esther Dilmeyer slipped her a folded piece of paper.

  She said, “What time do you get off work here, Esther?”

  “Oh, I can leave any time after one o’clock.”

  “I want you to do something.”

  “What?”

  “Go to the office of Perry Mason. He’s my lawyer.”

  “When?”

  “At one o’clock.”

  “You mean Perry Mason, the lawyer who solved the Tidings murder case?”*

  “That’s the one.”

  “Gosh, he’s—he’s a big shot. I always said that if I ever committed a murder, I was going to hold up a bank at the same time and get enough money to have Mr. Mason get me off.” She laughed.

  Mildreth said, “Then how about meeting me at Mr. Mason’s office at one o’clock?”

  “He won’t be at his office then.”

  “Yes, I’ve made an appointment.”

  “Why do you want me there?”

  “Because I want to get Bob Lawley out of my business. I’ll need our help to do that—and if you’re going to be working for me, you won’t need to mind what any of these people think.”

  “Okay, I’ll do that little thing. Listen, it may be about five or ten minutes after one.”

  “All right, and I’m going to send you some orchids.”

  “Oh, don’t bother.”

  “It isn’t any bother. I really do have some orchids that were left over on an order. They’d go fine with that dress, and I’m going to send them up.”

  Esther Dilmeyer leaned toward Mildreth. “Listen,” she said, “if you talk with Lynk, watch your step. And don’t mention that I spilled anything. I swore I’d never rat, but you caught me when I was pretty low and that offer of a job—well, that’s one of the few times anyone ever offered to give me a break. How did you know about Lawley getting milked dry and about me?”

  “I tried to get him to bring up some securities … Oh, well, never mind. Now you’ll have to forget all about this, Esther. You mustn’t ever mention to anyone that I was talking to you.”

  “I’ll say. And don’t you let on to Lynk that I know he has the skids greased for me. I want him to think I’m walking out under my own power. He won’t want visitors tonight, either. You’ll have to watch your step with him. And as for Sindler Coll and that baby-faced little bitch he’s bringing in …”

  She blinked her eyes again, then forced a laugh, and said, “Oh, well, what do I care?”

  Mildreth looked at her watch. “You don’t. I’ll have to be moving now. I have lots to do between now and one o’clock. I want to see Lynk.”

  “Watch Lynk,” Esther said. “He’s bad if you try to crowd him. He has a nasty temper. If he isn’t ready to talk turkey, don’t crowd him—and don’t threaten him with Perry Mason.”

  Mildreth smiled. “Thanks. I’ll be tactful.”

  Suddenly Esther called her back. “Listen, I want to play fair with you. When I work for anyone, I give them all I have, but…”

  “Yes?” Mildreth prompted.

  “Look, Lynk thinks he’s going to double-cross me on some private stuff, but I’m going to see that I don’t get gypped here.”

  Mildreth said. “Fair enough, but let me return your own advice: Be careful and watch Lynk.”

  Esther smiled. That smile changed her whole face. “Don’t think I don’t know how dangerous a game I’m playing—and don’t think Lynk won’t suspect me, but I’ve got a way around all that.… Nuts! What do you care about my grief? See you at one o’clock—perhaps just a shade later.”

  Chapter 3

  At eleven-thirty, Perry Mason unlocked the door of his private office, held it open for Della Street. “No need for you to wait, Della,” he said. “That brief took less time than I thought it would. I’ll sit around and read the advance decisions until one.”

  “I want to wait.”

  Mason hung up his hat and coat. “There’s nothing you can do. I’ll talk with her and …”

  “No,” she interrupted. “I have to stay now. I just had a cup of coffee. That means I can’t sleep for an hour and a half.”

  Mason stretched himself in his swivel chair. His motions held none of the awkwardness characteristic of many tall men who have long bones and rangy figures. And many a witness, misled by Mason’s casual manner, fabricating a story on the witness stand with every assurance that his prevarications were completely concealed, suddenly found himself facing a pair of granite-hard eyes, and realized only too late the savage belligerency with which Mason could bear down on a perjurer, the rapier-like thrusts of his agile mind.

  But, for the most part, it pleased Mason to assume a good-natured, easy-going attitude of careless informality. He disliked the conventional ways of doing things, and this dislike showed in his manner and his handling of lawsuits.

  Della Street, his secretary, had learned to know his various moods. Between them existed that rare companionship which is the outgrowth of two congenial people devoting themselves to a common cause. When the going got rough, they were able to function with the perfect co-ordination of a well-trained football team.

  Mason tilted his swivel chair back, and crossed his ankles on the corner of the desk.

  “You should have let her call during office hours,” Della said. “You’ve had a hard day, and then with all that dictation on top of it …”

  Mason disposed of her comment with a gesture. “Not this case. She sounds as though she’s in real trouble.”

  “Why, how do you know? You didn’t even listen over the telephone.”

  “I saw your face,” he said.

  “Well, she did impress me, but even so, I don’t see why it wouldn’t keep until tomorrow.”

  “A lawyer is very much like a doctor,” Mason pointed out. “A doctor devotes his life to easing a person’s body. A lawyer devotes his to easing their minds. The machinery of justice is very apt to get out of gear if it isn’t kept well oiled and running smoothly. Lawyers are the engineers.”

  Mason took a cigarette, offered Della Street one, and they lit it from the same match. Mason, tired from the hard day, settled back in his chair and relaxed in the luxury of complete silence.

  After some five minutes, he said musingly, “One of the first things a professional man has to learn is that the person who makes the most urgent demands on his time is usually the one who doesn’t intend to pay. But I don’t think this will be one of those cases.”

  “You mean that’s a general rule?” Della Street asked.

  “Absolutely. The man who expects to pay a lawyer for his time wants to get off as cheaply as possible. Therefore, he never calls on the lawyer for extraordinary services unless it’s absolutely necessary. The man who doesn’t intend to pay doesn’t give a hoot about the size of the bill. Therefore, he’s perfectly willing to call the lawyer at all hours of the night, ask him to give up a golf game on Saturday afternoons, or come to the office on Sundays. It’s always the same.”

  “Well, if she’s like that,” Della Street said, “we’ll just send her a bill for five hundred dollars.”

  Mason said, “Let’s try to get her on the phone, tell her I finished with my brief earlier than I expected, and that if she wants to advance the appointment by an hour, it’ll be all right with us.”

  The telephone rang, just as Mason finished talking.

  Della picked up the receiver, said, “Hello.… Yes, this is Mr. Mason’s office.… Can’t you speak more clearly? … Who is it? … What’s that name?”

  She turned to Perry Mason and cupped her hand over the mouthpiece. “She’s drunk,” she said.

  “The Faulkner woman?” Mason asked.

  “No. Esther Dilmeyer.”

  “Oh, yes,” Mason said. “The witness. Let me talk with her.”

  Della handed him the phone.

  Mason said, “Hello. What is it, Miss Dilmeyer?”

  The voice that came to him over the telephone was so thick that it was with difficulty he could understand what she was saying.

  “Promised come your office … Can’t … Poisoned.”

  “What’s that?” Mason asked sharply.

  “Poisoned,” the voice said wearily. “They got me.”

  Mason’s eyes glinted. “What’s that? You’re poisoned?”

  “Thash right.”

  “You’re not drunk?”

  “Not tonight.… thought I was smart.… They got me first.”

  “Where are you?”

  The words came with an effort, interspersed with intervals of heavy breathing. “Apartment … Box of candy … ate … sick … Can’t … Can’t … Please send help … Get police … Get … Get …” The conversation terminated in a crash as though the telephone had been dropped to the floor. Mason said, “Hello. Hello,” and heard nothing. Then, after a moment, the receiver clicked into place at the other end of the line.

  Della had dashed from the office the minute Mason said, “Poisoned,” to plug in on the switchboard and ask the exchange operator to trace the call, but she was too late. The receiver had been hung up at the other end before Della had finished explaining what was wanted. She waited at the switchboard long enough to learn that there was no possibility of tracing the call, then came back to Mason’s private office.

  “What was it?” she asked.

  “She says someone sent her a box of candy, that she ate the candy, and was poisoned. She certainly sounds sick or drunk. Now the question is, what’s her address, where is she? See if there’s a Dilmeyer listed in the telephone book.”

  Della thumbed through the pages of the telephone book.

  “No, there isn’t.”

  Mason looked at his watch. “That Faulkner woman should know where she is. See if you can get her on the phone.”

  Mildreth Faulkner was listed at her residence address, and the Faulkner Flower Shops were listed. Della finally got a response on the residence phone. A somewhat sleepy high-pitched voice said, “Hello. What is it?”

  “Is this Miss Mildreth Faulkner’s residence?”

  “Yes. What do you want?”

  “I want to speak with Miss Faulkner. It’s very important.”

  “She ain’t here.”

  “Do you know where I can reach her?”

  “No.”

  “When do you expect her in?”

  “I don’t know. She don’t tell me when she’s coming in, and I don’t ask her.”

  “Wait a minute,” Della said. “Don’t hang up. Do you know a Miss Dilmeyer—Esther Dilmeyer?”

  “No.”

  “It’s very important we find out her address.”

  “Well, I don’t know. And don’t ring me up at this hour of the night to ask foolish questions.”

  The receiver banged indignantly.

  Della shook her head at Mason.

  Mason said, “Miss Faulkner isn’t due until one?”

  “No.”

  “We’ve got to locate that Dilmeyer woman. That call sounded genuine to me.” He pushed the papers he had been using in dictating his brief to one side and said, “Police headquarters, Della.”

  A moment later, when she had headquarters on the line, Mason said, “This is Perry Mason. I had a call a few minutes ago from an Esther Dilmeyer. She said that she was at an apartment. I presume it’s an apartment where she lives, but she didn’t say so. I don’t know the address. I don’t know anything about her, except that I had an appointment with her for one o’clock this morning. She was to be at my office. She’s a witness in connection with some matter. I don’t know just what it is.

  “Now get this straight. She said over the telephone that someone had sent her a box of poisoned candy. She sounded very ill. Her speech was thick, and apparently she either fell over or the telephone slipped from her hand as she was talking. Then the receiver was dropped back into place. She seemed to think she’d been poisoned to keep her from talking.”

  “You can’t give us an address?”

  “No.”

  “Well, we’ll try and look her up. Well see if she’s registered as a voter. That’s about all we can do.”

  Mason said, “Call back and let me know if you find anything, will you?”

  “Okay, but if we haven’t got an address, there’s nothing we can do.… Where are you?”

  “I’m at my office.”

  “You’ll be there until we call?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, we’ll call back.”

  Mason hung up the telephone, pushed back his chair, got to his feet, and stood with his hands pushed down deep into his trousers pockets. “This thing’s goofy, Della,” he said. “I don’t think the police are going to do anything. Of course, they may find her in the voters’ register.… Miss Faulkner didn’t say what she was a witness to?”

  “No.”

  “Think back on that conversation. See if you can …”

  “Wait a minute,” Della said. “She was calling from a nightclub somewhere. I could hear the sound of an orchestra. It … Wait a minute now. I remember hearing the background of music. It was … Chief, I’ll bet it was Haualeoma’s Hawaiians. I could get the background of Hawaiian music, and they were playing an Island song that I heard a couple of weeks ago when they were on the radio.”

  “Well, it’s a lead,” Mason said. “How could we go about finding out where they’re playing?”

  She said, “I think I can find out. I’ll go out and play tunes on the switchboard. See if you can think of any other way of getting the address.”

  Della went out to the switchboard. Mason hooked his thumbs through the armholes of his vest, and paced the floor, his head dropped forward in thought.