“Okay. Will do,” Neely said. “I guess that’s another place where I overlooked a bet, Mr. Mason. With all of those Hollywood personalities mixed up in the case, and having signed a complaint accusing Miss Bagby of a felony—well, anyway, I’ll make up for it now.”

  “Don’t tell her anything,” Mason said, “except that she is to call me. Don’t discuss figures, don’t discuss facts. Just state that I am associated with you and that she can communicate with me.”

  “That’s fine,” Neely said. “I’ll tell her.”

  Mason hung up the phone, turned to Evelyn Bagby. “Well,” he said, “someone has evidently put a bee in Irene Keith’s bonnet. She’s been in touch with Neely, talking about a settlement. She mentioned a figure of seventy-five or a hundred dollars to enable you to get out of town.”

  Evelyn Bagby’s eyes were wistful. “Every one of those hundred dollars would look as big to me as a dinner plate right now, Mr. Mason, but—well, I can get by. I always have. I know I’ll get work somewhere.”

  “How much actual cash money do you have?” Mason asked.

  She smiled. “It’s hardly worth mentioning, Mr.

  Mason.”

  “How much?”

  “Under five dollars.”

  “You have a car?”

  “A jalopy.”

  “How did it happen that wasn’t taken for the expenses of your trial and—?”

  “I have an equity in it,” she said. “That is, if you can dignify my interest in it by calling it an equity. No one wanted to assume the payments.”

  Mason was thoughtful for a moment. “You want to get a job?”

  She nodded.

  “Doing what?”

  “Anything.”

  “You’ve worked in a restaurant?”

  “And how!”

  “You consider yourself an expert waitress?”

  “I’ve worked in all sorts of restaurants at all kinds of jobs. I know my way around, Mr. Mason. I can get something.”

  Mason said to Della Street, “See if you can get Joe Padena for me, Della.”

  “Will he be up now?” she asked.

  “Probably just about getting up,” Mason said. “Get him on the line and we’ll see just what the situation is up there.”

  A few moments later Della nodded to Perry Mason, and Mason took the line. “Hello.”

  “Hello, this is Joe Padena. What you want with Joe Padena?”

  “Perry Mason,” the lawyer told him. “I want a favor.”

  “You want a favor from Joe Padena? You get a favor from Joe Padena. Joe Padena doesn’t forget his friends. What you want?”

  “You have an opening for a waitress?” Mason asked.

  “You bet your life. If she’s a friend of yours, yes. For a good waitress who is your friend I have an opening, right now.”

  “I’m sending a girl out to see you,” Mason said, “an Evelyn Bagby.”

  “She’s a girl or she’s a waitress?”

  “She’s both.”

  “That’s fine. Maybe Joe Padena is not doing you a favor. Maybe you’re doing Joe Padena a favor if you get a good girl. You understand this place is up in the sticks. The girl lives here. My wife she is cashier. Joe Padena he doesn’t make passes, but she lives here. She is like one of the family. Other people make passes. Joe Padena, no.”

  Mason grinned. “I’ll explain it to her. I’ll send her up there.”

  “How soon?”

  Mason glanced over at Evelyn Bagby. “How soon could you report for work?”

  “Right now,” she said.

  “She’ll be there within an hour,” Mason told him.

  “That’s fine. Now, Mr. Mason, you do me a favor.”

  “What?” Mason asked.

  “This girl, what does she look like?”

  “Good.”

  “I thought so. You tell her not to ask for Joe Padena. You tell her ask for Mrs. Joe Padena. You understand?”

  “I understand,” Mason said. “She’ll be right out.”

  “Okay. Good-by.”

  Padena hung up.

  Mason said to Evelyn Bagby, “This is rather an interesting place. Joe Padena is a client of mine. He and his wife run a place called the Crowncrest Tavern. It’s up on top of the mountains back of Hollywood. It’s right up on the crest. It overlooks the San Fernando Valley on one side and Hollywood on the other. Quite a lot of the movie people go out there. It’s rather a small place but it has a lot of atmosphere. It’s very high-class and all the really famous movie stars get up there every so often. You’ll have to live out there on the job because when you get off it’s after midnight and—”

  “That’s okay by me,” she said. “It sounds like a wonderful opportunity.”

  “When you go out there,” Mason said, “ask for Mrs. Padena. Don’t pay any attention to Joe. Mrs. Padena is the cashier. She likes to hold the purse strings and—”

  “And wears the pants?” Evelyn Bagby asked, laughing. “Exactly,” Mason said. “You’ll be perfectly safe out there. Joe won’t make passes at you. I suppose some of the patrons will. You—”

  “They all do,” she said casually. “You get accustomed to that. It goes with the job. How much does it pay?”

  “I don’t know,” Mason told her. “It’s a top spot. They know you’re a friend of mine. It’ll pay enough. Now I want to keep in touch with you. You’d better telephone me as soon as you’ve had your interview, and let me know whether you’re going to work there or whether you aren’t. Until we get a settlement in this case I want you to be where I can reach you at any time. Day and night I want to know where you are. I may have to reach a quick decision and—”

  “If you can get any cash, take it,” she said, “but at least make a stab at getting me a screen test. I know that’s going to be tough and I know that even if they promise it, they’ll probably dog it. They’ll fix it up with some second-rate outfit to put me in front of a camera, have me read a few lines, show my legs, register anger, surprise and love, kick me out and I’ll never hear from it again. It’ll just be an act they’ll put on as part of a settlement. But—”

  “If I get them to agree to a screen test,” Mason interrupted, “it’ll be a real screen test. You won’t need to worry about that.”

  She smiled gratefully. “I should have known,” she said. “You wouldn’t do things by halves. How do I get to this Crowncrest Tavern?”

  Mason said, “Della Street will draw you a map. You can drive the long way up Mulholland Drive, which is the way most of the traffic goes, but there’s a short cut up a steep, narrow road that saves quite a bit of distance. If you’re going to be working there you should know the short cut because it saves quite a bit of time.”

  “Mr. Mason, there’s something I think I should tell it you. “What?”

  “I may have made a botch of things and I keep wondering if that could have had anything to do with—still, I don’t see how it could, but I—”

  “Go on,” Mason said.

  “Well, the day I got to Corona and my car broke down, I had some time to kill so I was reading one of the movie magazines and there was an article in it about Helene Chaney—one of those sob sister, poor-little-rich-girl type of things. It discussed her attempts to find happiness, and intimated that she was now in love and was hoping that this time it would be the genuine thing. There were pictures of her first two husbands, and there was something about the picture of her second husband, Steve Merrill, that looked terribly familiar.”

  “In what way?”

  “He looked like Staunton Vester Gladden.”

  Mason’s eyes narrowed. “What did you do?”

  “I called up the office of the movie magazine, got the address of a casting agency where they thought I could locate Mr. Merrill, and finally got an address where I could get him on the telephone.”

  “Go on,” Mason said, keeping his voice completely without expression.

  “I called him. I told him who I was and where I was staying. I told him that my car had broken down, that I was broke, and that I expected him to make some immediate payment on account. I also told him that I expected him to get me the rest of the money within six months or I was going to take it up with the police.”

  “What happened?”

  “He said I must be crazy, that he was not accustomed to paying blackmail, that he had never heard of Staunton Gladden or of Evelyn Bagby in his life. Then he slammed the phone in my ear. I’m wondering, Mr. Mason, if perhaps somehow that call might not have had something to do with—well, you can understand it’s all mixed up—but in case he really is Staunton Gladden—”

  “There’s a doubt in your mind?” Mason asked.

  “Yes. There is now. At the time I thought I’d made a mistake. I walked out of the phone booth with my cheeks burning. After all, you can’t depend too much on a likeness in a photograph.”

  “And now?” Mason asked.

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about it the last few hours. Do you suppose that some of my troubles could have come from—I mean, in case Merrill really is Staunton Gladden. After all, you can put two and two together. The man was stage-struck just the same as I was, only his approach was different. He must have been desperate when he embezzled my money. It’s only logical to suppose that he would have used the money to go to Hollywood, and, of course, he’d have taken another name and—well, I can’t help wondering.”

  Mason said, “It’s worth looking into. How positive are you?

  She laughed. “Not positive at all. Not from the picture. If I could see him I could tell.”

  Mason said, “That’s a fact we’ll file away for future consideration.”

  “You think it’s significant?”

  “Very.”

  “Well, I thought I’d tell you—that you should know.”

  “We’ll find out,” Mason told her. “In the meantime there are more pressing matters to be considered. You’re going to need some money to finance you until your first pay check comes along.”

  Mason turned to Della Street. “Make Miss Bagby a check for a hundred dollars, Della. Get her to endorse it and then give her the hundred dollars in cash.”

  Evelyn Bagby’s blue eyes widened. “What’s that for?”

  “That’s on account of a settlement I’m going to make,”

  Mason said, “and you may want to start work with a little money to spare.”

  “I don’t like to run in debt,” she told him. “It’s always been a policy of mine to pay as I go. I’ve tried to—”

  “This isn’t a loan,” Mason told her. “This is an advance on a settlement Frank Neely and I are going to get for you. You may want to—”

  As he hesitated she looked down at her clothes and laughed. “I get you,” she said. “I’m to buy some new clothes. These are things I picked up in Needles, Mr. Mason. They were supposed to be cheap and stylish. They were cheap and they looked stylish until they went to the cleaner for the first time. I suppose people have told you that you’re a very, very wonderful man, Mr. Mason, so I’m not going to take any more of your time telling you how I feel, but I think you know.”

  She stood in front of him, her eyes, blue, serene and steady, looking into his. Then she put out her hand and shook his with firm, strong fingers. “You’re grand,” she said.

  Della Street handed her the map and the hundred dollars. “Sign here on the back of the check, Miss Bagby.”

  Evelyn Bagby signed, took the money and the map, said abruptly, “I’ll call you, Mr. Mason,” and left the office without looking back.

  Della Street took a piece of blotting paper and placed it on the back of the check.

  “Ink?” Mason asked, as he noticed the expression on Della Street’s face.

  She shook her head. “A teardrop,” she told him. “It spilled out—and somehow I’ll bet that girl doesn’t do very much crying.”

  “Poor kid,” Mason said, “I guess she’s had her share of tough breaks. Perhaps we can get her a decent deal for once.”

  “And now, Santa Claus,” Della Street pleaded, “if you can tie up the reindeer long enough to just look at that pile of important mail—”

  The telephone rang. Della Street said, “Who is it, Gertie? Mr. Mason is … Who … ? Just a minute.”

  She turned to Perry Mason, cupped her hand over the mouthpiece. “I take it you’ll want to speak with Irene Keith personally.”

  Mason’s mouth broadened into a wide grin. “Put her on my line,” he said, and picked up his personal telephone.

  “Hello, Miss Keith,” he said.

  Irene Keith’s voice was steady, calm, confident. “Good morning, Mr. Mason. I believe you’re representing a Miss Evelyn Bagby?”

  “I’m associated with Frank Neely of Riverside,” Mason said. “Do you have some attorney who generally looks after your business?”

  “I look after my own business, Mr. Mason.” Mason said, “Miss Bagby is virtually without funds. There has been a certain stigma attached to her name and reputation. She’s looking for work here in the city. I gather that you want to do something to help.”

  “I might be charitable.”

  “Perhaps you’d better be just.”

  “Is this a threat?”

  “Not as yet.”

  “Is she thinking of suing me?”

  Mason said, “I’ll be frank with you. I am not familiar with the facts of the case, but I intend to investigate them. If you have some attorney who looks after your business affairs you might suggest to him that he give this matter his consideration.”

  “I’d prefer to handle this myself. Are you going to be in your office today?”

  “Yes.”

  “Could I see you if I came in?”

  Mason said, “I’m very busy. I’ve tried to impress upon you that this is a matter where you’ll need a lawyer, and—”

  “I don’t want a lawyer. I’d prefer to pay the girl rather than have some lawyer charge me a fee to tell me to settle. I’m not much good at talking on telephones. I’ll pay a little money, but it’s not going to be much. How about it? Do you want to talk?”

  “Come on in,” Mason said. “I’ll see you, but remember I would much prefer to talk with your lawyer.”

  “I’ll get a lawyer when I need one,” she said. “I think I can make a better settlement with you personally than I can through a lawyer.”

  “Why?” Mason asked, puzzled.

  “Because although my lawyer is good, he has no sex appeal.” She laughed. “I’ll be in this afternoon at two-thirty. That’ll give me time to get to the beauty shop. I’ve warned you, Mr. Mason.”

  Perry Mason laughed. “Okay, I’ll see you at two-thirty.”

  Mason hung up the telephone.

  Della Street firmly pushed the pile of correspondence into his hands.

  “After you have dictated answers to the first four letters, which are very, very important,” she said, “I’ll let you read the Hollywood gossip column in the paper.”

  Mason raised his eyebrows. “Something about the case?”

  “Not about the case particularly, but the columnist uses the verdict in the case to comment on Helene Chaney’s romance.”

  “Yes?” Mason asked. “Tell me about it.”

  “Helene Chaney,” Della Street said, “was to marry Mervyn Aldrich. That was to be her third marriage. Her second marriage had been to Steve Merrill, who was a second-rate actor at a time when Helene Chaney was just on the point of being discovered. She was then a starlet.

  “The marriage to Merrill lasted about a year, then she found out he was a heel and kicked him out. He wanted to remarry and she financed a quickie divorce in Mexico so he could do so. Then she began to doubt the legality of that divorce and filed suit herself here in California. She published summons, got an interlocutory decree and was to have had a final decree of divorce issued.

  “Mervyn Aldrich, the boat manufacturer, became interested in Helene Chaney and it was rumored they were going to get married. Then Merrill filed papers claiming there had never been a legal marriage to him because her first husband was still living and she had only obtained a Mexican divorce—they were greatly in vogue around that time.

  “Therefore Merrill claimed they had been partners rather than husband and wife, that his earnings had financed Helene Chaney in her career and he was entitled to a half interest in all the property.

  “Helene Chaney’s final decree of divorce was to have been issued the day she reached Las Vegas. Her attorney was to get the final decree at 10:00 a.m., phone her, and she was to have married Aldrich at 11:00.

  “Now the thing is in a legal muddle because Merrill is suing for an annulment on the ground of her first husband still being her legal spouse. He may have something. Merrill has tied the whole thing up with a mess of legal proceedings.

  “Incidentally, Merrill’s suit was filed in court two days after the tentative wedding date Helene Chaney and Mervyn Aldrich had arranged in Las Vegas. That wedding, it is pointed out, was called off because of the theft of the jewelry. It disrupted the whole wedding ceremony, and before another date could be fixed Merrill had filed his suit.

  “Now wouldn’t it be a real thriller if it should turn out Steve Merrill was really the villain who had betrayed the young country girl who was so stage-struck. In that event your Evelyn Bagby—”

  “Wait a minute,” Mason interrupted. “What do you mean by saying my Evelyn Bagby?”

  “I mean your Evelyn Bagby,” Della Street said. “You should have seen the look in her eyes! What’s more, girls who have been batted around as much as she has don’t spill tears over checks unless they’ve had an emotional shock.

  “Now, please, Mr. Perry Mason, will you return to this pile of mail and give it your personal, prompt and immediate attention?”

  Chapter 4

  Two-thirty found Mason two-thirds of the way through the stack of letters in the urgent file. Then the telephone rang and Della Street, after talking with Gertie the receptionist, turned to Mason.

  “Irene Keith is out there,” she said. “Could you keep her waiting while you got out a couple more letters? That one to Judge Carver is rather important.”