“So what did you do?”

  “Well, that was so exactly my own case, I asked her if I could go along with her, and she said, ‘All right.’ I don’t know. I think we might have confided in each other after a while. I had troubles of my own and she certainly had plenty on her mind.

  “However, we drove down to Pala and then turned on the road going up from Pala and there was an accident.”

  “What happened?”

  “There was an accident. Another car met us right on a hairpin turn. I tried to avoid—I mean, it was impossible to avoid the other car entirely. It was going too fast. It just barely sideswiped us, just a little bit, but enough to put the car out of control and over the embankment. The car went down and Mildred, I guess, opened the door and tried to get out of the car before it went over, but she didn’t have time. The door was unlatched and she was halfway out when the car went over. She struck her head against a rock and—Well, she died instantly.”

  Mason thought for a moment. “Who was driving the car?” he asked.

  She took a deep breath. “At the time, I was.”

  “How did that happen?”

  “Well, after we started out we talked a little bit and I could sense that Mildred was emotionally upset. She asked me if I drove and I said I did and she started to cry and tried to wipe the tears from her eyes while she was driving. So I offered to take the wheel and she said perhaps I’d better for a little while.”

  “Did you pick the roads or did she?”

  “She told me where to go.”

  Mason said, “If you went from Vista to Pala and then turned at Pala and started back up the grade, you were just doubling back on yourself and—”

  “I know. I think eventually she intended to return to Oceanside, but—Well, as it afterward turned out, there were reasons why—”

  “Oh, I remember the case now,” Della Street interjected. She turned to Perry Mason and said, “You may remember it, Chief. We commented briefly about it. The girl had just learned her fiancé was wanted for embezzlement. The autopsy showed she was pregnant.”

  “Oh, yes,” Mason said, looking at his visitor with renewed interest. “She didn’t tell you anything about this?”

  “No. I think she would have, but, as I say, there wasn’t time. We were just getting acquainted when the accident happened.”

  “All right,” Mason said, “why did you come to me?”

  “Because I … I was trying to disappear. I certainly didn’t want my name in the paper and I was afraid that, if the newspapers published that Fern Driscoll of Lansing, Michigan, was in the car, there would be an exchange item, or however it is they work those things, and the Lansing paper would get hold of it and—Well, you know the way they do, publish a little paragraph under headlines: ‘LOCAL GIRL INVOLVED IN CALIFORNIA TRAFFIC ACCIDENT.’ I just didn’t want that. I wanted to keep out of the whole thing.”

  “So what did you do?” Mason asked.

  She hesitated a moment, said, “I—Well, I’m afraid I was negligent. I am responsible for the car catching fire.”

  “How did it happen?”

  “I found that I wasn’t hurt. I squirmed out through the window on the left-hand side of the car. The door wouldn’t open but the window was down. I was pretty badly shaken up and I guess pretty rattled. I struck a match and took stock of the situation. I wanted to see if I could help the other girl.”

  “Mildred?”

  “Mildred.”

  “And what happened?”

  “As soon as I saw the way she was lying, half-in and half-out of the door and her head—I … I just became terribly nauseated. It was frightful She had been half-out of the car and her head had been—Well, it was smashed! Just a pulp!”

  Mason nodded.

  “After that it took me a little while to get myself together and, of course, all of that time gasoline was running out of the car. Apparently it was leaking out of the tank at the rear of the car and trickling down toward the front. I didn’t know just what was happening and I’m afraid I’m responsible for not appreciating the danger. Anyhow, I struck a second match and that second match burned my fingers, so I dropped it. There was a flash and I jumped back and the whole thing started blazing into flame.”

  “You didn’t have your hair or eyebrows singed?” Mason asked.

  “No, I was holding the match down and—Well, that’s the way it was.”

  “So then what did you do?”

  “I had my purse with me, fortunately. I—My suitcase, with everything I own, was in the car. I started running from the fire and then I found myself at the bottom of a little canyon…. And then I guess I got in something of a panic. There was a rattlesnake that I almost stepped on and—Well, by the time I got up to the road, I just wanted to get away from there without having my name in the papers or anything, so—Well, that’s what I did.”

  “You didn’t report the accident to anyone?”

  She shook her head.

  “How long ago was that?”

  “About two weeks, not quite. It was the twenty-second.”

  Mason’s eyes narrowed.

  “And some development has caused you to come to see me?”

  “Yes.”

  “What?”

  “A man by the name of Carl Harrod called on me last night. He’s an investigator for the insurance company. From the position of the car and the manner in which the doors were jammed, it was apparent that only the person who was in the driver’s seat could have squirmed out through the window. My suitcase was in the car, it wasn’t entirely consumed by the fire. The fire burned uphill and some of the things in the front of the car weren’t even damaged. A motorist with a fire extinguisher saved the car. Mildred’s purse wasn’t burned up…. Well, anyway, this man Harrod had put two and two together. He found out that Mildred had picked up a hitchhiker at Vista and then he traced the hitchhiker back from Vista, which wasn’t too difficult to do.

  “You see, a woman hitchhiker who is—” She broke off to smile at Mason and said, “All right, I’ll use the term good-looking, naturally attracts some attention. I had given my right name to one of the people who picked me up and then there was the clue of the suitcase and—Well, that’s the way it was.”

  “And what did Harrod want?” Mason asked.

  “He wanted me to sign a statement.”

  “In regard to the accident?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you do it?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I … I have the feeling Mr. Harrod wants that statement not on behalf of the insurance company but—I think he wants to do something with it.”

  “Blackmail?” Mason asked.

  “I wouldn’t be too surprised.”

  “Did he make any overtures along that line?”

  “He intimated something like that Later on, he was very careful to point out that he actually had asked for nothing except a written statement.”

  Mason drummed with the tips of his fingers on the top of his desk. His eyes were squinted thoughtfully.

  “So,” she asked, “what do I do?”

  Mason said, “You’ve gone this long without reporting an accident. That is bad. But sit tight and wait for another twenty-four or forty-eight hours. If Mr. Harrod calls to see you again, I want you to tell him only what I shall tell you to tell him.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You have a pencil?”

  She shook her head.

  Mason nodded to Della Street.

  Della Street handed the young woman a shorthand notebook and pencil.

  “You take shorthand?” Mason asked.

  “Oh yes.”

  “All right, take this down,” Mason said. “Here is what you tell Mr. Harrod. Simply say, quote, Mr. Harrod, I have consulted my attorney, Mr. Mason, about all matters in connection with your previous visit. Mr. Mason has advised me that, if you call on me again, I am to ask you to get in touch with him. So, therefore, I ask you to call Mr. Perry Mason, who is representing me in the matter. If his office doesn’t answer or if it is night, call the Drake Detective Agency and leave word with Mr. Paul Drake. Mr. Mason is my lawyer. Aside from that, I have nothing to say. I don’t care to discuss the matter with you. I don’t care either to confirm or deny any deductions you may have made. I am, in short, referring you to Mr. Mason for all information concerning the matter under discussion.”

  Mason watched the pencil fly over the page of the notebook with deft, sure strokes.

  “You’re evidently a pretty good stenographer,” Mason said.

  She smiled. “I think I am. I’m fast and accurate.”

  Mason glanced at his watch. “All right. That’s all you do. Just tear that page out of the notebook, read it over enough so you remember it, and if Mr. Harrod calls, refer him to me.”

  She detected the note of dismissal in his voice, got to her feet. “How much do I—?”

  Mason waved his hand. “Forget it,” he said. “You’re employed on the same floor here in the building, which makes you something of a neighbor, and after all there’s nothing—Wait a minute, do you have a nickel in your purse?”

  “Why, yes.”

  “All right,” Mason said, smiling, “give me the nickel. That means that I’ve been duly retained to protect your interests and anything you have told me is a privileged communication. Also, anything I have told you is entirely confidential. Now then, go back to work and quit worrying about Mr. Harrod. If he becomes a nuisance, we’ll find some way to deal with him.”

  Impulsively she gave Mason her hand. “Thank you so much, Mr. Mason.”

  Mason held her hand for a moment, looked at her searchingly, said, “All right, Miss Driscoll…. You’re certain you’ve told me all of it?”

  33

  “Yes, yes. Of course.”

  “All right,” Mason told her. “Run along back and get to work.”

  When she had left the office, Mason turned to Della Street.

  “What do you think, Della?”

  “She’s really frightened. Why did you tell her not to report the accident? Didn’t you take a risk doing that?”

  “Probably,” Mason said. “However, I didn’t want her to get in any worse trouble than she is now. Her story of what happened isn’t true. I don’t want her to make a false report.”

  “In what way isn’t it true?”

  “The other car didn’t crowd her off the road. Notice she said, ‘It was impossible to avoid the other car entirely.’

  “No one on earth ever described an automobile accident of that sort in that way. A person would have said, ‘Although we got way over on our side of the road, the other car hit us.’”

  Della Street thought that over, then nodded thoughtfully.

  Mason said, “Now that you know this Fern Driscoll, you’ll be seeing her in the elevator and in the rest room. Keep an eye on her and see if she doesn’t try to find some opportunity to confide in you. I have an idea the situation will change within the next forty-eight hours.”

  “And I’m to report to you?” Della Street asked.

  “That’s the idea,” Mason said.

  Chapter 4

  That night after Mildred had cleaned away the dinner dishes, put the apartment in order, the chimes on the apartment door sounded.

  She took a deep breath, set her face in the expression she wanted to use on Carl Harrod and opened the door.

  The young woman who stood on the threshold was perhaps twenty-one or twenty-two. She had a dark complexion with finely chiseled features, a chin that was up in the air far enough to indicate pride, breeding and a certain strength of character.

  Gray eyes made an appraising study of Mildred.

  “Well?” Mildred asked at length, breaking the silence.

  “Oh, Fern,” the young woman said, “I—It is Fern Driscoll, isn’t it?”

  Mildred nodded.

  “I’m Kitty Baylor,” the young woman said, as though that explained everything. And then she added, by way of explanation, “Forrie’s sister.”

  “Oh,” Mildred said, striving to get her mind adjusted so she could cope with this new complication.

  “I know,” her visitor said, the words rushing out rapidly, “I’m the last person in the world you expected to see, the last person on earth you wanted to see. However, there are certain things we’re going to have to face. Running away from them doesn’t help.

  “I’m up at Stanford, you know, and when I found out about what had happened—Oh, Fern, please let me come in and talk things over. Let’s see if we can’t find some sort of a solution.”

  Mildred stood to one side. “Come in,” she invited.

  “I’d heard about you from Forrie,” Kitty Baylor went on. “I … I don’t know how to begin.”

  Mildred closed the door. “Won’t you sit down?” she invited.

  Mildred’s visitor seated herself, said, “We’ve never met but you undoubtedly know about me and I know about you.”

  Kitty Baylor paused, and Mildred nodded dubiously, sparring for time.

  “Now then,” Kitty went on, “if it’s a fair question, would you tell me just why you suddenly packed up and went away, why you left all of your friends, your contacts and simply disappeared?”

  Mildred said with dignity, “I don’t think I have to account to you for my actions.”

  “All right,” Kitty said, “I’ll put my cards on the table. This is going to hurt. I don’t like to say some of the things I’m going to have to say, but I guess I’ve got to.”

  Mildred said nothing.

  Kitty took a deep breath. “I’m interested in protecting your good name just as much as the good name of my family. I … I guess there’s only one way of saying what I have to say and that’s to be brutally frank. You and Forrie were friendly. You were very friendly. I know that.”

  Kitty paused and Mildred said nothing.

  Kitty fidgeted for a moment, then pushing up her chin and looking Mildred in the eyes said, “A man whom Dad regards as a blackmailer has been trying to build up the facts for a scandal story. This man is going to publish a story in a slander magazine that makes a specialty of digging out dirt with a sex angle.

  “That story concerns you. Are you interested?”

  Mildred tried to say something, but couldn’t.

  “All right,” Kitty went on, “I’ll tell you what that story is. It’s that you and Forrie were living together, that you became pregnant, that Forrie went to Dad, that Dad was furious, that he felt Forrie had jeopardized the good name of the family, that you were given a large sum of money to go away and have your baby, that you wanted Forrie to marry you, but that Dad wouldn’t let Forrie even consider it and that Forrie was under Dad’s domination.”

  Kitty paused and Mildred, not knowing what to say, maintained an embarrassed silence.

  Kitty seemed to shrink within her clothes. “Well,” she said, “I guess it’s true. I’d have sworn it wasn’t I wouldn’t have thought Dad would have done a thing like that. I know he wouldn’t. He admits that he talked with Forrie about you and said in a general way that he hoped Forrie would marry in his social set. I guess it’s no secret that Dad wanted and I guess he still wants Forrie to marry Carla Addis.”

  Kitty, suddenly weary, said, “I know I’m taking an awful lot on myself, but this is important. It’s important to all of us. Do you want to say anything?”

  Mildred shook her head.

  “All right,” Kitty went on, “here are my cards all face up, Fern. If the story is true, I’m on your side. If you are pregnant and were sent away like that, I’m going to do something about it.

  “You’re a woman. I’m a woman. I think you care for Forrie. I’m his sister and I love him. I know he has faults. I know, too, that Dad thinks altogether too much about family and social position and perhaps he’s talked Forrie into his way of thinking.”

  Mildred remained silent.

  “On the other hand,” Kitty went on, her eyes boring directly into Mildred’s “it may just be what Dad thinks, some sort of blackmail scheme by which you’re planning to hold up the family, blast Forrie’s future with a paternity suit, or team up with this man Harrod for a shakedown. If so, you’re headed for trouble, and I mean big trouble. Dad is a fighter, and you just don’t have any idea how hard he can fight. You’re buying yourself a ticket to the penitentiary for blackmail.

  “I came here to find out the truth.”

  Mildred met Kitty Baylor’s eyes, said suddenly, “I’m sorry. I can’t tell you what you want to know.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because,” Mildred said, “I don’t know.”

  Kitty’s eyes were suspicious. “You mean you don’t know whether you’re going to have a baby?”

  “It isn’t that,” Mildred said. “It’s … it’s—”

  “Is it a shakedown? Are you in need of money?”

  “It isn’t that. It’s—I don’t want to—”

  Mildred rose abruptly, crossed to the window and absently watched the traffic in the street below. Then she turned suddenly. “All right, I guess I’m going to have to tell you.

  “Will you promise not to interrupt and let me tell you the whole story in my own way?”

  “Of course. Go ahead.”

  Mildred waited for a couple of seconds, then plunged ahead.

  “I’m not Fern Driscoll!”

  Then slowly, in detail, Mildred told Kitty exactly what happened the night she had picked up Fern Driscoll and about the visit she had had from Carl Harrod.

  “So there probably is something to the claim this man Harrod is making,” Mildred finished up. “He thinks I’m Fern Driscoll. I don’t think he even suspects any switch in identity.”

  Kitty Baylor blinked her eyes as she tried to adjust herself to this new situation.

  At length she asked, “Are you—? I mean … are you—?”

  “No,” Mildred said.

  Kitty was silent for a few seconds, then she said thoughtfully, “I don’t believe Harrod really does think you’re Fern Driscoll. I think he’s trying to get you to sign a statement as Fern Driscoll so he’ll have you in his power. Then he can make you say or do almost anything he wants. He’s on the track of a big story, something that he can make into a really sensational scandal feature. I’m terribly sorry about Fern. I never knew her, but I know that Forrie was fond of her and—Good Lord, things really are in a sweet mess, aren’t they?