“Then what happened?”

  “Then Aunt Sophia told me that Stuart Baxley was coming for dinner.”

  “You’d met him before?”

  “Yes, rather briefly.”

  “Just what do you know about him?”

  “Absolutely nothing.”

  “He says he’s a friend of the family.”

  “Well, he isn’t a friend of the family because there isn’t any family. That is, there isn’t now—not since my folks were killed in the auto smash. But I don’t think my folks ever did know him. My dad just wasn’t a letter writer, and Aunt Sophia was more or less a name to us.

  “I would write Aunt Sophia every couple of weeks— newsy little letters telling her what was going on, because I didn’t want her to feel alone. And she’d answer with brief letters, but always telling me how much she appreciated hearing from me and how much it meant to her and then she’d go on writing about various little things—about music she’d heard on the radio that had impressed her. Actually she told me very little about herself, but even so, she never mentioned the name of Stuart Baxley.”

  “How much did you see of him?” Mason asked.

  “Not very much. We had ten or fifteen minutes’ conversation while Aunt Sophia was upstairs. He seemed rather evasive, I thought.”

  “Did he tell you what he did?”

  “He said he did investments and a little financing now and then, and I thought he was trying to keep from giving me any very specific information about himself.”

  “You didn’t ask him how long he’d known your aunt Sophia?”

  “Oh no. I didn’t ask any really personal questions. We were sort of sparring around with a lot of small talk. He asked me how I liked it out here and said he understood I had taken a job. And I told him I had, and he wanted to know why, and I told him I had to support myself. He seemed to digest that information as something that was rather important. I don’t know why.”

  “I think,” Mason said thoughtfully, “we’ll find out a little more about Stuart Baxley. You know there’s just a possibility he could be some kind of a snooper.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  Mason said, “He might have found out that your aunt presents a penurious front but has hidden assets. After all, a woman who drives up to market in a taxicab and keeps it waiting while she goes in to shop for the daily special is rather a vulnerable target for the people who like to capitalize on that sort of thing.

  “There are people, you know, who give tips to the Internal Revenue and, if tax frauds are discovered as a result of those tips, they get a reward.”

  “Well,” she said, “that’s just the sort of man you’d think he was from the impression he makes. There’s something furtive about him—something about the way he shrugs off all personal questions and then changes the subject.

  “He did ask me how I liked Aunt Sophia’s cooking, and I told him she was a wonderful rook but that I had been eating out since I had the job. I think he was trying to sound me out to find what kind of a table she set, but I gathered he had been there for dinner once before.”

  “Do you know if your aunt had planned anything special for dinner?”

  “No, I don’t. She came in on the bus with some shopping bags. She’d been to the market. I don’t know what she had.”

  “What would she have ordinarily at dinner?”

  “Things would be very, very skimpy. She’d get perhaps three frankfurters. She’d heat them up and give me two because I was a growing girl and needed nourishment. She’d take one for herself. Then she’d have bread and butter and some kind of a canned vegetable, and that would be it. I’ve never been as hungry in my life as some of the nights I spent there in the house before I went out and got the job.”

  “All right,” Mason said. “After your aunt discovered her loss and announced that she had been robbed, then what happened?”

  “That was when Baxley started asking Aunt Sophia to call the police. And then when she said she didn’t want police messing in her business, Baxley said he knew a private detective who could get fingerprints from the hatboxes.”

  “The boxes were gone?” Mason asked.

  “All except one. There was one empty box on the floor.”

  “So then what?”

  “Stuart called this detective agency. I heard the name. It was Moffatt and Jordan. I tried to get you and the line was busy. Then things started happening very rapidly. This man, Jordan, came out and he was very rough and abusive. He demanded that I give him my fingerprints and I wouldn’t do it. I told him I was going to call you. Then they told me they were going to call the police, and I told them to go ahead then I got you on the telephone and … well, you know the rest.”

  Mason, who had been driving slowly and cautiously after he entered the main boulevard, turned in at the Wolverine Motel. He had Katherine Ellis sign the register, identified himself to the manager, and said, “Miss Ellis is a client of mine. This is my secretary, Della Street. We’re going to be with Miss Ellis for a little while.”

  “Quite all right,” the manager said. “I recognized you when you came in, Mr. Mason. It’s a pleasure to be able to be of service in connection with any of your cases.”

  “Thank you,” Mason said.

  They went to the unit which had been assigned to Katherine Ellis, seated themselves somewhat awkwardly, and Mason said, “I have some news for you, Katherine. I’ve found out a little something about your aunt’s background. However, I think it’s best that you don’t know just what I’ve found out—at least for a while.

  “I think probably we’ll be hearing more about this. I think police will enter the case sooner or later, and I think you’ll be questioned. I don’t want you to tell a lie. Therefore I think there are some things that it’s better for you not to know.

  “Now then, our vulnerable point is that you found the hatbox full of money. The minute you admit that to the police or to anyone else, they’re going to jump to the conclusion that you stole a lot of money from your aunt that your aunt had this money hidden away and is afraid to admit how much it was therefore she says it was only a hundred dollars.

  “The police won’t be able to prove anything except by inference. But they’ll elect you as the guilty party and let it go at that. They won’t carry an investigation any further because they’ll believe they have the case solved.

  “Therefore I don’t want you to tell anybody about what you found in that closet, and yet I don’t want you to lie about it.

  “That puts you in a very serious situation. You have to state that you aren’t going to make any statement except through me and in my presence.

  “Now that, of course, looks very suspicious so I’m going to try to make it sound more logical by stating that you’re a very sensitive young woman you have had a very cultured background that you are not accustomed to the seamy side of existence and that you have been accused of theft by Stuart Baxley and by this detective agency that you’re going to sue both of them for defamation of character and the thing which is holding up the filing of the suit at the present time and the reason I don’t want you to make any statement is that you don’t know whether or not you are going to include your aunt as a defendant in that lawsuit that until we have reached that decision, I have instructed you to make absolutely no statement to anyone.”

  She nodded.

  “Think you can handle that all right?” Mason asked.

  “Why, of course. I’m not unintelligent, Mr. Mason. After all, I’ve had quite a bit of education. I’ll simply state that the matter is in your hands that you’re intending to file suit, but there are technical problems in connection with the suit and we don’t know as yet whether my aunt will be a party that I have been told to make no statement of any kind to anybody about anything until you tell me to.”

  “That’s the girl!” Mason said.

  Mason crossed over to the writing desk, found some stationery, said to Katherine Ellis, “Now, write a letter to Sophia Atwood. Tell her that I am your attorney that you left because threats were being made that you can be reached in care of me that Della Street is authorized to go to your room and pack up your things and bring them to you that, if she can’t pack all of the things in one trip, she will return at a later date, but that you are urgently in need of things for tonight.”

  “Good heavens,” Katherine said, “they’ll throw you out. They won’t let you …”

  “They’re not going to throw me out,” Mason said. “They may keep us from getting in, but I don’t think they will.”

  Katherine Ellis hesitated for a moment, then started scribbling on the paper. When she had finished, she handed the note to Perry Mason. “Is that satisfactory?” she asked.

  Mason read the note carefully, then nodded. “Put a date on it,” he said.

  She dated it.

  “You’ve had dinner?” Mason asked.

  “No.”

  Mason handed her a twenty-dollar bill. “You’re going to need some expense money,” he said. “There’s a restaurant here in the motel. Go and get yourself a dinner.”

  “I couldn’t eat, Mr. Mason. I’m too upset. I feel all churned up inside.”

  “That’s fine,” Mason said. “That’s a normal reaction. Just stretch out, try to get some rest, and try to calm your nerves. We’ll be back, probably within an hour.”

  The lawyer got to his feet, nodded to Della Street, and they went out.

  From the first telephone Mason called Paul Drake.

  “There have been doings out at Sophia Atwood’s house, Paul,” Mason told the detective. “I may as well tell you right now that my client, Katherine Ellis, is being accused of taking money from a hatbox that was in an upstairs closet. Now then, I want some information.”

  “Shoot,” Drake said.

  “What do you know about Moffatt and Jordan, Investigators?”

  “They’re a reputable detective agency,” Drake said. “They’re a cut above the average in ability.”

  “Is Jordan skillful enough to get fingerprints from a hatbox, Paul?”

  “I doubt it,” Drake said. “You can’t get fingerprints from paper—not without using iodine fumes, and even then you have to be lucky. But it takes laboratory conditions to do it.”

  Mason said, “I’ve got news for you, Paul. The Macdonell Associates of Corning, New York, have worked out a new technique by which a black magnetic dust is applied to a surface so gently that nothing except the dust actually touches the surface. Then the dust is removed magnetically, and the process is so ingenious that it leaves identifiable fingerprints on pasteboard boxes, on paper— even on Kleenex.”

  “The devil it does!” Drake said. “This is news to me, and I’m completely satisfied that Jordan doesn’t know anything about it.”

  “He was trying to get her fingerprints,” Mason said.

  “Purely routine—probably in an attempt to break her down and get her to make some admission,” Drake said. “That’s one thing about Jordan, he’s inclined to be a little heavy-handed. He takes jobs as a bodyguard, and they tell me he’s inclined to be a little rough on occasion.”

  “All right,” Mason said. “I just wanted the low-down. I may have to sue the agency for a hundred thousand bucks for defamation of character.”

  “No skin off my nose,” Drake told him. “Do you want I should do anything more about Sophia Atwood?”

  “Not right now,” Mason said. “Call your man in wherever he is, send him home, and send me a bill.”

  “Will do,” Drake said, and hung up.

  Mason went back to the automobile where Della Street was waiting.

  Chapter 5

  Stuart Baxley answered the doorbell. He gazed incredulously at Mason and Della Street. “You, back here!” he exclaimed.

  Mason smiled. “In person. We wish to see Sophia Atwood.”

  “Sophia Atwood can see no one at the present time.”

  “Are you acting for her?” Mason asked.

  “She is seeing no one.”

  “Then she hasn’t told you that she wishes to see no one?”

  “Of course she’s told me.”

  “Then you’re in touch with her?”

  “All right, I’m in touch with her.”

  Mason said, “Della Street, my secretary, has an order from Katherine Ellis, an order permitting and directing Miss Street to pick up certain articles of wearing apparel from the room occupied by Katherine Ellis.”

  “Well, she can’t come in the house,” Baxley said.

  “I would like to have that refusal come from Mrs. Atwood in person,” Mason said. “I do not recognize any authority on your part.”

  “Try entering this house and you’ll find my authority,” Baxley blustered.

  “I understand you are going to use force to prevent Miss Street from getting these clothes?”

  “I’ll use force,” Baxley announced belligerently.

  Jordan, the private detective, who had been attracted by the sound of the voices, came forward and said, “Mr. Baxley, may I talk with you for a moment?”

  “In just a minute,” Baxley said.

  Mason said, “My client has been subjected to annoyance and humiliation. She has been falsely accused of crime. She has been ejected from the house where she is living, without her clothes. She wants her clothes. If I am not permitted to get those clothes, it will be an act in aggravation of damages. If I am permitted to get the clothes, it may be a circumstance which will be considered in mitigation of the resulting damages. I think Mrs. Atwood should know this.”

  “Just a minute, just a minute,” Jordan said. “Wait there a minute.” He took Baxley’s arm, escorted him out of earshot. They talked in low voices for some two or three minutes. Then Baxley, apparently in an angry mood, withdrew, and Jordan came to the door.

  “You and Miss Street may come in, Mr. Mason,” he said. “If you’ll wait in the library here, I’ll show Miss Street where Katherine Ellis had her room. She can take whatever she desires, provided the authorization is in proper shape. We will, of course, assume no responsibility for what you folks are taking.”

  “Fair enough,” Mason said. “Here is the authorization.”

  Jordan studied it for a few moments, then put it in his pocket.

  “That authorization is to Mrs. Sophia Atwood,” Mason pointed out.

  “We’re representing her,” Jordan said. “Come in.”

  “I take it,” Mason said, “your willingness to let Miss Street remove things means you’ve already searched Katherine Ellis’ room?”

  The detective grinned. “You are at liberty to draw your own conclusions.”

  They entered the house. Mason took a seat in the library. Jordan escorted Della Street up the creaking, old-fashioned staircase with its curved banister. Baxley was in some other part of the house.

  A few moments later, there were light steps on the stairs and then Mason arose as an attractive woman entered the room.

  “You’re Mr. Mason?” she asked.

  The lawyer bowed.

  “I’m Sophia Atwood.”

  “I’m very glad to meet you,” Mason said. “Inasmuch, however, as we are representing adverse interests and I am an attorney, I would prefer that you have your legal representative here when I…”

  “Oh, bosh!” she said. “Sit down, Mr. Mason. I want to talk with you.”

  “I am here as Katherine Ellis’ attorney,” Mason said.

  “I know, I know, I know. You’re getting ready to bring a suit for damages and all that. Just don’t try to hold me responsible for anything Stuart Baxley has said.”

  “He isn’t representing you?” Mason asked. “That is, he’s not your agent in this matter?”

  “He’s trying to be my agent. He’s giving me advice, telling me what to do and what not to do but I’m going to do what I want to do, not what somebody else wants me to do.”

  “Do you really feel that Katherine Ellis has stolen money from you?” Mason asked.

  “Now, that’s what you lawyers would call a leading question,” she said and smiled. “I’m not going to answer that right now. Anyway, what I believe doesn’t make any difference.”

  “It is, of course, a matter of proof,” Mason said. “And every citizen has constitutional rights, particularly in connection with an accusation of crime.”

  “Well,” she said, “I don’t mind telling you this. I have lived alone for a long time and I suppose that’s made me a little suspicious of people and perhaps a little furtive.

  “I had a hundred dollars in a hatbox in my closet on a shelf. I keep that closet locked. Someone got into that closet and took the hundred dollars out of the hatbox.

  “I’m afraid I accused Stuart Baxley at first. And he was, of course, indignant and was the first to point out that, if it came to theft, Katherine was the one who had the most opportunity.”

  “In other words, he focused suspicion on Katherine and made an accusation?” Mason asked.

  “Well, now, there again you’re asking leading questions,” she said. “I don’t know as I care to discuss the matter, but I do want to get my hundred dollars back. To a woman in my position, a hundred dollars is a very large sum of money.”

  Her keen, gray eyes peered at the lawyer through steel-rimmed spectacles. “A very great sum of money,” she repeated.

  “It was exactly a hundred dollars?” Mason asked.

  “Exactly a hundred dollars.”

  “You’d been saving it for some time?” Mason inquired.

  “Now, I’m not going to discuss my personal finances, but I will tell you I’d been saving it for some time. I have a savings account at my bank. I put in five dollars every so often, and I’ve got about two hundred and fifty dollars in that account. I decided I wanted to go on a shopping splurge. I was going to get some clothes. I drew out a nice crisp one-hundred-dollar bill. I didn’t want to carry that amount of money in my purse, so I placed it where I thought it would be safe in this hatbox in the closet.”

  “And when you came to look for it this evening the money was gone?”

  “Exactly. And the hatbox had been knocked off on the floor. … Now, I understand this detective that Stuart Baxley got for me is going to be able to get fingerprints from that box. That is, he’s trying to.”