Mason grinned. “Just after I’d finished telling Della Street what a whiz you were at digging up precedents that were in favor of our clients rather than against them.”

  “Well, of course,” Jackson went on judicially, “a great deal, a very great deal, would depend upon the character of the young woman; and, of course, the circumstances under which the property was alleged to have been taken. For the purpose of setting bail, it will be necessary to assume that the charge is well-founded.”

  Mason said, “Just walk in there with your fighting clothes on and get in touch with whatever deputy district attorney is handling the thing and demand that he get hold of the complaining witness. Insist that we want to get a specific allegation as to what was taken and exactly when it was taken and the value of it. And, above all, find out whether this young woman got in touch with me because of my reputation, because someone told her to give me a ring, or because she thinks she knows me.”

  “Do you know her?” Jackson asked, blinking inquiringly at Mason.

  “How the hell do I know? Jackson, in my position would you know everyone who had served on a jury, everyone who had been a witness in a case?”

  “No, sir, I don’t think I would.”

  “I don’t think you would either,” Mason said, picking up some papers. “Skip down to the Las Alisas jail and get hold of this Dorothy Fenner. Tell her not to worry. Get started as fast as you can. We want some action. File a habeas corpus if you have to.”

  When Jackson had gone, Mason turned to Della Street. “He does ask the damnedest questions.”

  “Doesn’t he? And at the most unexpected times. Then you look at that impassive countenance of his and those eyes blinking away at you as though you were some sort of a bug he was looking at through a microscope and you’re darned if you know whether the guy is really smart, or just intelligent.”

  Mason threw back his head and laughed.

  “Get hold of Paul Drake for me, Della. Let’s start some detectives working.”

  Della Street dialed Paul Drake’s unlisted number on the confidential line which Mason kept in his private office, detouring the outside switchboard, and in a moment said, “Hello, Paul? This is Della … How busy are you? … Do you suppose you could run down to the office? … That’s fine. Right away, eh?”

  She raised inquiring eyebrows at Mason, caught his nod, said, “That’ll be fine, Paul. The Chief will be expecting you. I’ll be waiting at the door.”

  She hung up the telephone and moved over to the exit door to the corridor from Mason’s private office.

  “He’s coming right down,” she said.

  Paul Drake, head of the Drake Detective Agency, had offices down the corridor near the elevator, and it was only a matter of seconds until Della Street heard His steps in the corridor. As soon as a dark shadow formed on the ground glass of the exit door, Della Street jerked back the latch and opened the door.

  “Service,” Drake said, grinning amiably at them as he shuffled over to the big overstuffed client’s chair and draped himself in his favorite position with his knees propped over one rounded arm of the chair, the other rounded arm furnishing support for his back.

  “What’s the pitch?” he drawled, elevating one knee and clasping his fingers around the shinbone as he glanced from Mason to Della Street.

  “You’re a hell of a detective,” Mason told him. “You always look as though you were about ready to fall apart.”

  “I know,” Drake said. “It’s my disguise. Underneath this thin head of hair, back of these glassy eyes, is a ballbearing brain racing away like mad.”

  “Perhaps that’s why it’s so darned hard to get you started in a new direction,” Mason said. “Your brain is just a huge gyroscope.”

  “It makes for stability,” Drake told them, “and enables me to hold great quantities of liquor.”

  “Liquor doesn’t affect it?” Della Street asked.

  “Just makes it go around faster,” Drake assured her. “I’m charging somebody for this time. Did you bring me down here to ask questions about my brains?”

  “Heaven forbid,” Mason said. “We want you to find out something about a nice murder case.”

  “Murder cases are never nice,” Drake told him, “particularly your murder cases.”

  “This is a swell murder case,” Mason said. “It involves a Miss Minerva Danby, evidently a curvaceous exponent of feminine pulchritude, who is supposed to have been drowned by slipping overboard from a yacht … ”

  “You mean the Alder case?” Drake interrupted.

  “You know about it?”

  “I remember about it,” Drake said. “I remember because of the large amounts of whitewash that were spilled over everything in sight. The officials all seemed to vie with each other in grabbing Alder, shaking his hand and pouring white paint all over the boy.”

  “Remember any of the facts?” Mason asked innocently, glancing surreptitiously at Della Street.

  “Well,” Drake said, “this George Alder is quite some pumpkins. He has a big yacht that’s a miniature ocean liner, all fitted out with teakwood, mahogany, brass and polish, telephones all over the boat, a private bar, stewards and all that stuff. He owns a big place down on an island … Hey, wait a minute, that must have been the Alder whose house was burglarized last night.”

  “What about it?” Mason asked.

  “Oh, just a piece in the paper. Some woman put on a dinner gown, mingled with guests, copped fifty thousand bucks in jewelry; and made her escape by water. A male accomplice was sitting out there playing it safe, sending he girl in to do the dirty work. When she ran out, he lipped in with the canoe and picked her up, then whisked her out of harm’s way. At that, they almost caught hem by breaking out some motorboats and getting an early start. Eventually, they traced her through a bath towel.”

  Mason said, “Well, I want to find out all about Alder; want to find out about Minerva Danby’s death, and if you want to let various and sundry people know that hat death is being investigated, it’s all right by me.”

  “Newspapers?” Drake asked.

  “Not too obvious,” Mason said. “Perhaps a veiled reference to the fact that your agency is asking questions around Catalina Island, trying to determine additional facts about the mysterious death of a young woman who was reported to have been swept away by rough seas from the yacht of a multimillionaire … You know, that vague sort of stuff.”

  “Papers don’t go so much for that stuff,” Drake said, “but I know a couple of columnists who would like to get a lead. That is, if it’s on the up-and-up.”

  “It’s on the up-and-up. Go ahead and start your investigation. Find out anything you can.”

  “Okay. Anything else?”

  “Keep an ear to the ground on that jewel burglary. Try and find out if that’s what it really was.”

  “Gosh, Perry, you think there’s any chance it could have been … ”

  “I don’t know,” Mason told him. “Get busy and find out. Ask questions; put men to work; find out everything you can about Alder. I want a complete picture.”

  “How many men do I put to work on it?” Drake asked.

  “As many as you have to.”

  “To get information by what time?”

  “As soon as you can.”

  Drake said, “You’re leaving yourself wide open, Perry. I have a lot of men I can draw on now. Business isn’t any too good, and … ”

  “Start ‘em working,” Mason told him. “Just don’t have them falling all over each other, or getting in each other’s way, but have them make inquiries, and really go to town.”

  “And we don’t have to make it hush-hush?”

  “As far as I’m concerned,” Mason told him, “you can hire a brass band.”

  “Okay,” Drake said, “that saves a lot of trouble. It means we won’t have to waste time beating around the bush.”

  “Another thing,” Mason said. “I want you to look up the date Minerva Danby died. Then check back on the records at Los Merritos. You’ll find that at that time there was a woman undergoing treatment at that institution. This woman couldn’t give any definite account of herself. She was suffering from sort of amnesia, and apparently had no relatives.

  “Look up Corrine Lansing. Get her age, build, color of eyes, and all that. Find out what you can about her disappearance. She’s a half sister of George Alder. Anyway, get all the dope and get it fast.”

  “Okay, anything else, Perry?”

  “I want a complete job on Alder. I want to know everything I can about him. If he has any weak points I want to find out about them. That is, any weak chinks in his armor.”

  Drake slid down out of the chair. “Okay, Perry, I’ll get to work.”

  Mason waited until he had gone, then turned to Della Street. “Get hold of the surety company; tell them I’ll want them to put up bail within a short time in that Dorothy Fenner case; tell them to make any inquiries they want about Dorothy Fenner, but that I’ll stand back of any bail bond that’s issued, and that I want them in a position to issue one fast when the time comes.”

  Della Street turned to the telephone. “You’d better talk with the manager personally,” Mason said. “Tell him that I’ll appreciate some prompt action on this.”

  “I’ll tell him it’s a personal favor,” she said. “No cracks,” Mason warned.

  “That wasn’t a crack, it was a break.” Della Street started dialing the number.

  Chapter 4

  Jackson cleared his throat, deposited his brief case on the table, started methodically taking out papers.

  “Did you get the bail fixed?” Mason asked.

  Jackson said, “Perhaps I’d better take it up in chronological order and tell you exactly what happened. I … ”

  “Did you get the bail fixed?”

  “Not yet. The matter has been taken under advisement by Judge Lankershim.”

  “Taking a matter of bail under advisement?” Mason asked incredulously.

  “Well, the Judge intimated that he would consider a bail of $25,000 in case he was called upon for an immediate decision. He wished to confer with the district attorney’s office and intimated that lie would make a sharp reduction in the amount of bail in the event he felt that it would be safe to do so. He says he will take the matter up at four o’clock this afternoon, immediately at the close of a late calendar he’s calling.”

  Mason glanced at his watch.

  Jackson said, “I went to the Las Alisas jail and discussed the matter with this young woman. She knows you only by reputation and has never even seen you. She wants to get the best attorney available but, as is quite usually the case with persons who demand the best, her financial resources are limited.

  “However, in view of the fact that I had been definitely advised we would take the case I did not discuss the matter of emolument with her at any length, but merely made an attempt to ascertain her financial background.

  “Apparently she has a small amount of money. She is an expert typist, stenographer, and secretary, and is employed at a fair salary. She has some eight or nine thousand dollars which is left from an insurance policy her mother took out in her favor. She is quite a yachting enthusiast and owns a small yacht which wouldn’t sell for very much. She has sailed on several yachts, knows the yachting crowd, and apparently is rather popular with them. Her own yacht is a relatively small affair which she picked up at … ”

  “Never mind that,” Mason said. “What about the case?”

  “She insists that she did not steal any jewelry. She fails to account for the presence of the bath towel, bathing cap and a rubber sack at the scene of the crime. Apparently she is not able to furnish an alibi. She was aboard her yacht at the time of the burglary. She tells a very peculiar story about someone getting aboard her yacht during her absence and stealing something which belonged to her. She intimates, without making a direct accusation, that Mr. Alder knows about this. She says further that when she can get in touch with some mysterious man, whose name she either can’t or won’t divulge, that she expects to be able to prove some rather serious charge against Mr. Alder, but I cannot ascertain the exact nature of that charge. Strangely enough she says this mysterious man is a lawyer. She feels certain he would help her out but she either doesn’t know his name or claims she doesn’t. She has, of course, heard a lot about you and insists she needs the best lawyer available. She is personally acquainted with George S. Alder and seems to be very much afraid of him.

  “I wish to state frankly that I am not favorably impressed with this young woman. She acts guilty to me. However, following instructions I told her you would represent her. She wants to talk with you personally. I am afraid I did not create an especially favorable impression, and I must confess that any personal lack of confidence was mutual. Her story is far from being straightforward.”

  “Is she to be in court at four o’clock this afternoon?”

  “Judge Lankershim said nothing about her being there. He asked that a representative of this office and of the district attorney’s office gather with him to discuss the matter.”

  “Who’s handling the case for the D. A.?”

  “Vincent Colton.”

  Mason glanced at Della Street. “What appearance does she make, Jackson? Good-looking?”

  Jackson deliberated a moment, blinked reflectively, and said, “I believe she is, Mr. Mason,” as though the thought had just struck him.

  “Think she’d make a good impression on a jury?”

  Again Jackson digested that thought with slow, blinking appraisal.

  “I believe she could.”

  “And Vincent Colton wanted a continuance in the matter?”

  “He intimated there might be some clarification of the position of the district attorney by late this afternoon.”

  “But you don’t think this young woman had any direct lead to our office? It was simply a matter of … ”

  “Of wanting the best. She’d heard a great deal about you and—well at least she was willing to make a stab at it. Of course her idea of a fee is probably in nowise commensurate with the work involved. I didn’t discuss that phase of the matter.”

  Mason glanced at his watch, said, “Okay, I’ll run along. I’ll be seeing you folks later. Della, you might wait for a ring from me before you go home.”

  She nodded.

  “Thanks, Jackson,” Mason said.

  “In such matters,” Jackson said, with stiff formality, “I have at times a feeling of utter inadequacy. It is particularly embarrassing when one is thoroughly conversant with every phase of the law, to have a layman adopt a position of—well, frankly, Mr. Mason, of doubt.”

  “It certainly is,” Mason said. “Okay, I’ll take over now, Jackson. Just forget about it.”

  Jackson’s sigh of relief was plainly audible. “Come to think of it, Mr. Mason,” he said, “now that you’ve mentioned the matter, she really is what you might call attractive. Sort of a blonde with a very good complexion and … ”

  “Good figure?” Della asked mischievously. “Oh, heavens, I wouldn’t know about that, “ Jackson said. “In fact, it is with some effort I am recalling the color of her eyes and hair, but the general impression, the over-all impression which would be made on a jury would, I should say, be favorable, distinctly so.”

  Mason said, “Well, I’ll take over. Here’s something you can start working on, Jackson. As I understand the law, any increase to property due to accretion and caused by the elements belongs to the landowner.”

  “Yes, sir. There are dozens of decisions … ”

  “But when it’s an accretion caused by a governmental activity such as building a breakwater or dredging a channel, the accretion becomes government property.

  In which event it might be subject to location by a citizen.”

  Jackson made furrows in his forehead. “Well now, let’s see. That’s rather a fine distinction. I’m afraid, Mr. Mason … No, by George! Wait a minute … You’re right! The leading case is City of Los Angeles versus Anderson, in the 206th California. That case I believe dealt with land formed adjacent to a government breakwater. I can’t be certain it would apply to some other governmental activity such as dredging. Yet the principle would seem to be the same.”

  “Look it up,” Mason said. “I want a leg to stand on. Make it as strong as you can.”

  “Yes, sir, and am I to understand that you’ll take over on this bail matter? It would be extremely annoying if … ”

  “I’m taking over,” Mason said. “You just concentrate on the problem of accretion due to governmental activity.”

  Mason grabbed his hat, drove to the La-s Alisas sheriff’s office, secured a pass and telephoned the matron. “I want to see Dorothy Fenner,” he said. “This is Perry Mason.”

  “Oh, Mr. Jackson from your office was here this morning. He talked with her.”

  “He did, did he?” Mason said. “Well, I’ll talk with her myself.”

  “All right. I’ll bring her down to the visitors’ room. She … she’s been crying.”

  “That’s fine,” Mason said. “I’ll try and cheer her up a bit.”

  “I think she’s feeling rather depressed.”

  “Okay,” Mason said, “I’ll meet you in the visitors’ room.”

  The lawyer went up in the elevator, presented his pass and waited until the matron brought a swollen-eyed Dorothy Fenner into the room, a room with a long table, through the middle of which ran a heavy screen dividing the room into two separate rooms.

  The matron said, “Come on over here, dearie. Here’s Mr. Mason. He wants to talk with you.”

  Dorothy Fenner walked over to the screen as one in a daze, then suddenly jerked to startled attention. “Why you’re … ”

  “Perry Mason,” Mason interrupted. “And very pleased to meet you, Miss Fenner.”

  “Why, what I mean is that you’re … ”

  “Perry Mason,” the lawyer interrupted, significantly.

  “Oh,” she said, and sat down as though her legs were buckling.

  The matron smiled, patted her back reassuringly, said, “How’s everything, Mr. Mason?”