Mason shook his head. “No, Judge Carver can wait. I said two-thirty and she’s right on the dot. Go bring her in, Della. We’ll write Judge Carver later. Have you, by the way, heard anything from Evelyn Bagby?”

  “Yes. She phoned at noon and left a message with Gertie. Joe Padena gave her a job. He was short-handed and was tickled to death to get her.”

  “All right,” Mason said. “Let’s take a look at Irene Keith. She warned me she was going to turn on the charm. I want to see how it works.”

  “It’ll work,” Della said. “It has so far. You were going to save the day for mail, and—”

  “This is an emergency,” Mason said.

  Della Street sighed, put down the correspondence and went out to escort Irene Keith to the inner office.

  When she returned she seemed visibly impressed. There was something almost approving in the way she said, “Miss Keith, Mr. Mason.”

  Irene Keith stepped forward. Her personality filled the office, pushed the somber dignity of the leather-backed books, the desks and filing cabinets into the background.

  “Hello,” she said. “I’ve been to the beauty shop and had my deadly weapons burnished.”

  She came forward with outstretched hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr. Mason. You look just like your pictures. Isn’t that an inane thing to say? What I mean is your pictures look just like you. Well, why shouldn’t they?”

  Mason smiled and indicated a chair. “After all,” he said, “that’s the purpose of having pictures made.”

  “No, it isn’t. You’d be surprised at the number of people who want pictures that don’t look like them. They want to be glorified, idealized—but let’s get down to business. You’re busy. You want me to do something for that young woman.”

  Mason nodded.

  She looked at her watch. “Mervyn Aldrich is going to meet me here. You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Aldrich?” Mason raised his eyebrows.

  “He’s the groom,” she said laughing. “He was all set to commit matrimony. He was saved by the gong—the gong in this case being the theft of all of the jewelry.”

  Mason glanced at Della Street, who flipped a switch that turned on a hidden recording device so that every word spoken was recorded on tape.

  “Go ahead,” Mason said.

  “Merv is a good guy,” she went on. “You may have heard of him. He makes yachts down at Newport Beach.”

  “The Aldrich cruiser?” Mason asked.

  “That’s it. The Aldrich cruisers. He knows what the boys want and he sure gives it to them. Lots of boat for a little money. How he does it no one knows. Of course, volume helps, but he’s really cleaning up.”

  “And he was to have been married?”

  “That’s right. He was the groom, I was the bridesmaid, and the bride was Helene Chaney.”

  “What happened?” Mason asked.

  “We were to meet in Corona. Merv Aldrich was driving up from Balboa through the Santa Ana Canyon. Helene and I were driving from Hollywood in my car. We were going to make our rendezvous in Corona and then drive over to Las Vegas. Everything was arranged in Las Vegas. It was going to be quite a wedding.”

  “Go on,” Mason said.

  “Well, after all, Mr. Mason, I don’t see where these facts really make any difference. Most of the story is in the movie section of the morning paper. After all, the jewelry was stolen and this girl was tried and acquitted and—”

  “But I’d like to know the facts.”

  “Okay,” she said, “you asked for it,” and laughed nervously.

  “Go ahead.”

  ‘Well,” she said, glancing at her watch. “I guess I was driving rather fast. That car of mine is really souped up, and when it starts purring along the road it goes places. I can’t seem to hold it down. It isn’t exactly a law-abiding car, Mr. Mason. And, of course, we left a little early so we’d have time—in case of a puncture.”

  Mason nodded.

  “I suppose you know all about Helene. She had a meteoric rise from a bit player to a star. Steve Merrill is a heel. He was a second-rate ham. He’s broke. He’d like to chisel in on Helene’s property. In an ordinary court action he wouldn’t stand a whisper of a chance. But if he can gum up the works on Helene’s marriage to Mervyn Aldrich he has some hopes of being bought off.

  “You probably won’t believe all this, but Helene really wants a home and security and—of course, she’s a tramp in the eyes of the public because of the roles she plays on the screen. However, that’s the way it goes. She’s always cast in the part of a doll with tight sweaters and loose morals and that’s the way the public wants her. I’ve told her dozens of times not to let them type her that way, but the pictures kept coming along and she liked it—well, here I go, rambling off on a tangent.”

  “You were to rendezvous in Corona,” Mason prompted.

  “That’s right. We got there a little too soon. We didn’t dare to keep Mervyn waiting. He won’t wait for anyone.”

  “You assumed Mervyn Aldrich would be on time?”

  “Right on the dot,” she said. “He’s a stickler for time. He’d synchronized watches over the telephone so that we could meet there and start right out.”

  “And you were early?”

  “Twenty minutes—actually it was twenty-one minutes, I believe. Well, anyway, we parked the car, and decided we’d have a drink. Helene thought it was indicated under the circumstances and she didn’t have to twist my arm.”

  “You went in to this cocktail lounge and had a drink?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You came out, and what happened?”

  “I noticed that the lid of the trunk compartment was raised, and we had—well, we had Lord knows how many presents in there, all of my jewelry, and Helene’s, and the suitcases.

  “Like a fool I decided to notify the police. Well, that was where I made my big mistake.

  “That chief of police moved right in. I guess he saw a chance for publicity, glory and fame. He herded us all down to police headquarters. He had me give him detailed descriptions. Merv showed up and he was furious. You’ve never seen such cold rage.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, he’s peculiar. And he didn’t like the police, the publicity, or the delay. When Merv does anything he wants the plans to go through like clockwork.”

  “So the wedding was off?”

  “I’ll say it was off. Why, the police held us there until after midnight. Helene was wild, Merv was furious and all the small-town police and newspapermen were having a field day.”

  “Couldn’t you have broken away?”

  “Probably we could have if it hadn’t been for the police digging up this witness and then arresting Evelyn Bagby and insisting I sign a warrant. I told the others to go on ahead and I’d stay behind and wrestle with the technicalities of the law and the police, but Helene wouldn’t go on without me, and the whole atmosphere had ceased to be romantic. Mervyn Aldrich won’t wait for anyone. He says the average man spends ten per cent of his productive time waiting for other people, either directly or indirectly. He won’t wait as much as five minutes for anyone.”

  “Then what happened?” Mason asked.

  “I guess you know the rest of it.”

  “The wedding was called off. I remember reading about it. There was a postponement and then almost immediately Helene Chaney’s second husband filed his legal action. What about that action?”

  Irene Keith’s lips became hard. “It’s blackmail action,” she said. “Steve Merrill! That heel! What a ham! What a heel! The prize—”

  The telephone rang. Mason nodded to Della Street, who picked up the receiver, conversed briefly with the receptionist, then said to Mason, “Mervyn Aldrich said he was to meet Miss Keith here.”

  Mason glanced at Irene Keith. “You want him to come in now?”

  She said hastily, “I think it would be a fine thing, Mr. Mason, to—well, I’d like to get everything all sort of straightened up, and I know Merv would want to know what’s going on. He might—just might resent it if I made some sort of a settlement without consulting him.”

  Mason nodded to Della Street, who went out to escort Mervyn Aldrich to the inner office.

  While she was gone Irene Keith seemed to have forgotten Mason, but sat with her eyes on the door through which Della had left.

  The door opened.

  Irene Keith jumped from the chair, walked swiftly forward. “Hello, Merv!” She gave him both of her hands. “Come on over and meet Mr. Mason.”

  Mervyn Aldrich, fully as tall as Mason, slim-waisted, broad-shouldered, standing erect, his face tanned to a healthy, outdoor color, took Irene Keith’s hands in his, smiled down at her for a moment, said, “Hello, beautiful! How’s the bridesmaid?” then advanced to shake hands with Perry Mason.

  Following the preliminaries, Aldrich sat down, glanced at his wrist watch and took charge of proceedings with the crisp, businesslike efficiency of a chairman of a board conducting a directors’ meeting.

  “Let’s see, Irene,” he said, “your phone message said there was something about making a settlement with this young woman who stole the wedding presents?”

  “She didn’t steal them, Merv.”

  “How do you know she didn’t?”

  “She was acquitted,” Mason said.

  Aldrich’s smile was more eloquent than words.

  “Merv,” Irene pleaded, “I know she didn’t do it. I feel it in my bones. There was something phony about that whole business.”

  Aldrich turned to Mason. “May I ask just how you got into this act?”

  “I was drafted,” Mason said.

  Irene Keith said by way of explanation, “Merv, of course, feels pretty much put out about this whole business. You see, it stopped the wedding.”

  “Irene and Helene left all that jewelry in the back of the car and—”

  “I’d locked the baggage compartment. I know I did, Merv,” Irene said.

  He merely nodded a crisp acknowledgment of the statement, then went on speaking to Mason. “The girls felt that the theft had to be reported to the Corona police. Trying to get a description of all the stuff and details consumed more than an hour and a half. Then this man showed up—what the devil was his name, Irene?”

  “Boles, Harry Boles.”

  “That’s right. He’d seen this young woman fooling around the baggage compartment, at least he said he had. He went all to pieces on cross-examination at the trial yesterday. The jury turned the defendant loose. She certainly was lucky! Where is she now?”

  “Working,” Mason said.

  “Where?”

  “In the city here.”

  Irene Keith said impulsively, “Merv, I want you to trust me in this. I have a very definite feeling that—well, I think there was a frame-up.”

  Mervyn Aldrich shook his head.

  “Merv, won’t you trust a woman’s instincts in the matter?”

  His eyes, which had been steely hard in their appraisal of Mason, turned to Irene Keith and softened. “You’re such a big-hearted girl,” he said. “You always look for the best in everyone. You’re simply incapable of understanding what really goes on in this world of ours.”

  “Now, please, Mervyn. I feel very deeply about this.”

  Aldrich smiled tenderly at her for a moment, then turned once more to Mason. His manner was coldly contemptuous. “Just what’s your proposition, Mr. Mason?”

  Mason said, “Irene Keith signed a felony complaint accusing Evelyn Bagby of a crime. Evelyn Bagby was imprisoned, then tried and acquitted. That leaves the situation in rather an unsatisfactory state.”

  “Unsatisfactory from whose viewpoint?” Aldrich asked.

  “From the viewpoint of all parties concerned.”

  “Irene didn’t have any malice toward this woman. She’d never seen her. The deputy district attorney told Irene to sign and she signed. Any claim against her wouldn’t have a legal leg to stand on. Any lawyer would tell her that.”

  Mason said, “I tried to get Miss Keith to give me the name of her lawyer and let me talk to him. Since she preferred to discuss it personally, I am keeping it on that basis.”

  “That’s all very pretty,” Aldrich said. “But you can’t hold Irene for a thin dime as damages. She didn’t even know the girl. She had no malice. She swore to the complaint on the advice of the authorities.”

  “Are you,” Mason asked, “trying to tell me the law?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought so.”

  Mason got to his feet.

  “Now, wait a minute,” Aldrich said, “perhaps I’m misjudging you.”

  “I think you are, but it’s too late for that to make any difference now,” Mason told him.

  “Look,” Irene said pleadingly to Mason, “I think you’re being unduly disturbed about this.”

  “I don’t,” Mason replied.

  Mason walked over to hold open the exit door from the private office.

  Irene Keith glanced at Aldrich, turned impulsively to Mason. Mervyn Aldrich took a firm hold on her arm. “Come on, Irene,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  Mason watched the door click shut behind them. Della

  Street threw the switch which shut off the recording machine.

  “Well!” she said.

  Mason stood frowning at the door through which his visitors had departed.

  “Chief,” Della Street said, “if she wanted to settle, why do you suppose she asked Mervyn Aldrich to meet her here?”

  Mason turned to regard Della Street with thoughtful concentration. At length he said, “Thank you, Della.”

  Her eyes were puzzled. “For what?”

  “For pointing out a key to the situation. One which I all but overlooked.”

  “I don’t get it,” she said.

  “Mervyn Aldrich,” Mason told her, “is extremely punctual. He never waits more than five minutes for anyone. He keeps his appointments right on the dot.”

  ‘Well?” Della Street asked. “I still don’t get it.”

  “Irene Keith’s appointment,” Mason said, “was for two-thirty. She asked Mervyn Aldrich to meet her here. He showed up some fifteen minutes later. Therefore she must have told him to meet her at two-forty-five.

  “You remember Irene Keith told me she was going to a beauty parlor and get her deadly weapons burnished. She warned me she was going to use sex appeal.”

  Della nodded.

  “So,” Mason said, “she planned on having fifteen minutes to dazzle me with her personality, to get acquainted, to act the part of a broad-minded, generous woman who was very anxious to make amends for any wrong that might have been done Evelyn Bagby.

  “Then Mervyn Aldrich who, either by preconceived plan or by natural temperament, was nasty, cold, supercilious, sarcastic and utterly impossible, entered the picture and all offers of settlement were promptly knocked in the head.”

  “Then you think this was all planned?”

  “Very definitely,” Mason said. “It was a little too opportune to have just happened.”

  “Well,” Della Street said, “I can tell you something more, something from a woman’s standpoint.”

  “What’s that?” Mason asked.

  “Irene Keith is very, very much interested in Mervyn Aldrich. I suppose that the theft of the jewels played into Steve Merrill’s hands in that he had time to file his suit before Helene could get married, but I’ll bet you that when the wedding was called off Irene Keith didn’t become dehydrated because of shedding tears.”

  Mason’s eyes narrowed. “Now that opens a highly interesting field for speculation, Della. I think under the circumstances we’ll engage in a little investigative work and see if we can’t uncover some facts which might be of value.”

  She smiled. “In other words, we have a job for Paul Drake.”

  “Exactly. Run down the hall and see if Drake’s in his office. Drag him away from whatever he’s doing and get him down here. The plot, it would seem, has begun to thicken.”

  “Which,” she observed over her shoulder, as she went through the door, “is the way some people I know like it.”

  Chapter 5

  Paul Drake, head of the Drake Detective Agency which had its offices on the same floor of the building occupied by Perry Mason, slid into the clients’ overstuffed chair, swiveled around on the small of his back so that he was sitting sideways in the big chair, his knees over one rounded arm, his back resting against the other.

  “Okay, Perry,” he said. “Shoot.”

  Mason started to say something, paused thoughtfully, selected a cigarette, lit it, and studied the smoke for a few moments, said, “You know Helene Chaney, Paul?”

  “The actress?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not personally.”

  “What do you know about her?”

  “Not too much. There’s a lot of stuff released from time to time by her publicity director. That doesn’t mean a damn thing. On the screen she’s sexy, sultry and seductive; she has come-hither eyes, and wears low-cut dresses, but always within the pale of respectability. She also fills out tight sweaters.

  “That means that her publicity department works overtime taking photographs of her being a busy little homebody, wearing an apron, high-necked blouses, long skirts, and things of that sort. She just loves to cook. It’s one of the great tragedies of life that her career keeps her from staying home and being a housewife. She’s portrayed as being sexy on the screen. Actually she’s a sweet little homebody. Whenever she has a few minutes she loves to knit something for friends, little knickknacks. She—”

  “Don’t,” Mason said. “It’s too much of a pattern.”

  “Isn’t it.” Drake grinned. “You’d think they’d develop a new wrinkle. I understand she’s about to commit matrimony again.”

  Mason nodded. “It was all set for a splice in Las Vegas but somebody stole the wedding presents. That put a stop to the Las Vegas wedding safari. Then her second husband, a chap by the name of Merrill, entered the picture with legal proceedings and snarled everything up with red tape. What do you know about Merrill, Paul?”