“That’s exactly what I intend to do,” Melrose said. “I’m going to ask the judge to make an order to show cause why you shouldn’t be found guilty of contempt of Court and an order demanding that you turn all of the money you received on that check over to the conservator.”

  “That’s certainly your privilege,” Mason said. “Go ahead and make the motions in court and I’ll be there to answer them. … Was there anything else you had in mind?”

  Instead of answering the question, Darwin Melrose slammed the telephone back in place.

  Mason grinned at Paul Drake and said, “You know, Paul, it’s a long worm that has no turning.”

  Drake said, “I gather from your conversation that you slipped over a fast one?”

  “Well, I don’t know,” Mason said judicially. “Darwin Melrose is one of those attorneys who wants to be specific. If he wants to describe a horse with a white, right hind leg, he makes the description read ‘a horse with one white, right hind leg’.

  “Of course, he knew just what the balance was in Shelby’s account, so he made the order which he served on the bank specific—that they were to turn over to the conservator Shelby’s account consisting of exactly so many thousand dollars, so many hundred dollars and so many cents—right around a hundred and fifty six thousand dollars.

  “Of course, it never occurred to him that someone might make a deposit in Shelby’s name.”

  “And someone did?” Drake asked.

  “Someone did,” Mason said.

  “Did you have anything to do with it?”

  “Oh, a little,” Mason admitted, with a grin. “We have carried out Horace Shelby’s wishes in part and, thanks to the information you have, we may be able to carry them out the rest of the way.”

  “Your client?” Drake asked. “I take it you’ve seen she’s provided for?”

  “She’s provided for.”

  “Don’t you think she’s a little bit too naïve?” Drake asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “For a girl who’s been handling her uncle’s business affairs, writing all of his correspondence, more or less doing his thinking for him in matters running into a good many thousands of dollars, she seems just a little bit synthetic in her unsophistication.”

  Mason regarded the detective with thoughtful eyes. “You know, Paul, I’ve been thinking the same thing. I’ve been wondering if back of that school girl naïve character there isn’t a pretty smart mind. But remember, the bank has been doing business with her for a long time. They’ve known the connection between her and her uncle and they’re for her all the way.”

  “Oh, I think she’s all right,” Drake said, “but—I don’t know. Do you suppose she’s suspected the true relationship and just kept playing demure so that Horace Shelby would never know she suspected?”

  Mason shrugged his shoulders. “I’m darned if I know, Paul. But—What do you think, Della?”

  Della shook her head. “You don’t get me to express my opinion,” she said.

  “You have one?”

  “Yes.”

  “And why don’t you want to express it?”

  “I’m not sure of my grounds,” she said thoughtfully.

  “Well,” Mason said, “we’re doing the best we can for her. She’s had a whole series of jolts but I think, in the long run, we’re going to come out all right.

  “Who’s the doctor the Court is appointing, Paul?”

  “I don’t know as yet,” Drake said, “but I’ve got a line out so I can find out just as soon as—” He was interrupted by the telephone.

  Della Street picked up the phone, said, “It’s for you, Paul. Your office is calling on the unlisted line.”

  Drake took the call, said, “Give me that name again,” said, “thanks,” hung up and turned to Perry Mason. “Okay, Perry,” he said, “the question is answered. The Court has appointed Dr. Grantland Alma as the Court’s doctor.”

  Della Street immediately started riffling through the pages of the phone book, then furnished the supplemental information. “Here he is,” she said. “His office is 602 Center Building and his phone is Lavine 23681.”

  “And,” Mason said, “any attempt to influence him will make him mad but there’s no reason why I, as an attorney, can’t try to see Horace Shelby before the doctor does.”

  “You stand absolutely no chance,” Paul Drake said.

  Mason grinned. “If they’ve got him shut off from all of his friends, it might be a good thing to know.”

  The lawyer looked at his watch. “It’s a cinch the doctor is in his office now. He probably won’t try to see Shelby until tomorrow morning. Give his nurse a ring, Della.”

  “The nurse?”

  “Yes. One should always communicate with a doctor through his nurse.”

  Della Street put through the call and nodded to Mason.

  Mason said, “Hello, this is Perry Mason, the attorney, talking and I would like very much to talk with Dr. Alma on the telephone. If that is not possible, I would like to ask a question which he could answer. It is a matter of some urgency.”

  The feminine voice at the ether end of the line said, “Well, this is his nurse. Perhaps you’d better give me the question. The doctor is busy now and has an office full of patients.”

  Mason said, “Dr. Alma, who’s been appointed by Judge Ballinger to examine Horace Shelby sometime before a court hearing which is to take place—”

  “Oh, I’m sure the doctor wouldn’t discuss that with you or with anyone,” the nurse said.

  “I don’t want him to,” Mason said. “I am simply trying to find out if it would interfere with the doctor’s plans in any way if I went out to the Goodwill Sanitarium to visit Mr. Shelby.”

  “Oh, I’m sure it wouldn’t,” the nurse said. “Just so you don’t do anything to upset him or alarm him. You’re one of the attorneys in the case?”

  “In the general case, yes,” Mason said.

  “Just be careful not to disturb him in case he should be excitable.”

  “Thank you,” Mason said. “What room is he in, by the way?”

  “He’s in one of the isolation units, I believe. Just a minute … Unit 17.”

  “Thank you very much,” Mason said.

  “You’re entirely welcome.”

  “Please tell Dr. Alma I called.”

  “I will.”

  “Well,” Mason said, grinning as he hung up the phone, “if you want information, the way to go about it is to get it openly.”

  Drake grinned. “A good private detective could have put in two days at fifty dollars a day getting you that information, Perry. … You want me to go with you?”

  “N”6,” Mason said, “I think I’ll go alone.”

  “The party may get rough out there,” Drake warned.

  “Under proper circumstances,” Mason said, “I have been known to get rough myself.”

  Chapter 7

  The Goodwill Sanitarium and Rest Home at El Mirar was apparently the combination of a reconverted motel and a large old fashioned three-story dwelling on an adjoining lot.

  The properties had been united, a board fence put around the property, and on the windows of the motel units as well as on the windows on the lower floor of the big building were unobtrusive iron work—either ornamental grillwork or straight rectangular bars.

  Perry Mason sized up the property, then made no effort to be surreptitious but walked through the gate, up the wide driveway and through the front door where a sign said OFFICE.

  The lawyer noticed a sign on the gate reading, “Wanted Young, well-adjusted woman with agreeable personality for general work.” There was a similar sign in a frame on the side of the office door. Since these signs had been hand lettered by a professional, it was apparent that the institution had quite a turnover in domestic help and experienced considerable trouble in getting replacements.

  Mason entered the office.

  There was a long counter across the room dividing it into two parts. Behind this counter was a switchboard and a chair to one side, a desk littered with papers, a tilting swivel chair, two straight-backed swivel chairs and a shelf of square cubbyholes, with room numbers over each partition.

  A light was on at the switchboard and there was the customary loud buzzing sound indicating an incoming call.

  Mason walked to the counter.

  A middle-aged woman came hurrying through a door which opened from the back of the office. She hardly looked at Mason but went to the switchboard, picked up the headset and said, “Yes, Hello. This is the Goodwill Sanitarium.”

  She listened for a minute, then said, “Well, he isn’t in now. I’ve left word with his secretary. He’ll call as soon as he gets back. … No, I don’t know just when he’ll be back. … Yes, I hope so. Yes, sometime today. … Yes, he’ll call you, Doctor. As soon as he gets back, he’ll call. … Goodbye.”

  She pulled out the plug, turned wearily and somewhat truculently to the counter.

  “What can I do for you?” she asked Mason.

  “You have a Horace Shelby here,” Mason said.

  Instantly, the woman stiffened. Her eyes grew wary.

  “What about it?” she asked.

  “I want to see him,” Mason said.

  “You a relative?”

  “I’m a lawyer.”

  “You representing him?”

  “I’m representing a relative.”

  “It’s past visiting hours today,” she said.

  “But it’s rather important that I see him,” Mason said.

  She shook her head firmly. “You have to come during visiting hours.”

  “And when are they?”

  “Two to three in the afternoon.”

  “You mean I can’t see him until tomorrow afternoon?”

  “I’m not certain you can see him then. You’re going to have to talk to Doctor. He’s been having a little trouble. There’s been a “No Visitors” sign on his door. … What did you say your name was?”

  “Mason. Perry Mason.”

  “I’ll tell Doctor you called.”

  “Doctor who?” Mason asked.

  “Doctor Baxter,” she said. “Tillman Baxter. He runs the place.”

  “He’s a medical doctor?” Mason asked.

  “He has a license to run the place,” she said. “That’s all I know and I don’t think it’s going to do you any good to come back. I don’t think Horace Shelby is going to be in any condition to receive visitors.”

  She abruptly turned her back on him and walked through the door leading from the office into the back room.

  Mason turned away, made a quick survey of the place, and walked back to where he had parked his car.

  A man was standing by the car. “You’re the Court appointed doctor?” the man asked.

  Mason regarded the man thoughtfully. “What Court-appointed doctor?” he asked.

  “The Shelby case.”

  “Why?” Mason asked.

  “I want to talk with you,” the man said.

  “May I ask what about?”

  “You didn’t answer my question. Are you the Court-appointed doctor?”

  “No,” Mason said. “I’m Perry Mason, an attorney. Now, why did you want to talk with the—”

  The man didn’t wait for him to finish the sentence, but walked rapidly to a car which was parked ahead of Mason’s, jumped in, said something to the driver of the car, and the car took off down the street.

  Mason tried to make out the license number but the car had been parked too far ahead. He could see that it was a Nevada license and that was all.

  The lawyer pretended to return to the sanitarium, but doubled back and, pulling the key for his own car from his pocket, hurried around to the street side to jump in behind the wheel. He started the motor and drove rapidly down the street.

  He didn’t see the car with the Nevada license plates. It had evidently turned off on one of the side streets.

  The lawyer drove around several blocks trying to spot the car so he could get the license number but was unable to find it.

  He drove back to his office.

  “There’s a call from Dr. Alma,” Della Street told him.

  “He says he’ll talk with you any time that you come in. I told him I expected you shortly.”

  Mason nodded.

  “Gertie’s closed up the office and gone home,” Della Street said. “I’ll put the call through,”

  Her fingers were a blur of motion over the dial on the telephone and she said, “Dr. Alma, please. Mr. Mason calling.”

  She nodded to Perry Mason.

  Mason picked up the telephone. “Hello,” he said, “Perry Mason talking.”

  “Dr. Grantland Alma, Mason. You wanted to talk with me?”

  “Yes. I understand you’ve been appointed by Judge Ballinger to talk with Horace Shelby and make an appraisal of his physical and mental condition.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Do you expect to see Horace Shelby soon?”

  “I can’t see him before tomorrow morning,” Dr. Alma said, “but I have told the sanitarium I’ll be there at ten o’clock in the morning.”

  “Is it wise to let them know exactly when you’ll be there?” Mason asked.

  “I think so,” Dr. Alma said, “because I’ve told them that I want him to have no sedation after eight o’clock tonight that I want a complete chart showing every bit of medication that has been given and that I don’t want anyone from the sanitarium present when I examine him, that I’ll have my own nurse with me.”

  Mason grinned and said, “Thank you, Doctor. I can see why the Court decided to appoint you as the examining physician. … I just wanted to ask you if ample precautions would be taken to see that the patient had a fair chance.”

  Dr. Alma said, “I know what you’re thinking. I may also tell you that there are certain sedatives which, when given intravenously, put a patient into a deep sleep, but in some cases the individual becomes disoriented and a little erratic for several days. There are also other drugs which, when given to a person who has arteriosclerosis, can cause quite a bit of mental impairment.”

  “Can you test for those drugs?”

  “Yes and no. I can make a blood test which will be of some help if I think they have been administered, but I can pretty well tell whether a person is his normal self or whether he is recuperating from the influence of drugs.

  “I know all about you and your reputation Mr. Mason. I understand you’re representing the niece or the young woman who thought she was the niece—in any event, the young woman who’s been taking care of the patient and who has been devoted to him. I can also tell you in confidence that the sanitarium gave me an argument when I said I didn’t want any medication after eight tonight. They told me the patient was restless, highly irritable, unable to sleep, and that he would have to be given heavy sedation.

  “I asked what they meant by heavy sedation and we had an argument over that. I finally gave them a limit of a sleeping medicine that could be given the patient tonight.

  “I don’t mind telling you. Mr. Mason, that I’m going to check this thing carefully. That’s what I was told to do and that’s what I’m going to do.”

  “Thanks a lot,” Mason said. “I just wanted to find out what you had in mind.”

  “And I think I know what you have in mind.” Dr. Alma said, chuckling. “Don’t worry, Mason, I’m going to be fair but I’m going to be very, very thorough.”

  “Thanks a lot,” Mason said. “And I certainly appreciate your cooperation.”

  The lawyer hung up and said to Della Street, “I guess there’s no reason we can’t close the office and go home. I think everything is taken care of. Dr. Alma knows what he’s doing. He evidently knows all of the angles. Daphne is out of circulation. The sanitarium is on the defensive and I wouldn’t be too surprised if tomorrow wasn’t a day with plenty of action, as far as the sanitarium is concerned.”

  “How did it impress you?” she asked.

  Mason made a gesture with his hand. “It’s one of those things,” he said. “I think the man they call “Doctor” who is in charge of it, is not a licensed physician although he probably has a license to run a nursing home.

  “Some of those places are all right some of them aren’t. In fact, in some of them—heaven help the poor guy who gets put in there! All too frequently, relatives don’t want to be bothered with an old man who is getting a little forgetful and a little unsanitary in his habits, so they bundle him off to a nursing home, wash their hands of him, and practically forget about him.

  “The nursing home doesn’t care just as long as they get a regular monthly check.

  “Then there are some of those nursing homes which are pretty foxy. They know when the old man is supposed to be incompetent and when they know the patient hates them but the person who has been appointed guardian or conservator of the estate is making the check every month, it doesn’t take long for them to decide which side of the bread has the butter.”

  “And you think this sanitarium is one of those places?”

  Mason said, “I wouldn’t be the least surprised, Della. However, I think things are working all right now. Let’s call it a day and go home.”

  Chapter 8

  Perry Mason entered the office at nine o’clock the following morning to find Della Street opening mail and segregating it into three piles Urgent, Important, and Unimportant.

  Mason casually glanced through some of the letters on the Urgent pile, said, “Well, I guess we may as well do a little catching up, Della. … Have you heard anything from Daphne?”

  “Not yet.”

  Mason glanced at his watch. “In an hour, Dr. Alma will be out at the sanitarium to examine Horace Shelby. I imagine there’ll be some action about that time.”

  “What sort of action?” Della asked.

  “I don’t know,” Mason said. “Several things are possible. Either they’ve drugged the old man, ignoring Dr. Alma’s orders or they’ll try to invent some reason why Dr. Alma can’t see him.”