“If I remain financially embarrassed, it is almost certain that sooner or later I will have to betray myself. Some clue will crop up which will enable the authorities to know the real identity of Lorna Warren. Of course, they don’t have anything against her at the moment, but they would bring her in and question her and it would soon become known that she was none other than Margaret Lorna Neely who was tried and acquitted for conspiracy to defraud by use of the mails.

  “Now surely, Mr Mason, you wouldn’t want that to happen, and Mr Warren, with his present social and business contacts, wouldn’t want it to happen.

  “I don’t want any financial consideration given me to keep quiet. That would be blackmail. I simply want to vanish. I want to elude the smooth shadows of the government. In order to do that I need money. I have to be able to buy an automobile.”

  “Why an automobile?” Mason asked.

  “Because I would need that in order to ditch the smooth shadows and disappear.”

  “Surely,” Mason said, “the government operatives could follow an automobile.”

  “Oh, of course. That’s the simplest thing in the world, particularly in these days when they have electronic shadowing devices. They simply put a little installation on my automobile and the thing gives off little ‘beeps’ which would enable government detectives in an automobile to follow me without the slightest bit of trouble. They wouldn’t even have need to get close to me. They could get three or four blocks behind me and still have no difficulty following me.”

  “Then perhaps you’d better explain why you want the automobile,” Mason said.

  “I would want to play the same trick on the government detectives that they are trying to play on me. In other words, they want me to become overconfident and I want them to become overconfident.

  “You see, Mr Mason, I wouldn’t get a new car, and I would buy it on a contract. Then I would assume the initiative. It has been my experience that one can do very much better when he has the initiative.

  “Of course, the money with which I paid for the automobile would be pounced on by government agents who would look it over for some clue. I would, therefore, like to have this money in older bills of five- and ten-dollar denominations and some ones. It would appear that I had put the bite on someone who had had to dig deep into his savings in order to get that money.”

  “Go on,” Mason said.

  “Then,” Gideon went on, “I would take that automobile and let the government think that I had no idea there were any smooth shadows on the job. I’d ditch the rough shadow, which, as I said, wouldn’t be very much of a job.”

  “Go on,” Mason said.

  “So then the smooth shadows would handle things in such a way that they would flatter themselves that I would have no idea I was being shadowed. They might perhaps have as many as five cars on the job. They might even work with a helicopter and binoculars.”

  “And they’d keep you in sight?” Mason asked.

  Gideon grinned and said, “Of course.”

  “They could do that?” Mason asked.

  “They’re clever,” Gideon said, “and they hold all the face cards. I would, of course, go through all the expected motions. I’d take a lot of evasive tactics so the government detectives would know that I felt certain I had ditched the rough shadow. I would then go into a restaurant to eat, and leave the car parked outside.

  “While I was eating, the government agents would, of course, put an electronic bug on the car so that I would be shadowed by cars that were two or three blocks away.”

  “Just how would you handle that situation?” Mason asked.

  Gideon smiled. “You have to leave me with some cards I don’t turn face up, Mr Mason. I’d handle it. The government agents would never see me again. Just when they were flushed with triumph, I’d trump their aces and be on my way.”

  “You’re certain you could do that?” Mason asked.

  “I’m certain.”

  “The government has some good men who are highly trained,” Mason said.

  Gideon’s silence was eloquent.

  “In other words,” Mason said, “if you get this money I’ll never see you again?”

  “Exactly.”

  “And if you don’t get it?”

  “I’ll be in daily touch with you.”

  “You realize that after this initial experience I wouldn’t ever see you again,” Mason said. “I’d let you cool your heels in the outer office until you got tired.”

  “No,” Gideon said, puffing at the cigar, then removing it from his mouth and turning it so he could inspect the burning tobacco, “I rather think you’d see me, Mr Mason. I think you’d be instructed to see me.”

  “And do what?”

  “Give me money.”

  “How much money?”

  Gideon moved his hands in an expansive gesture. “You would, of course, want me to make a good job of it. You wouldn’t want me to play right into their hands. You’d want to be sure that I didn’t come back, because of course once I ditched the smooth shadows they’d put a stake-out on your office.”

  “And would probably assume that I had given you the money with which to purchase an automobile.”

  “They might.”

  “And might even question me.”

  “Oh, I think you can count on that,” Gideon said. “I think they’d be certain to question you. After they once woke up to the fact that they had been outwitted, they’d be rather annoyed. They’d question you. They’d think perhaps you had thought up the scheme for outwitting them. They’d talk about compounding felonies, about being an accessory after the fact; they’d be rather rough. But I’m assuming that you would simply sit back in your chair, with an enigmatic smile, and tell them that if they thought they had any case against you, to go right ahead and prosecute you; otherwise, to just keep the hell out of your office and leave you alone.”

  “All of this has been most entertaining,” Mason said, “but it just happens, Gideon, that I don’t know anyone who would be likely to give you any sum of money.”

  “You know the Warrens.”

  “I don’t know them well enough to go to them and suggest that they should pay blackm–”

  Once more Gideon held up his hand. “Please, Mr Mason, please don’t use that word. It has unsavoury connotations and it bothers me. It’s crude.”

  “What do you think this is that you’re doing?” Mason asked.

  “I’m simply putting my cards on the table.”

  “You’re asking for money in return for silence.”

  “No, I’m not. I’m suggesting that perhaps you might care to communicate with people who would like to see that I had money for my rehabilitation.”

  “And in the event you don’t get the money, you’re making threats.”

  “No, no! No threats,” Gideon said. “After all, Mr Mason, I haven’t threatened you.”

  “You’ve said that you would keep coming back here.”

  “I’m rather persistent,” Gideon said. “After all, there’s no law which says I can’t come to your office as often as I like. It’s a public place. I am acting on the assumption that you will either advise some of your clients or, let us say, some of your friends, to pay me some money to see that I don’t keep hanging around or that you will be instructed by those people to see that I get enough money so I can get out.

  “Well, I mustn’t detain you, Mr Mason. You’re a busy man, a very busy man.”

  Gideon got to his feet.

  Mason said, “Don’t ever try to put pressure on me, Gideon. We deal with lots of blackmailers in this business. If I thought you were resorting to blackmail, I’d deal with you accordingly.”

  “And how is that?” Gideon asked, smiling ominously as he stood in the exit doorway.

  “We have various methods of dealing with blackmailers,” Mason said.

  “I dare say you do,” Gideon said. “And I certainly wouldn’t want you to put me in that category. However, I would like to know, just as a matter of curiosity, how you do deal with blackmailers.”

  “There are three methods,” Mason said.

  “Indeed?”

  “One,” Mason said, holding up his right index finger, “you pay off.”

  “Very sensible,” Gideon said.

  “Two,” Mason went on holding up a second finger, “you confide in the police. They protect your secret. You catch the blackmailer red-handed and he goes to prison.”

  “Very nice if it works,” Gideon said. “Now, what’s the third method?”

  Mason met his eyes, held up a third finger. “The third method,” he said, “is that you kill the son of a bitch.”

  For a moment Gideon recoiled. “You can’t go to the police, and I can hardly fancy you as a murderer, Mr Mason.”

  “Guess again,” Mason said. “You, yourself, said that the utterly ruthless person had all the advantage in this world.”

  “Well,” Gideon said, “since I am not a blackmailer, the discussion is simply academic. I will, however, be in touch with you from time to time, Mr Mason, and I feel certain that you will become interested in, shall we say, my rehabilitation?”

  He bowed from the waist.

  “Thank you for seeing me, Mr Mason.” He turned, again bowed from the waist. “Miss Street,” he said, his eyes and voice appreciative.

  Then he opened the exit door and walked out into the corridor without once looking back.

  Della Street looked at Perry Mason in dismay. “Why did you say that about killing him?”

  “I’ll give him something to think about,” Mason said.

  “Shall I try to get hold of Mr Warren?” she asked.

  “Heavens, no,” Mason said. “Remember that Warren told me calls had to go through his switchboard, that it would be very difficult to get hold of him, and that our conversations would be restricted.”

  “You mean you aren’t going to let him know anything about this conversation?”

  “Exactly,” Mason said. “He paid me to handle the situation and I’ll handle it.”

  Chapter Seven

  It was shortly before five o’clock that the telephone rang and Della Street, picking up the instrument, said, “Yes, Gertie,” then suddenly puckered her face in a frown. “You know I don’t take personal calls here, Gertie – Just a minute.”

  Della Street put her palm over the transmitter, turned to Mason and said, “Some woman who refuses to give her name states that she wants to talk with me about Judson Olney. What do I do?”

  Mason picked up his own telephone, said, “Gertie, put me in on Della Street’s call but don’t say anything about my being on the line.”

  “Okay, Gertie,” Della Street said, “I’ll take the call.”

  Mason, listening in, heard a feminine voice, harsh with emotion. “Look here, Miss Della Street, I want to know what you think you’re trying to get away with. For your information, I looked up the passenger list on the Queen of Jamaica at the time Judson Olney made the trip, and you weren’t listed as a passenger. I thought the whole thing was phoney when I first heard the story.

  “Now, I want to know just what you you’re trying to pull.

  “Don’t think you can get away with any fast one as far as my man is concerned. I’m the kind to fight, and when I fight I fight dirty. Now, will you kindly tell me just what this is all about?”

  Mason motioned to Della Street to hang up the phone, and then hung up simultaneously with her.

  “Well,” Della Street said, “that’s another complication. Good heavens, Chief, she was certainly boiling mad.”

  Mason said, “That’s the trouble with letting an amateur write a script and then trying to act it out. Who do you suppose that was, Della?”

  “I would say it was either Rosalie Harvey or Adelle Chester. I couldn’t recognize the voice.”

  Mason said, “Well, the fat’s in the fire. Someone went to the trouble to check on the passenger list when Olney made that cruise. Amateur liars are always amateurish, Della. We let them write the script. We shouldn’t have done it.”

  “Now we’re in a spot where …”

  Gertie, the receptionist, appeared in the doorway to the inner office. “A Mr George P Barrington is waiting to see you, Mr Mason. He says he has to see you on a matter of the greatest importance and I think he’s all worked up about something.

  “He said to tell you that he met you at Mr Warren’s.”

  Mason exchanged glances with Della Street.

  “I came in personally,” she said, “because he’s trying to pump me.”

  “In what way?” Mason asked.

  “He’s asking me about Della Street, about where she goes on her vacations, and if I remember the time she went to the Caribbean.”

  Mason said to Della Street, “Go in the law library, Della. Go out through the door from the law library and go home. I’ll talk with Barrington alone. I think perhaps he said he was calling to see me but he actually wants to talk with you. If he wants to talk with you it’ll be about that confounded Caribbean cruise … Why in hell can’t clients be better liars?”

  “He’s nice,” Della Street said.

  “He may be nice,” Mason pointed out, “but he fell for you like a ton of bricks and he had a young woman with him who seemed to be bored with it all but who was seething inside. She’s probably told him you never were on that cruise with Judson Olney.”

  Mason said to Gertie, “Keep him waiting about thirty seconds, Gertie. Don’t let him inveigle you into conversation about anything or anybody. As soon as Della gets out through the law library, I’ll give the phone a jiggle and you can send him in.”

  “Yes, Mr Mason,” Gertie said, her eyes big and round, looking from one to the other. Then, rather reluctantly, she left for the outer office.

  “Now you’ve done it,” Della Street said. “Gertie loves mysteries. She likes to take a button and sew a vest on it. She’ll work out some deep, dark intrigue that–”

  Mason motioned toward the law library. “On your way,” he said. “I’m going to tell Mr Barrington you’ve gone home for the evening, and when I tell a lie I like to have it the truth.”

  “On my way,” Della Street said, grabbing her purse, pausing for a swift look in the mirror, then vanishing through the door to the law library.

  Mason waited a few seconds, then picked up the telephone and said, “Okay, Gertie.”

  A moment later George P Barrington came hurrying into the office.

  “Hello, Mr Mason,” he said. “Nice of you to see me without an appointment. I am a little concerned about something that happened this afternoon.”

  “Yes?” Mason asked.

  “Your secretary, is she here?”

  “She’s left for the day,” Mason said.

  “I received an anonymous telephone call that bothered me a lot.”

  “Who called?” Mason asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Man or woman?”

  “I can’t even tell you that for sure, but I think it was a woman trying to make her voice deep … well, disguised.”

  “Recognize who was talking from the spacing of the words, or any little trick of expression?” Mason asked.

  “No … Why?”

  “I was just wondering,” Mason said. “What was the purpose of the call?”

  “The purpose of the call was to tell me that your presence at the gathering last night was in a purely professional capacity, that Horace Warren had arranged for you to be there to keep an eye on me, that Judson Olney hadn’t been on any boat trip with Della Street and hadn’t known her until a short time prior to that party.”

  “Well,” Mason said, “that’s very considerate of the young woman, isn’t it? And just why would I be retained to keep an eye on you?”

  “That was what I hoped you would tell me,” Barrington said.

  “I can’t tell you something I don’t know, and I can’t waste my time answering anonymous telephone accusations.”

  “I hoped that you would say that my informant was entirely in error, that you were there purely in a social capacity, and that Miss Street did know Judson Olney and had known him for some time.”

  “And that would have relieved your mind?” Mason said.

  “Frankly, it would.”

  “May I ask why?”

  “Well,” Barrington said, “I haven’t related all of the conversation.”

  “Perhaps you’d better relate it all then.”

  “The person at the other end of the telephone rather intimated that Warren felt I had been on terms of intimacy with his wife and that he was contemplating filing a divorce action.”

  “Under those circumstances,” Mason said, “it would seem there was only one thing for you to do.”

  “What?”

  “Contact Horace Warren and ask him frankly.”

  “The devil of it is,” Barrington said, “I – Well, my skirts aren’t entirely clean in the matter. I got mixed up in something that bothers me and I wanted to put the cards on the table with you, Mr Mason.

  “If there’s anything to this preposterous story and if Horace Warren has any idea I’ve been involved with his wife in any way, I would – Well, it would be disastrous.”

  “But there is something you want to tell me?” Mason asked.

  “Well, yes, although I came here to question you. You’ve managed to turn the tables on me.”

  “You wanted to tell me something,” Mason reminded him.

  “No, I didn’t want to, I didn’t intend to.”

  “But,” Mason said, smiling, “you’re going to, now. You’ve gone too far to stop now.”

  Barrington cleared his throat, shifted his position, said, “I’ve known Horace Warren for some time. I’ve been at his house two or three times, but we’ve never contemplated doing any business – that is, until recently.”

  Mason nodded.

  “I got to know his wife, Lorna, and of course I got to know Judson Olney.

  “About two months ago Olney came to me and asked me if I would ascertain what certain unlisted securities were worth. He thought I was in a better position to find out than he was, and I’m quite certain I was. It was a company that was operating in territory with which I was familiar and near which I had some holdings. So I made a quiet investigation and found that while the securities had no presently listed market value, there was a very high speculative value, and that a good fair average price would be around seventeen thousand dollars.”