“That’s right. What happened?”

  “Apparently he got wise that he was being tailed, but it wasn’t our fault. There was another man following him, and Boring first became suspicious because the other man was using contact shadowing.”

  “Go ahead,” Mason said.

  “You remember Moose Dillard?” Nye asked.

  Mason frowned, then said, “Oh, yes. I place him now. The big fellow that I represented when he was in a jam over losing his license.”

  “That’s right. That was when he lost his temper and flattened a politician who was calling him names. Personally I think the politician had it coming to him, but that’s neither here nor there. The guy had political influence and Dillard has a hell of a temper. Anyway, Moose Dillard was tailing Boring. He put an electronic bug on Boring’s car so the tailing could be done without giving Boring any cause for alarm, and there’s no reason on earth Boring should have known he was being shadowed if it hadn’t been for this other man using contact methods.

  “Well, Boring spotted the other shadow and started out to ditch him, and did a good job of it. That other shadow was left way back in Hollywood somewhere, but it made Boring shadow conscious.

  “Of course, with our electronic tailing devices, Moose Dillard had no trouble. Anyhow, when a guy once gets Suspicious, Dillard is such a big guy it’s hard to forget him. A tail should be an inconspicuous fellow who can mingle with the crowd, and Dillard has always had a little trouble fading out because of his build, but he’s the best automobile tail in the business. He’s a genius at handling a car. He wraps those big hands of his around the steering wheel and the car seems to be a part of him.”

  Mason nodded. “What happened?”

  “Well, Boring decided to come back to Riverside. I don’t know what it was, probably a telephone conversation he had with someone. Anyway, he was in Hollywood, then he threw a suitcase into his car and started out at high speed. He cut figure eights and lost the other shadow. Dillard kept on his tail. After they hit the freeway, Dillard kept pretty well in the background, relying on the electronic device to keep him posted.”

  “And what happened?”

  “Boring went to Winlock’s office, then to the Restawhile Motel here and registered in Unit 10. Dillard waited awhile, then registered and got Unit Number 5, which is across the way from Unit 10 and would give a pretty good view of Boring’s place.

  “Now, here’s the peculiar thing: Dillard checked in and drew the curtains across the window but left just a little crack in the curtain so he could see out, and after a while he saw Boring come out, cross over directly to Dillard’s automobile, open the door and start prowling around.”

  “What did Dillard do?”

  “He sat tight. He said he was inclined to go out and grab the guy by the collar and give him a good shaking but he remembered the trouble he’d been in before, so he just sat in there and took it.”

  “What was Boring looking for?”

  “Presumably he was suspicious of Dillard and wanted to find out something about the registration of the automobile.”

  “Did he learn anything?”

  “That’s anybody’s guess. The registration is in the name of Paul Drake as an individual and, of course, in order to comply with California law there’s a certificate of registration in a cellophane window strapped to the steering post.”

  “So Dillard sat tight?”

  “Dillard sat tight but he’s afraid he’s been spotted and he wants instructions.”

  Mason thought for a minute, then said, “Tell him to stay right there in the unit and keep his eye on the unit where Boring is staying. I want to know everyone who comes to see Boring and I want to know what time Boring goes out.”

  “But suppose Boring does go out. Does Dillard try to shadow him?”

  “No,” Mason said. “It would be too dangerous under the circumstances. He’d be spotted even if he was using an electronic shadowing device. He’ll just have to sit tight.”

  “The guy hasn’t had any dinner,” Nye said. “He’s a big guy and he gets hungry.”

  “Well, I don’t want to take a chance on letting him go out, at any rate while Boring is there. Do you folks have a good woman operative up here?”

  “Not up here but we could probably get one. What do you want?”

  “A good-looking woman could go into Dillard’s apartment looking as though she were some married woman on a surreptitious date and probably smuggle Dillard in something to eat. It wouldn’t be what he wants, but she could get some hamburgers and a Thermos jug of coffee and carry them in. Then if Boring is turning the tables on Dillard and keeping an eye on Dillard’s apartment, the fact that this woman goes in there with just the right furtive attitude will probably reassure Boring and, at the same time, give Dillard-something to eat.”

  “Can do,” Nye said. “But it will take a couple of hours.”

  “Anything else, new?” Mason asked.

  “That seems to be it at the moment, but probably you’d better call Paul, let him know that you’re here and that you and I have been in touch—or would you rather I just reported to Paul?”

  “No, I’ll call him,” Mason said. “Get him on the phone, Della.”

  Mason turned back to Nye and said, “Sit back and relax and tell me something about George Winlock, because I’m going to talk with the guy.”

  “There isn’t much to tell. He’s a chap who came here about fourteen years ago and got a job as a real estate salesman. He was a hard worker and a good salesman. He made a couple of big commissions; then he had a chance to tie up some property that he thought was good subdivision property and instead of simply taking a listing on it he took an option— paid every cent he had for a ninety-day option, then got busy and peddled it for a hundred thousand profit. From that time on he started pyramiding. The guy has brains, all right, and he’s a shrewd operator. But he keeps pretty much in the background.”

  “What about his wife?”

  “She’s inclined to be just a little snooty; puts on airs, is just a little bit patronizing as far as the local society is concerned, and while they kowtow to her because of her social position, I have a feeling she wouldn’t win any popularity contests if there was a secret ballot, but she’d probably be elected Queen of the May if the feminine voters had to stand up and be counted.”

  “What about her son?”

  “Marvin Harvey Palmer is one of those things,” Nye said. “We’re getting too many of them. He apparently feels that there’s never going to be the slightest necessity for him to do any work and he doesn’t intend to try. He’s an addict for sports cars, a devil with the women, has been picked up a couple of times for drunk driving, but has managed to square the rap somewhere along the line, and— Oh, hell, Perry, you know the picture.”

  Della Street said, “Here’s Paul Drake on the line, Chief.”

  Mason crossed over to the telephone.

  Drake said, “Hello, Perry. I’m going to give you a description of a man and you can tell me if it means anything to you.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Five-foot eight or nine; weight about a hundred and thirty-five pounds, bony shoulders; high cheekbones; very dark but rather small eyes, and a pointed nose that’s quite prominent. He’s in his late thirties or early forties, quick-moving, nervous—”

  “You are describing Mr. Montrose Foster,” Mason interrupted. “He’s the president of Missing Heirs and Lost Estates, Incorporated, and he called on me trying to pump me for information. Harrison Boring worked for him before branching out on his own.”

  “He’s found Dianne Alder.”

  “The hell he has.”

  “That’s right.”

  “How did he find her?”

  “I’m darned if I know, Perry. He nosed her out some way. The guy probably is pretty smart. He seems to be a fast worker.

  “I think he traced Harrison Boring to Bolero Beach and when he got to inquiring around Bolero Beach he found out that Boring was interested in Dianne Alder.

  “Now, it’s anybody’s guess whether Foster did a little snooping around and found out what Boring’s deal with Dianne was, and took it from there; or whether he decided to work fast and go shake Dianne down and see what she’d tell him.

  “One thing is certain. Dianne became very much upset as a result of his visit, and shortly after he left, Dianne got her car and drove off in a rush.”

  “You’re not having her tailed?” Mason asked.

  “No. You didn’t tell me to. As it happened, the Bolero Beach operative who was nosing around on Boring’s back track happened to learn that this character with the pointed nose had been making inquiries about Boring, and so he tried to pick the guy up. He ran into him just as Foster was leaving Dianne’s apartment. Then Dianne came out within about ten minutes, jumped in her car and took off in a hurry.”

  “How long ago?”

  “An hour or an hour and a half.”

  Mason said, “Your man, Moose Dillard, who was shadowing Boring, seems to have attracted Boring’s attention. Boring detected the other tail he was wearing and then spotted Dillard when Dillard registered in the Restawhile Motel. He went over to take a look at Dillard’s automobile. That car is registered in your name.”

  “So I understand,” Drake said. “I have a report on it. What are you going to do about Dillard?”

  “I’m talking with Sid Nye now,” Mason said. “Sid is in my suite here in the hotel. I told him to have Dillard stay put. We’ll get some woman operative to look as though she’s keeping a motel date with him, and take some sandwiches and a Thermos jug of coffee in to him. He can, of course, get a line on anyone who comes to see Boring there at the motel but his efficiency is pretty much impaired as far as we’re concerned.”

  “How about putting another shadow on Boring?”

  “I don’t know,” Mason said. “I don’t think it’s going to be necessary. I’ve decided to cut the Gordian knot by getting in touch with the man about whom this whole thing revolves.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “George D. Winlock.”

  “Winlock!” Drake said.

  “Right.”

  “You’ve decided he’s the one Dianne was picked out for?”

  “No. I’m approaching the problem from another angle, Paul. I’ve come to the conclusion Winlock holds the key to the entire situation.”

  “Can you discuss it over the phone?”

  “No,” Mason said. “I’ll have to quarterback it from here, Paul.”

  “Okay,” Drake said. “You’re on the ground up there and Nye is in charge of the forces up there. You just go ahead and tell Sid what you want done.… Do you want my men on the job down there in Bolero Beach any more?”

  “No, call them off,” Mason said. “I’ll tell Sid what to do.”

  As Mason hung up the phone, Sid said, “Well, I’ll get busy and get some good-looking gal lined up who can take some dinner in to Dillard. Dillard has a phone in his room and can call out, but we have to play it easy because the line goes through a switchboard there at the motel and there’s always the chance the manager may be listening in.”

  “Where can I reach you if I should want you in a hurry?” Mason asked.

  “The best way is through the office of the Tri-Counties Detective Agency. They’re our correspondents up here and we co-operate with them down at our end of the line and they handle things up here.”

  “Okay,” Mason said. “I’ll be in touch with you.”

  “You’re going to see this man Winlock?”

  “I’am going to try to.”

  “He’s a pretty shrewd operator,” Nye said. “He plays them close to his chest.”

  Mason nodded to Della Street. “See if you can get him on the line, Della.”

  “Maybe I’d better wait here until you find out what’s cooking,” Nye said.

  Della Street consulted the telephone book, put through the call and nodded to Perry Mason. “Mr. Winlock,” she said, “this is the secretary of Mr. Perry Mason, an attorney of Los Angeles. Mr. Mason would like to talk with you. Will you hold the phone just a moment, please?”

  Mason took the phone which Della Street extended to him, said, “Hello, Mr. Winlock. Perry Mason talking.”

  Winlock’s voice was cold and cautious. “I’ve heard of you, Mr. Mason,” he said. “And I have seen you. I was in the courthouse very briefly one time when you were trying a case up here in Riverside.”

  “I see,” Mason said. “I would like to have a few minutes of your time, Mr., Winlock.”

  “When?”

  “At the earliest possible moment.”

  “Can you tell me what it’s about?”

  “It’s about a matter which concerns you personally, and which J think it would be unwise to discuss over the telephone even in general terms.”

  “Where are you now?”

  “I’m at the Mission Inn.”

  “I have an important meeting a little later on, Mr. Mason, but I can give you thirty minutes if you could come out right away.”

  “I’ll be there within ten minutes,” Mason promised.

  “Thank you. Do you know where I live?”

  “I have the address,” Mason said. “I’ll rely on a cabdriver to get me there.”

  Mason hung up the telephone, said to Della Street, “You’re going to have to hold the fort, Della. Keep in touch with things and I’ll let you know as soon as I leave Winlock’s.”

  Nye said, “I’ll drive you out, Perry. I know where the place is. I can drive you out and wait until you finish your interview and drive you back.”

  Mason hesitated a minute, then said, “Okay, do that, if you will, Sid. It will save a few minutes and those few minutes may be precious. I want all the time I can have with Winlock.”

  Chapter 8

  George D. Winlock’s house was an imposing structure on a scenic knoll.

  Nye parked the car in front of the door and said, “I’ll wait.”

  “Okay,” Mason said. “I shouldn’t be very long.”

  Mason ran up the steps to the porch, pressed the pearl button, heard the muted chimes in the interior of the house and almost instantly the door was opened by a young man in his late teens or early twenties who regarded Mason with insolent appraisal.

  “Yeah?” he asked.

  “I am Perry Mason,” the lawyer said. “I have an appointment with George Winlock.”

  “C’mon in,” the young man said.

  Mason followed him into a reception hallway. The young man gestured toward a door on the right. “George,” he yelled. “C’mon down.”

  He turned to Mason and said, “Go on in there.”

  Having said that, the young man turned his back, walked through a curtained doorway and disappeared.

  Mason went through the door indicated and found himself in a large room which was evidently used for entertaining purposes. In addition to the arrangement of chairs around the table in the center of the room and in front of the fireplace, there were enough chairs along the sides to seat a dozen guests.

  Mason was standing, looking around, when a tall, thin individual in the early fifties, wearing dark glasses entered the room. He came forward with an air of quiet dignity, extended his hand and said, “How do you do, Mr. Mason? I’m George Winlock.”

  Mason shook hands and said, “I’m sorry to disturb you outside of office hours but it is a matter which I considered to be of some importance.”

  “I would certainly trust your judgment as to the importance of the matter,” Winlock said.

  Mason studied the man thoughtfully. “The matter is personal and it’s rather embarrassing for me to bring it up.”

  “Under those circumstances,” Winlock said, “if you will be seated right here in this chair, Mr. Mason, I’ll take this one and we’ll start right in without any preliminaries. I have an appointment later on and my experience has been that those things which may prove embarrassing are best disposed of by going right to the heart of the matter and not beating around the bush.”

  Mason said, “Before seeking this interview, Mr. Winlock, I tried to find out something about your background.”

  “That,” Winlock said, “would be simply a matter of good business judgment. I frequently do the same thing. If I am going to submit a proposition to someone, I like to know something about his background, his likes and dislikes.”

  “And,” Mason went on, “I found you had enjoyed a very successful career here in Riverside over the past fourteen years.”

  Winlock merely inclined his head in a grave gesture of dignified assent.

  “But,” Mason said, “I couldn’t find out anything at all about you before you came to Riverside.”

  Winlock said quietly, “I have been here for fourteen years, Mr. Mason. I think that if you have any business matter to take up with me, you can certainly find out enough about me in connection with my activities over that period to enable you to form a pretty good impression as to my likes and dislikes and my tastes.”

  “That is quite true,” Mason said, “but the matter that I have to take up with you is such that I would have liked to have known about your earlier background.”

  “Perhaps if you’ll tell me what the matter is,” Winlock said, “it won’t be necessary to take up so much of the limited time at our disposal searching into my background.”

  “Very well,” Mason said. “Do you know a Dianne Alder?”

  “Alder, Alder,” Winlock said, pursing his lips thoughtfully. “Now, it’s difficult to answer that question, Mr. Mason, because my business interests are very complex and I have quite an involved social life here. I don’t have too good a memory for names, offhand, and usually when a matter of that sort comes up I have to refer the inquiry to my secretary who keeps an alphabetical list of names that are important to me.… May I ask if this person you mention, this Dianne Alder, is a client of yours?”

  “She is,” Mason said.

  “An interest which pivots about the affairs of some other client?” Winlock asked.

  Mason laughed and said, “Now you’re cross-examining me, Mr. Winlock.”