“You finished?” Tragg asked.

  “I haven’t even started,” Mason said. “I can’t handle this combination with you standing there, all but pushing me to one side so you can see what I’m doing.”

  “Well, you tried hard enough. What happened?”

  “I think I missed a number.”

  “You haven’t tried it to see if it’ll open.”

  “I’m certain I missed a number.”

  Lieutenant Tragg said, “I get you. Since I was watching to see what the combination was, you decided to send me on a wild-goose chase.”

  A siren sounded. Tragg and Mason moved over to a window.

  Outside, a police radio car pulled up at the curb, two radio officers escorted a tall, gaunt man in his sixties into the house.

  “This is Corning, from the safe company,” one of the radio officers said.

  “Glad to see you, Corning. Can you get this thing open without having to blast it?” Lieutenant Tragg asked.

  “I think so.”

  “Just by fooling with the locks?”

  “I don’t think we’ll have to do that, Lieutenant.”

  “Why not?”

  “The safe has a number. A combination was set on the lock before the safe left the factory. My people have checked on our records of the billing of this safe, right through the jobber and dealer. The sale was made to Carlin about six months ago.

  “A provision is made by which the dealer can change the combination on safes when they are sold. In this instance no request was made that the combination be changed. The factory had a record of the original combination. I doubt if the combination has been changed.”

  “Give it a whirl,” Lieutenant Tragg said.

  Corning stepped gingerly across the charred rubble on the floor. “Always afraid of sticking a nail in my foot,” he said. “I had a friend one time who …”

  “I know,” Lieutenant Tragg interrupted, “died of lockjaw. Let’s get the safe open.”

  They watched in silence while Corning took a small leather-backed notebook from his pocket, twisted the dial experimentally, then, with long, sensitive fingers, started twirling the combination.

  There came a reassuring click from the interior mechanism. Corning twisted the twin handles on the safe, stepped back and jerked open the double doors.

  The officers crowded forward.

  “Well, I’ll be damned!” Lieutenant Tragg said.

  Mason moved forward to look over their shoulders at the interior of the safe.

  It held nothing save a pile of charred papers.

  “That’s a hell of a safe,” Tragg said. “A tin box would have been as good. This fire …”

  “Don’t be silly,” Corning said. “The fire didn’t even blister the paint on the safe. These papers were burned and put in the safe after being burned, unless …”

  “Unless what?” Tragg asked.

  “Unless they were coated with some chemical before being put in the safe, so there’d be a spontaneous combustion, or unless someone managed to work out a scheme by which …”

  Tragg abruptly signaled the man to silence, turned to Perry Mason. “I don’t think we’ll need you any more, Counselor,” he said. “In fact I’m quite certain of it.”

  Chapter 9

  Mason called Paul Drake from a drugstore.

  “Okay, Paul,” he said when he had the detective on the line. “What have you found out? Who’s my client?”

  “What about the safe?” Drake asked. “Did you …”

  “No,” Mason interrupted, “I didn’t That can wait What about my client?”

  Drake said, “I put men to work on that Golden Goose. Those people go to bed about three o’clock in the morning and don’t get up until afternoon. Trying to rouse them up and get information was a terrific chore. You can’t find out where some of them live and …”

  “Never mind all your hard luck,” Mason interrupted. “You’ll tell me about that when you present the bill. I want to know who my client was.”

  “Well, there are lots of things you should know in addition to my best guess on that,” Drake said. “To begin with, this fellow Pierre, the headwaiter, whom you wanted investigated. He’s a chunky Swiss, about sixty—and I can’t get to first base with him.”

  “Won’t he talk?”

  “I can’t find him.”

  “You mean he’s skipped out?”

  “He left the club around midnight last night, and no one has seen him since. We just can’t find him, period. No one knows where he lives. There’s an address listed on the employment register and he gets mail there, all right, but it’s one of those places where you can have a cover-up address, a place where desk space and office facilities are rented, or you can have mail come there at so much a letter and telephone service if you want it.”

  “All right What did you do with the others?”

  “I got my only lead from the hat-check girl. Following your hunch, I told her I was interested in couples who came there regularly, who knew Pierre, who were probably married, and who had left early.

  “Well, after we’d taken a tongue-lashing for disturbing her beauty sleep, given her twenty dollars to salve her injured feelings, and refresh her recollection, we secured the information that two couples had left rather hurriedly. Her description was more or less vague but we did know that two couples who were more or less regular customers left the place at about the time we mentioned.

  “Now I’m not going to bore you with all the details. She didn’t know their names. She knew one man was called a doctor and thinks he was an M.D. I found that the car hops who park the cars pool their tips with the doorman and make notes of the license numbers of the cars they park—well, anyway, I have a couple of names and addresses for you. Now, one of them is an M.D.”

  “Live anywhere near the drugstore at Kramer Boulevard and Vance Avenue?”

  “No, he lives at the other end of town.”

  “Of course,” Mason said, “my theory is that the woman must have walked to the drugstore unless they had two cars, and she was able to get a car out without attracting attention. Even so, she’d have been in a hurry and gone to the nearest telephone. But give me the dope, Paul.”

  “Dr. Robert Afton,” Drake said, “residing at 2270 Evenrude.”

  Mason wrote down the name and address.

  “You’ve checked him, Paul?”

  “Checked the address. He’s listed in the phone book.”

  “All right. What’s the other?”

  “Now this one,” Drake said, “I’m not so sure about. The man goes alone to the Golden Goose quite a bit. The hat-check girl has seen him frequently. She thinks the woman with him last night was his wife. The car is listed in the name of Myrtle Fargo. I can’t get the address. I can’t find Myrtle listed. She doesn’t vote. There are a couple of dozen persons by the name of Fargo listed in the telephone book, but no Myrtle. The car is a Cadillac convertible, so it looks like we’re dealing with money, but so far I can’t find any Myrtle.

  “The car registration lists Myrtle’s address as Sacramento, so she must have left there within the last year. Now, if you want to stand the expense, Perry, I can put men on the job in Sacramento and check her from there, but I don’t know just how strong you want to go on the thing.”

  Mason said, “The hell of it is I don’t know, myself, Paul. Her name is Myrtle Fargo?”

  “That’s right. So far we’ve drawn a blank, but remember it’s still early in the morning. She may have moved here a short time ago. She may be living in an apartment hotel where they have a switchboard and she gets her telephone service that way. The man who was with her may have been her husband or just a friend, and they were using the Golden Goose as a rendezvous.”

  Mason said, “Check all the Fargos in the phone book. Check them for addresses. See if there’s a Fargo listed with an address near Vance Avenue and Kramer Boulevard.”

  Drake said, “I already have one of my girls doing that. Wait a minute, here’s the answer I think. Hold the line …”

  There was silence for a moment, then Drake said, “There are two in the neighborhood, Perry. There’s an Arthman D. Fargo living at 2281 Livingdon Drive, and there’s a Ronald F. Fargo living at 2830 Montcrief.”

  “Take a look at a map,” Mason said. “Which one is closer to the drugstore on the corner of Kramer Boulevard and Vance Avenue?”

  “Arthman D. Fargo is three blocks, and Ronald F. Fargo is about eight blocks.”

  “All right,” Mason told him, “I’ll take Arthman D.”

  “Going to walk right in and play it straight?” Drake asked.

  “I don’t know, Paul. I’ll take a look at him and then play my hunches. I’ll be seeing you in an hour or so.”

  Mason hung up the receiver, drove to the address on Livingdon Drive. A neat stucco house was fronted by a small but well cared for lawn, in the middle of which a sign mounted on a sharp steel spike bore the legend ARTHMAN D. FARGO, REALTOR.

  Mason parked the car, walked up to the house and rang the bell.

  It was a moment before he heard any motion, then he heard steps, the door opened and a man who was almost as tall as Mason, with the build of an athlete, said, “Good morning.”

  Mason couldn’t see the faintest change in his expression. “I’m looking for Mr. Fargo.”

  “This is Mr. Fargo.”

  “I wanted to talk about some properties.”

  “Come in, please.”

  The man held the door open, and Mason entered.

  Mason’s nostrils detected stale tobacco smoke and the faint odor of cooking. The living room was simply but tastefully furnished. There was something about the way the newspapers were lying half-opened and propped up against a chair which made it seem they had been there for only a minute or two.

  “My office is this way,” Fargo said. “A little room I’ve fixed up.”

  He turned to the left, into what evidently had been designed originally as a downstairs bedroom, and opened the door, disclosing a small office in which there was a couch, a desk, a safe, a few chairs, two filing cabinets, and a typewriter perched on one corner of the desk.

  The room was cold and dark, with the Venetian blinds tightly closed.

  Fargo made haste to apologize. “I was doing some work in connection with listings this morning and the place hasn’t warmed up yet. It rained last night, you know, and was cold. I’ll switch on the electric heater and it will only take a second or two to warm it up.”

  He clicked a switch and almost immediately a concealed fan began gently circulating a current of warmer air.

  “It’ll only take a minute,” Fargo apologized. “Sit down and tell me just what you had in mind.”

  Mason said, “I’ve got some free capital. I want to buy a place if I can find one that’s a good bargain.”

  Fargo nodded.

  “I want to get something that’s priced well below the market. I want to be sure it isn’t being sold because the neighborhood is going to pot, or because there are termites or dry rot, or anything of that sort.”

  “How high did you want to go and just what sort of a place did you have in mind?”

  Mason said, “I’m buying for speculation. I have no particular limit except that I want to get something that is very definitely underpriced. Otherwise I’m not interested.”

  “Of course, such a thing as you want isn’t going to be easy to find,” Fargo said, “although I have some very good bargains listed. Did you intend to rent the property or live in it while you were holding it for an advance?”

  “Rent it.”

  Fargo seated himself at the desk and started running through some cards.

  “I have some good buys listed but not anything you might call a steal. When would you have an opportunity to look at some properties if I could get the listings together?” Fargo asked.

  Mason consulted his watch, said, “As it happens, I have a little time on my hands this morning. Ordinarily I’m rather busy.”

  “I see. Would you care to leave your name, Mr… er?”

  “Not yet,” Mason said. “Perhaps a little later on. Nothing personal, you understand, but in the real estate business …”

  “I understand,” Fargo interrupted hastily. He glanced at the telephone on the office desk, said, “If you wouldn’t mind waiting for just a few minutes, sir, I would like to check on one listing, but the data is in another part of the house.”

  “Quite all right,” Mason said.

  Fargo arose. “I won’t be long. If you’ll make yourself comfortable, please. I’ll be right back.”

  He hurried from the room.

  Mason stepped to the window, tilted the Venetian blind so he could look out at the front of the house to where he had left his car parked.

  When he saw Fargo, who had evidently slipped out of the back door, tiptoeing toward his car, Mason, having taken the precaution of removing the registration certificate before he had parked the car, swung around to the safe back of Fargo’s desk.

  The safe was locked.

  Mason spun the dial through the figures of the combination on the slip of paper he had found in the telephone booth in the drugstore. He tried the handle on the door. The bolts clicked back.

  Mason heard steps and had just time to get back to his seat when Fargo entered the room, saying, “I’ve just checked up on a listing I have. The house has been withdrawn from the market. I’m sorry.”

  “That’s too bad,” Mason said.

  Fargo’s eyes met his. “How’d you like to buy this place?”

  “You own it?”

  “Yes.”

  Mason shook his head. “I told you I’m looking for bargains. You’d hardly offer this place on the terms I want.”

  “What makes you think I wouldn’t?”

  “Because you’re in the business.”

  “You can steal this place—for cash.”

  “How much?”

  “Eighteen thousand, just as it stands, including furniture. I’ll just walk out.”

  “That’s too much. The place is worth it, all right, but I’m after places that are priced so low …”

  “Seventeen thousand—furnished.”

  “That’s a good price, but …”

  “Sixteen thousand five hundred, and that’s rock bottom.”

  “Let’s take a look at it.”

  “I can be ready to show it in an hour, and …”

  “I’m here now. Why can’t I look it over right now?”

  Fargo hesitated. “You’re really interested in it at that price?”

  “Furnished, yes.”

  Fargo hesitated. “My wife is in Sacramento, visiting her mother, and I am not much when it comes to housework. I …”

  “I’m interested in the building,” Mason said, “not in your neatness as a housekeeper.”

  “Well, if you’d like to look it over, come ahead.”

  Fargo led the way through the door, across the living room, and into the kitchen. “Nice big kitchen,” he said. “Quite modern, good icebox, electric stove, electric dishwasher …”

  Mason interrupted. “You say your wife’s away?”

  “Yes. She left this morning for Sacramento. She took the six o’clock plane. I drove her to the airport.”

  “Are you sure she’d agree to the sale?”

  “Oh, yes, as it happens, we’ve been discussing this for some time, and I have her signature already appended to a deed and bill of sale.”

  “Wouldn’t that signature require a notarial acknowledgment?” Mason asked.

  “I can fix all that,” Fargo said.

  “Let’s look some more,” Mason told him.

  Fargo showed Mason around the lower floor, then, starting up the stairs, paused to say, “There’s one room I can’t show you.”

  “Why not?”

  “One of the bedrooms. It’s my wife’s room and things are in disorder.”

  “What’s the matter with that room?” Mason demanded coldly. “I’d want to see the whole house before I decide.”

  “Certainly, certainly,” Fargo said ingratiatingly. “Of course you would. You’d want to see it all, but this one room you would have to see a little later. It’s—well, my wife packed very hurriedly and—you know how it is, catching a plane early in the morning. Her intimate garments and things are … I’m quite certain she wouldn’t want anyone to see the room at the moment. You could make an appointment to return. I’ll show the other rooms to you now.”

  Fargo turned away with an air of finality, showed Mason the two upstairs bathrooms, three of the four bedrooms.

  Mason made a point of regarding the door of the one closed bedroom with frowning disapproval, but Fargo remained firm. The door of that bedroom was closed, and it remained closed.

  “Well, we’ll take a look around the outside,” Mason said. “The place looks good. I may make an offer.”

  “I’m afraid I won’t consider an offer,” Fargo said, trying to keep his tone firm. “I have made a bedrock price. It’s a question of taking it or leaving it.”

  “Well, we’ll talk about that when I’ve seen the place,” Mason said.

  He went down the stairs, followed Fargo out into the back yard, down into the basement, and around to the driveway at the double garage. There was a Cadillac convertible in the garage.

  “I only have one automobile,” Fargo said, “but there’s ample accommodation here for two cars.”

  “I see,” Mason said. “Those Cadillacs certainly are grand, aren’t they? That’s yours, I suppose.”

  “Yes, yes, of course. It’s registered in my wife’s name, but it’s mine. Now if you’re looking for bargains you can’t beat this place.”

  Mason said, “I have another party—well, that is, I might live here myself. In that event I …”

  “You mean your wife would want to see it?”

  “Not my wife,” Mason said, “the young woman who—well …”

  “I understand,” Fargo said.

  “I’m not certain that you do.”

  “Does it make any difference if I don’t?”

  “No.”

  Fargo smiled.

  Mason said, “I could bring her out here a little later on.”

  “I might be out,” Fargo said. “I’m in and out all day.”