Perry Mason - The Case Of The Singing Skirt Part 7

The lawyer was thoughtful for a few minutes, then he said, "Della, we've got quite a collection of guns in the safe, guns that have been surrendered by clients from time to time. Do you suppose we have a Smith & Wesson in thereone of the police models with a two-and-ahalf-inch barrel?"

"Yes, I'm certain we do."

"Get the gun and bring it in here," Mason said.

Della Street went to the safe and after some two minutes returned with the gun.

The lawyer extracted one of the cartridges, pried the bullet out, shook out the powder, put the empty cartridge sh.e.l.l back in the revolver and, going over to the coat closet, exploded the percussion cap with the hammer. He replaced the other cartridges, put the revolver in his left coat pocket and returned to the office.

"I'm sorry we had to keep you waiting, Miss Robb," he said.

"It's all right."

"Is Ellen Robb your true name or a professional name?"

"Let's put it this way, Mr. Mason, Ellen Robb is as near my real name as you or anyone else will ever know. The man I was once married to has become a big businessman now. I wouldn't drag his name into . . . into the sort of work I'm doing."

"Where were you intending to go?" Mason asked, absently lighting a cigarette.

"I want to take a bus to Arizona. I have an offer of a job at Phoenix. A girl that I know has the photographic concession in a night club, and there's an opening for a girl to sell cigars, cigarettes and double as a hat-check girl. But what do I do about the gun?"

Mason reached in his left pocket, took out the gun he had placed there, weighed it in his hand as though debating what was to be done with the weapon. "I don't like to have you turn it in to the police," he said. "It seems to me that . . . well, I don't know . . . after all, we don't want to borrow trouble."

The lawyer pushed the gun toward her and said, "Perhaps you'd better keep it, Ellen. Remember that you showed it to us and told us about it."

"Shall I keep it in my purse?"

"Heavens no. You don't have a permit," Mason said. "Put it back in your bag where you found it."

"And what shall I do with it?"

"Keep it for evidence," Mason told her. "You have no idea how it got in your bag?"

"No idea whatever."

"Well, you've done everything you can. I'm going to file suit against Anc.l.i.tas. Where are you staying?"

"Unit 19, the Surf and Sea Motel at Costa Mesa."

"Go back to your motel. I want to know where you are at all times. If you leave there, let me know."

"If you're going to file a suit, you'll want some more money," she said. "This is--"

Mason shook his head. "No more money. Not unless something else turns up. We're all fixed. Save your money until I ask for it.

"Go back to the motel and wait. By the way, what about Heiman Ellis? Was he there when you and George were having this altercation?"

"No."

"You said you had heard he and his wife were going on a cruise. Do you know if they actually went?"

"I don't know. h.e.l.ly was in The Big Barn last night before the altercation with George. He said his wife had marooned him aboard the yacht. They'd had a fight."

"Keep in touch with me," Mason said. "I want to know right where I can reach you."

She impulsively gave him her hand. "Thank you, Mr. Mason," she said. "I'll never forget this."

"I probably won't myself," Mason said.

Della Street ushered her to the door, shook hands with her, returned to the office.

"Did you switch guns?" she asked.

"I switched guns," Mason said.

"And she has no idea?"

"I hope not," Mason said. "I hope I wasn't crude-- Just where did that gun I gave her come from, Della? What about it?"

"According to our records," Della Street said, "that gun is a .38 Smith & Wesson Special with the number 133347. You may remember that when George Spencer Ranger came to us and wanted you to represent him, you asked him if he carried a gun. He said he always carried one, that he didn't have a permit because he didn't need one, that he'd been appointed a deputy sheriff in Arizona. You 'told him that he'd better leave the gun with us. This is the gun that he gave us."

"All right," Mason said. "Give this other gun to Paul Drake. Tell him to first trace the registration, then take it to Maurice Haistead, the ballistics expert who does his work. Tell Haistead to fire some test bullets through it and save the bullets. Then bring the gun back here. You can lock it in the safe.

"Then, when George Anc.l.i.tas swears to a complaint charging Ellen Robb with stealing one of his guns, gets a search warrant and finds a gun in her baggage, he'll naturally a.s.sume his little scheme is working perfectly."

"Then you'll jerk the rug out from under him?" Della asked.

"Then I'll jerk the rug."

"But what about this gun that was planted in Ellen Robb's baggage?"

Mason grinned. "If Paul Drake's investigation shows that it's George Anc.l.i.tas' gun, it will be right back in George Anc.l.i.tas' place of business and no one can ever prove it had been missing."

"Is that legal?"

Mason said, "I know of no law which keeps one from returning lost property to the owner."

CHAPTER SIX.

When Della Street had returned from Paul Drake's office, after leaving the gun with him, Mason said, "Let's get Gowrie on the phone, Della. I want to see how he's feeling this morning."

Della Street put through the call, nodded to Perry Mason.

Mason picked up the telephone, said, "h.e.l.lo, Gowrie. Perry Mason speaking."

"Oh, yes, Mr. Mason. How are you today?"

"Pretty good. My secretary and I want to sit in on your talk to the women's club at Rowena, Gowrie. We may have some trouble getting in, but if you would invite us as your guests we probably wouldn't have any trouble."

Gowrie hesitated a moment.

"You there?" Mason asked.

"I'm here," Gowrie said. "I was just trying to marshal my thoughts."

"What about your thoughts?" Mason said. "Why do they need marshaling?"

"I am not going to make the talk at Rowena."

"You're not?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Well, for one thing, Mrs. Ellis hasn't completed the arrangements that she had agreed on."

"What do you mean?"

"I was to receive a fee from the women's club for the talk, and there was to be a retainer in connection with her case."

"She hasn't paid anything?"

"Not a cent. And I can't reach her. I can't find her. Apparently she went yachting. Under the circ.u.mstances, I rang up the president of the Rowena Women's Club and told her that the talk would have to be postponed."

"Like that, eh?" Mason asked.

"Like that," Gowrie said. "You know how it is yourself, Counselor. A lawyer can't go around giving his services away."

"All right," Mason said. "Let me know when you hear from Mrs. Ellis, will you?"

Mason hung up the phone. "Did you listen in on that, Della?"

She nodded.

"Well," Mason said, "I guess there's nothing much to be done at the present time."

"Except that mail file," she said. "We still haven't got at those important letters."

Mason sighed, picked up the mail file and spent the rest of the day in dictation.

In the late afternoon Paul Drake's code knock sounded on the door.

Della Street got up to let him in.

Paul Drake stretched himself out on the big overstuffed chair in the lawyer's office and said, "What the h.e.l.l have you been doing, Perry, juggling guns again?"

"Why the again?" Mason asked.

Drake said, "I don't know, but any time you get in a case and a gun figures in it, you certainly seem to play three-card monte with the prosecution and the police."

"Anything wrong with that?" Mason asked.

"Not if you get away with it," Drake said.

"And what brings up all those remarks?" Mason asked.

"That gun you wanted me to trace--a .38 Smith Sc Wesson number C 48809."

"What about it?"

"It's one of four guns that were purchased, all on the same date, by W. W. Marcus, full name Wilton Winslow Marcus. He's supposed to be some sort of a silent partner of George Anc.l.i.tas in a restaurant deal in Rowena. The restaurant is mostly a front for gambling."

"Permit?" Mason asked.

"Apparently no permit. They own the chief of police at Rowena. He appointed them some sort of special officers. Apparently both Anc.l.i.tas and Marcus are specials. That gives them an opportunity to carry firearms without any written permit other than their authorization as special officers."

"And this gun is one of the four that were purchased?"

Drake nodded.

"All right. What else?" Mason asked.

"I had a ballistics expert fire test bullets from it and then replace the cartridges that were in the gun just as they were when you handed them to me."

"And the test bullets have all been marked for identification?"

Drake nodded.

"Okay," Mason said. "Where's the gun?"

Drake took the gun from his pocket and handed it to Mason. "You be careful you don't get into trouble with that," Drake said.

"What sort of trouble, Paul?"

"Darned if I know, but . . . you evidently have the idea the gun has been used in committing some sort of a crime."

"What gives you that idea?"

"Otherwise, why would you want test bullets fired from it?"

"Perhaps," Mason said, "I merely wanted to date the gun."