Drake said, “Perry, you know those detectives went off duty at around one-thirty on the morning of the seventeenth. There was no one there to see Calvert take that letter, and—”
Mason said in a low voice, “In poker, Paul, you sometimes shove in a stack of blue chips when you only have a pair of deuces in your hand. Get busy and follow Calvert. I think he’s going to skip out.”
Calvert, walking doggedly toward the door, was suddenly confronted by Myrtle Lamar. She said, “You know good and well that I took you up in the elevator on the sixteenth, the day of the murder, and I took you down again. When we got to the seventh floor you asked me—”
Suddenly Calvert shoved her out of the way and started running through the door of the courtroom and pell-mell down the corridor.
“Stop him!” someone screamed. “Stop that man!”
Two spectators tried to grab Calvert. He engaged in a wild struggle with them. Officers ran up and grabbed the man’s arms. His wrists were handcuffed behind his back.
There was pandemonium in the corridor.
Chapter Sixteen
Mason, Della Street, Paul Drake, Jerry Conway, and Myrtle Lamar sat in the courtroom after the commotion had subsided, after the judge had instructed the jury to bring in a verdict of “Not Guilty” in the case against Jerry Conway, after Calvert had been taken into custody.
“Where did you get the bright idea of what had happened?” Paul Drake asked Mason.
“That,” Mason said, “was the simplest part of it, the mathematics of the whole business which had been in the back of my mind but didn’t come out until something suddenly clicked.
“The pathologist stated that Rose had died almost two hours to the minute after she had eaten lunch. He thought that lunch had been eaten at four-forty. Actually we know from Mrs. Farrell that lunch had been eaten at about twelve-forty. That fixed the time of death at about two-forty. At that particular time Mrs. Farrell was out telephoning you, Conway.
“I suddenly remembered that I had told Calvert about locating him from the return address on the letter that was in the mailbox of the apartment house where Rose was living. Yet the police told us no such letter was in the box when they searched the place. Shortly after I told Calvert about the letter, he went all to pieces and insisted that I leave him alone. I felt certain that he would go to the Elsinore police almost immediately. He didn’t. He didn’t get in touch with them until sometime later, just about enough time for him to go and get that letter.
“The rest of it was just plain bluff, based on Myrtle’s noticing the guy’s shoes.”
“Well,” Jerry Conway said at length, “I’m going to ask you to appear before the stockholders’ meeting, Mason, and tell them the whole story of this murder case. Will you do it?”
Mason nodded.
“I have an idea,” Conway said, “that that will settle Gifford Farrell’s hash as far as any attempt to take over is concerned.”
Mason turned to Drake with a grin, and said, “Well, Paul, having bought Myrtle Lamar a good lunch, I think we now owe her a good dinner.”
Myrtle Lamar’s eyes instantly became hard and calculating. “It should be worth more than that,” she said. “It should be worth a... a fur coat!”
Jerry Conway grinned happily, said to Perry Mason, “Buy the gal a fur coat, Perry, and charge it to me... Put it on your fee as an expense.”