The office door pushed open. Gertie, the receptionist, white-faced, said, "Gee, Mr. Mason, I heard her go out. Her husband’s out there and he’s worried sick. Gosh, it was just luck he didn’t walk in while she was out there. If he had, I’d have been in the middle of a real domestic battle.”
Mason grinned. “He knows how near he came to getting caught, Gertie?”
“Evidently not. He wanted to know if his wife had been here. I told him he’d have to ask you about that, and he’s out there pacing the floor like a caged lion.”
“I take it that he’s disturbed at the idea his wife may have been talking with me,” Mason said.
“Disturbed!” Gertie said. “Oh, Mr. Mason, you do use the mildest language! I tell you, the man’s having kittens!”
Mason winked at Della Street, said, “I’ll go out and see him. Hand me that inkwell, Della.”
While Gertie watched with fascinated eyes, Mason dipped his finger in the inkwell, rubbed one smear across the side of his cheek, said, “Now your lipstick, Della, just a faint line that will look like the aftermath of a scratch down from the forehead, across the nose — that’s right. Now I think, Gertie, we’re in a position to add to Mr. Caddo’s discomfiture. After all, I hate a client who’s a chiseler.”
Mason followed behind Gertie, out to the outer office. “Good morning, Mr. Caddo,” he said sternly.
“Oh, my God,” Caddo said, “my wife’s been here!”
“Your wife has been here,” Mason said.
“Now look, Mr. Mason, I’m not responsible for my wife. Honestly, it’s one of those things with her. She is subject to jealousy that amounts almost to insanity. I’m sorry this has happened, but, after all, you can’t blame it on me.”
“Why not?” Mason asked. “Isn’t there any community property?”
“Good heavens, you’re not going to sue a woman for a little fit of temper, are you?”
“A little fit of temper?” Mason asked, raising his brows.
“Now look here, Mason, I’ll do the right thing. I’ll be fair about this. I thought perhaps you were cheating yourself a little bit on that fee you fixed the other day. After all, there’s no reason why you and I can’t get along on this. I want to be fair. I want to do what’s right.”
“Was that the reason you rang up Marilyn Marlow and told her that the man with whom she was about to play tennis was a detective employed, by me?”
“Now, Mr. Mason. Mr. Mason, please!”
“Please what?”
“I can explain.”
“Well, go ahead and start explaining.”
“It’s something I prefer not to go into here, not at the present time. Not while you’re in your present frame of mind. I... I’d like. to see you later, Mr. Mason, when you’ve had an opportunity to regain your composure and get your office cleaned up. I–I’m sorry this happened, but Dolores will throw inkwells when she gets worked up. Mr. Mason, you didn’t tell her anything about Marilyn Marlow, did you? No, you couldn’t have. You’re a lawyer. You have to preserve the confidences of a client.”
“Certainly,” Mason said.
Caddo’s face showed relief. “I knew I could count on you, Mr. Mason. I’m going to come in and see you in a day or two. You get things straightened out and cleaned up, and we’ll assess the damages and...”
“I didn’t tell her about Marilyn Marlow,” Mason said, “and I didn’t tell her about Rose Keeling. I didn’t need to.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that since you had so thoughtfully placed their names and addresses in the little red book you habitually carry in your inside breast pocket, and since your wife had taken possession of that book, she knew...”
Caddo clapped a hand to the breast of his coat, then plunged the other hand down into the pocket. An expression of almost ludicrous panic twisted his features.
“She has that book?”
“She has it,” Mason said.
“Oh, my God!” Caddo said, and, turning on his heel, dashed out of the office.
Gertie, inclined to avoirdupois, good nature, and a highly developed sense of humor, pushed a handkerchief into her mouth, making inarticulate sounds of merriment.
Mason returned to his private office, washed the ink and lipstick from his face, grinned at Della Street and said, “I think now we’re beginning to get even with Mr. Robert Caddo. We don’t have Rose Keeling’s address, do we, Della?”
She shook her head.
“Well, see if we can get Marilyn Marlow on the phone and warn her of what is due to happen.”
Della Street found Marilyn Marlow’s number, called half a dozen times without getting an answer, then finally said, “Here she is on the line, Chief.”
Mason said, “Good morning, Miss Marlow. I’m afraid I have bad news for you.”
“What is it?”
Mason said, “It seems that your friend, the responsible business man who has been giving you such fatherly advice in such a disinterested manner, is a married man. His wife apparently is named Dolores and she has a passion for throwing inkwells. Her husband, it seems, has what might be classified as a philandering complex, and the wife has a nasty little habit of throwing tantrums and ink all over the recipients of his affections and...”
“Mr. Mason, are you kidding me?”
“I’m kidding you on the square,” Mason said. “Mrs. Caddo left my office a half or three-quarters of an hour ago and she was very much on the warpath. It seems that your friend, the magazine publisher, had very carelessly made some notes in a leather-backed memo book he carries, jotting down names and addresses, not in alphabetical, but in chronological order. Therefore, when Mrs. Caddo made an informal and surreptitious search, the last names in the book were those of Marilyn Marlow and Rose Keeling, in that order. And I believe your esteemed friend had placed the addresses opposite the names.”
“Good heavens!” Marilyn Marlow said. “She mustn’t, she simply mustn’t call on Rose Keeling. That would be the last straw.”
“When last seen,” Mason said, “she was looking for new worlds to conquer.”
“And Rose Keeling’s name would have been the last in the book,” Marilyn Marlow said in dismay. “That means she’d go to Rose Keeling first.”
Mason said, “I don’t have Rose Keeling’s address or telephone number. I thought perhaps it would be advisable for you to let her know.”
“I can’t do that. I can’t tell her anything like that.”
“Then you’d better get her out of the way for a while,” Mason said.
“I’ll have to do that. I’ll go to her at once and make some excuse to get her out of the way. We’ll play tennis, I guess.”
“By the way,” Mason said, “you never did give me her address. Perhaps I should have it, since I’m going to be involved in this, both directly and indirectly. I’ve decided to represent you, since you manage to stir up such pleasant asides to vary the routine of a law practice that might otherwise become monotonous.”
“You mean you’ll help me?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, that’s fine! I’m so glad.”
“When things quiet down a bit to the point of stability on the domestic front,” Mason said, “I’m going out to see Rose Keeling and have a heart-to-heart talk with her. If she’s attempting to sell her testimony to the highest bidder, I may dampen her enthusiasm for a sell-out. What’s her address?”
“2240 Nantucket Drive. The telephone is Westland 6-3928.”
“Will you telephone her about Mrs. Caddo?”
“I–I think I’d better run over there, Mr. Mason. I’ll invite her to run out for some tennis.”
“You may not have time,” Perry Mason said; “better telephone her to meet you some place.”