The woman who sat behind the desk in the office was somewhere in her fifties, a rather matronly figure with a kind mouth but with sharp, peering eyes.
“Hello,” Mason said. “I’m here without any baggage. Didn’t expect to stay. All I have is money.”
“That’s all we want,” Mrs. Welchburg told him. “We have two units left. You can take your choice at five dollars.”
Mason handed her the five dollars and at the same time gave her one of his cards. “I’m a lawyer,” he said. “I’m trying to find out something about a case up here.”
“Indeed.”
“I wanted to find out about a Frank L. Stanton,” Mason said. “He was here a couple of nights ago.”
“Oh yes. Why, you’re the second person who’s been asking about him.”
Mason smiled affably and said, “Mr. Stanton has quite a few interests.”
“What’s the matter? Did he do something? Did he—?”
“Not as far as I know,” Mason said. “It’s simply a question of serving some papers on him.”
“Oh!” she said sharply, and then after a moment, her eyes suspicious, asked, “Divorce?”
Mason shook his head. “I’m not free to go into the details but it has to do with an option on a piece of mining property. The option time will be up within a couple of days, and in the event the purchaser should want to take up the option well, you can see it would be rather embarrassing if Mr. Stanton couldn’t be found.”
“Oh yes, I see. Well, he was only here for one night. He left his address in Los Angeles.”
“I have his address,” Mason said, “but he isn’t home and—well, there are still a couple of days to run, but it would be very embarrassing if he should try to conceal himself. Do you remember much about him?”
“Not very much,” she said. “He was in the mining business, I know that. He carried two suitcases with him, rather heavy suitcases, and he said something about having some samples in them.”
“Of ore?”
“I guess so. He had a new handbag he’d bought.”
“New? “Mason asked.
“That’s right. It was wrapped up, that is, covered with paper except for the handle, and I know from the way he picked it up it was empty, but the suitcases certainly were full.”
“Two of them?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, I wonder if anyone was with him or whether he was alone?”
“No, he was alone. That’s the only thing that I definitely remember. He had some visitors. About eleven-thirty a call came in from a man who had the adjoining unit. He said that he didn’t like to complain but the people in the place I’d rented to Mr. Stanton were talking and it was keeping him awake. He asked if I’d mind giving that unit a ring and asking them to be more quiet.”
“Loud talk? An argument?” Mason asked.
“Apparently not. Apparently it was just the opposite. They were talking in low voices but they were talking and it was rather late. You know how those things are when you’re trying to sleep and some little monotonous noise, the drip of a water faucet, or something like that, will magnify itself until you’re terribly nervous.”
“I understand,” Mason said. “You wouldn’t know anything about what time Mr. Stanton left here in the morning?”
“No, I don’t. I am up sometimes until one or two or sometimes three o’clock in the morning, and I usually sleep late. The maids take care of the units.”
“You certainly have a nice place here.”
“Thank you.”
“How many units do you have?”
“Fifty-two.”
“Quite a place,” Mason said. “Running it must be quite a job.”
“It certainly is.”
“I presume you have your problems.”
“We certainly do.”
“What did Mr. Stanton say when you rang his room and told him he was disturbing someone?”
“He said he was in a conference and that they were just finishing up. I guess that was true, too. I looked out of the door and saw there was a car parked in front of his unit. It was driven away just a few minutes later.”
“You don’t know what kind of a car?”
“No, it was just an average car. Just one of the popular makes. I wouldn’t know which. I’m not much on spotting cars. My husband can take a look at a car and tell the year, the make and the model as far as he can see it. I’m not much good at it.”
“Stanton didn’t put in any long-distance telephone calls, did he?” Mason asked.
“As to that I couldn’t say. You see, we can’t very well bill things like that on the rooms. When people want to put through calls we prefer that they go to the pay stations in the lobby. We have two telephone booths there with pay telephones. Of course we can put through a long-distance call and have the person talk in his room. Sometimes we do that when we know the party, but with strangers we don’t encourage it.”
“And Mr. Stanton didn’t ask for any long-distance service?”
“Not while I was here, and I’m certain he didn’t get any because there wasn’t any on the bill.”
“But he could have gone to the booths in the lobby and put through a call?”
“Oh yes.”
“And that wouldn’t have been noticed?”
“No, not at all.”
Mason said, “Well, I’ll put through a call myself. I guess.”
He was smiling cheerfully as he entered the telephone booth, dropped a coin, and asked to be connected with the sheriff’s office. After the connection had been made he insisted on talking to the person in charge and when he had the undersheriff on the line, said, “I’m Perry Mason, an attorney. I came up here to consult with my client, Mrs. Edward Davenport. You have her incarcerated. I want to talk with her.”
“You … you … you’re Perry Mason?”
“That’s right.”
The voice suddenly became suave. “And where are you now, Mr. Mason?”
Mason said, “I’m at the Welchburg Motel and I’m going to get a taxi to come to your office. I want to talk with my client.”
“Well, now. Mr. Mason, you don’t need to bother at all,” the voice said. “We try to be hospitable up here and we’ll provide you with transportation. You stay right where you are and you’ll have a car within five minutes.”
“Within five minutes?”
“Well, maybe less,” the voice told him. “Just a moment, please, I’ll see what I can do. Hold the line.”
There was some thirty seconds of silence, then the voice was back on the line. “We’ll have a car there for you, Mr. Mason. We’ve been looking for you.”
“Have you indeed?” Mason said.
“Yes. You went to Mr. Davenport’s house in Paradise, didn’t you?”
“No.”
“You didn’t?” the voice asked incredulously.
“No.” Mason said. “I went to Mrs. Davenport’s house, and in case you’re interested in finding out about the contents of the envelope I suggest that you interrogate Mabel Norge, Mr. Davenport’s secretary. Incidentally, in case you’re interested any further, Mr. Davenport stayed here the night before his death, at the Welchburg Motel. He was registered under the name of Frank L. Stanton.”
“You’re sure?” the officer asked.
“The description fits, also the license number of the car.”
“Why are you giving us that information?” the officer inquired.
“Good heavens!” Mason exclaimed in surprise. “Is there any reason why I shouldn’t?”
“No, I guess not. We felt you might be just as happy if we didn’t share your information.”