“I think,” she said cautiously, “I’d want to know a little more about your connection with the case and just what your interest is, Mr. Mason.”
Mason said, “I can tell you this much. I had reason to believe A. B. Vidal might be trying to blackmail your husband. My secretary put the key to locker FO82 at the Union Depot in an envelope and mailed it to A. B. Vidal, General Delivery. That was shortly before noon yesterday.
“I hired a private detective agency to keep watch on the post office and when A. B. Vidal called for the envelope with the key in it I wanted him shadowed. I wanted to find out who he was; I wanted to get the license number of the car he was driving; I wanted to get his general appearance and find out where he went.”
Her face showed sudden interest. “Were you able to do this?”
“I was not,” Mason said, “for the simple reason that Vidal was too smart to be caught in that kind of a trap. The whole business of mailing the key to him at General Delivery was simply a decoy. He had evidently prepared a duplicate key to the locker and so was able to remove what was in the locker without calling for the envelope. He then deposited a quarter in the slot, removed the duplicate key and left the locker locked and empty.”
“You’ve told that to the police?”
“Yes.”
“If your secretary mailed the key to Mr. Vidal, then she must have been the one who opened the locker and put the package, or whatever it was, in the locker in the first place.”
“That doesn’t necessarily follow,” Mason said. “I wouldn’t want to deceive you and I wouldn’t want you to deceive yourself. All I can say is that my secretary did put the key in an envelope and mailed it to Vidal at General Delivery.”
“You aren’t my husband’s lawyer?”
“As far as I know,” Mason said, “I have never met your husband.”
“Then if you aren’t connected with Vidal and you aren’t connected with my husband, how did you get into the case?”
“I didn’t say that I wasn’t connected with your husband, Mrs. Theilman. Actually I am not retained by him directly, but I do feel that my client has your husband’s best interests at heart.”
“Can’t you explain more than that?”
Mason shook his head and said, “I’m sorry.”
Mrs. Theilman said, “The person using the name A. B. Vidal is, in my opinion, using that name as an alias.”
“You think he is a blackmailer?”
“I know it.”
“Can you tell me how you know it?”
Mrs. Theilman thought things over for a few moments.
“I can assure you,” Mason went on, “that if I had any interests which I felt were adverse to yours, or if my client did, I would not be here. If I wanted to get any information from you under those circumstances, I would have asked you to give me the name of an attorney who was representing you and with whom I could deal.
“At the present time I am here simply in the capacity of one who seeks information from a witness. I am trying only to get factual information.”
“All right,” she said, “I’ll give you factual information, Mr. Mason. I’ll give it to you in the same way that you have given the factual information to me. I will tell you what I have told the police. I will not put all my cards on the table until you are in a position to put all your cards on the table.”
“All right,” Mason said, “can you tell me what you told the police?”
“My husband came home from the office yesterday afternoon about two o’clock. He seemed very much concerned. He said that he had to go to Bakersfield. He wanted to change his clothes and asked me to get out another suit for him. I did, and he put on the fresh suit.
“As is my habit, I went through the pockets of the suit he had taken off, which I was going to send out to be cleaned and pressed. I wanted to make sure that he hadn’t forgotten anything.”
“This was after he’d put on the other suit?” Mason asked.
“Yes.”
“And he’d taken the things out of the pockets of the other suit himself?”
“Yes, he always does. I wasn’t transferring things from his pockets. I wasn’t even in the room while he was changing. I came in and picked up the discarded suit which he had tossed on a chair and simply went through the pockets to make sure he had left nothing. Quite frequently he leaves a knife or some keys or coins, or something of that sort. I guess all men do that. They have so many pockets and — well, when they’re in a hurry...”
“I understand,” Mason said, smiling. “I’ve been guilty quite a few times myself.”
“Well,” she said, “there was a letter in the inside breast pocket of the coat. When I took it out I couldn’t help but see what it was. It was a letter that had been composed of words cut from a newspaper, or newspapers, and pasted together so that it made a message.”
“Do you remember the message?” Mason asked.
“I can recite it verbatim,” she said. “It was, get money. instructions on telephone. failure will be fatal.”
“You didn’t make any copy?”
“No. I simply remembered it.”
“Go on,” Mason said.
“There was an envelope in the pocket,” she said. “It evidently was the envelope the letter had come in. It was just an ordinary stamped envelope with my husband’s name and address typewritten on it, and up in the upper left-hand corner the return address was A. B. Vidal, General Delivery.”
“So what did you do?” Mason asked.
She said, “My husband was in the bathroom, shaving with an electric razor. He had left his coat, that is, the coat of the fresh suit that he was going to wear, on a hanger. I took the letter and the envelope and slipped them into the inside breast pocket and quietly left the room.
“Since he had said nothing to me about this, I felt that it might be embarrassing if I asked him for an explanation and— Well, Mr. Mason, I’m one of those wives who doesn’t believe in asking for explanations or in embarrassing a husband. I feel that if my husband has anything he wants to tell me, he will tell me. If he doesn’t tell me, it is because he either doesn’t want to worry me or because he doesn’t want me to know.”
“This letter, however, caused you some concern?” Mason asked.
“The letter, plus the fact that for some time I have had a feeling my husband had something on his mind, something that was worrying him.”
“Do you know anything about your husband’s financial affairs?”
“Very little. We sign joint income tax returns, but I simply sign my name on the dotted line without even bothering to look at the amount of the tax.”
“You aren’t in the habit of discussing financial affairs with your husband?”
“My husband,” she said, “gives me a very generous allowance. That’s all I ask and all I want. I run the house from that, and from time to time my husband makes me presents of a new car or things of that sort. I buy my clothes from my allowance.”
“It is ample?” Mason asked.
“Quite ample,” she said, smiling.
Mason swept his eye up and down and said smilingly, “It seems to be very ample indeed, and spent with superb taste.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“And then your husband left for Bakersfield?” Mason asked.
“I assume that he did. He got in his car and drove away and he was in quite a hurry.”
“Now,” Mason said, “you’re to the north of Los Angeles. About how long does it take your husband to get from the house to his office?”
“Around half an hour. Of course he tries to avoid the congested traffic whenever possible. He is an early riser and he tries to get to the office before the daily morning traffic jam and he tries to get back early in the afternoon. When he can’t do it, he telephones and says that he won’t be home until late. He then waits until after six o’clock in the evening before he starts. He doesn’t like traffic jams.”