Her eyes suddenly became suspicious. She looked at him and looked around the hospital. “Say,” she said, “I can’t afford to hang around in any private rooms in a hospital. I should be in a ward.”
Mason said, “The room and the doctor are on me.”
“Say, you’re a white guy! Maybe there’s something I can do for you some day.”
“Who knows,” Mason said, and tiptoed out of the room.
Seated in his car, Mason opened the afternoon newspaper, and read through the classification of “HOUSES FOR RENT-FURNISHED.” He listed five which were not too far from the Molay Arms Apartments. From a telephone booth, he started calling the numbers given in the ads, stating in each instance that he was interested in a furnished house, asking briefly about the rent, and so on. When he called the third number, a woman’s voice advised him rather shortly that the house had been rented that afternoon, and the phone connection was unceremoniously severed.
Mason stopped at the office to pick up Della Street. “Want to take a ride?” he asked.
“Yes. Where?”
“Out to a furnished house.”
“To see whom?”
“Carlotta Lawley perhaps.”
“Why the perhaps?”
“Because,” he said, “Lieutenant Tragg has had all the police facilities working for him. My only chance was to play a hunch. I couldn’t compete with his organization when it came to following a cold trail. I had to jump at conclusions and take a short cut.”
“And you think he’s beaten you to it?”
“If he hasn’t, it’s his own fault.”
Della sat beside him in the automobile without so much as asking a question until Mason arrived at the address of the furnished bungalow which had been for rent.
An ambulance was just pulling away from the door. Ahead of the ambulance, in a police sedan, Lieutenant Tragg was shifting his car into speed. Two men sat in the rear seat. Their close-huddled stiffness indicated that one was handcuffed to the other.
Mason didn’t even bother to stop at the bungalow. He kept right on going.
“Now where?” Della Street asked. “Police headquarters?”
“No,” he said, “dinner.”
“Aren’t you going to try to get her out?”
Mason shook his head. “The more I stir things up now, the more damage I do. If I’m tugging one way and Lieutenant Tragg is pulling the other, with Mrs. Lawley in between...”
“But, Chief, couldn’t you keep her from talking?”
“What about?”
“Oh, her connection with — well, perhaps what she said to you, or...”
“Evidently,” Mason said dryly, “you didn’t notice the expression on Lieutenant Tragg’s face as he went by us.”
Chapter 13
Judge Grosbeck, who had called court to order, looked over the tops of his spectacles at Perry Mason. “Peavis versus Faulkner Flower Shops,” he said. “Order to show cause. Frank Labley of Labley & Cutten for the plaintiff. Perry Mason for the defendant.”
Frank Labley said promptly, “Ready for the plaintiff,” and glanced across to where Mason was seated.
“And ready for the defendant,” Mason announced.
Labley showed surprise. “You mean you’re ready to go ahead on the order to show cause?”
“Exactly.”
“The notice,” Judge Grosbeck pointed out to Mason, “was rather short. You are entitled to one continuance as of course, Counselor.”
“Thank you, Your Honor. I’m ready.”
Labley slowly got to his feet. “Your Honor, this comes as a distinct surprise. It’s almost a matter of routine where the notice given is so short for the defendant to ask for a continuance.”
Mason seemed completely disinterested.
Judge Grosbeck said sternly, “However, Counselor, this is the time heretofore fixed for the hearing of the restraining order. The defendant is entitled to one continuance as of course, but you are not.”
“I understand, Your Honor, but — well— Very well, I’ll do the best I can.”
“Have any counter affidavits been filed?” the judge asked Mason.
“No, Your Honor. I wish to call some witnesses.”
“How long will it take you to examine those witnesses?”
“Some little time.”
“The court would much prefer to have the matter submitted upon affidavits and citation of authorities.”
“In view of the short time which was given me, Your Honor, it was impossible for me to prepare affidavits.”
“I will grant you a continuance to enable you to prepare counter affidavits.”
“But I don’t care for a continuance, unless counsel stipulates the restraining order may be vacated in the meantime.”
Frank Labley jumped to his feet, his manner indicative of indignation. Judge Grosbeck waved him down to his chair, smiled, and said, “Very well, Mr. Mason. The court will hear your witnesses.”
Labley said, “I’ll stand on my affidavits and the verified complaint in the case for my showing, except that I may bring matters out on cross-examination of the witnesses called — and, of course, reserving the right to put on rebuttal testimony.”
“Very well. Proceed, Mr. Mason.”
Mason said, “I will call the plaintiff, Mr. Peavis.”
Peavis slouched forward, held up his right hand, was sworn, and took the witness chair, where he sat regarding Mason with calm hostility.
“You’re the plaintiff in this action, Mr. Peavis, are you not?”
“Just a moment,” Labley interposed, jumping to his feet before Peavis could answer the question. “Before any questions are answered, I feel I am entitled to know whether Mr. Mason has produced in court the stock certificate in response to the subpoena duces tecum.”
Mason bowed. “I have it here,” he said.
“That identical stock certificate?” Labley asked with surprise.
“Yes.”
Labley sat down, looking rather dazed.
A plain-clothes officer, sprawled out in the back row of chairs, suddenly straightened, got to his feet, and tiptoed from the courtroom.
Judge Grosbeck regarded Mason with thoughtful silence.
“Answer the question,” Mason said to Peavis.
“Yes, I am.”
“You have been trying to buy an interest in the Faulkner Flower Shops for some time, have you not?”
“I have.”
“You knew that certain shares of stock were in the name of Carlotta Lawley?”
Peavis said, “Let’s save a little time, Mr. Mason. I’m a businessman. I saw there was an opportunity to get control of the Faulkner Flower Shops. I knew that I couldn’t buy the stock myself. I approached Harvey J. Lynk and told him that I’d pay a certain price for the stock if he could get it.”
“Mr. Lynk was a gambler?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care. I made him an offer for the stock. He advised me that he had it.”
“Ah,” Mason said, his tone showing his interest. “Let’s have that answer again, Mr. Reporter.”
The court reporter read the answer.
Peavis said hastily, “That is, I told Lynk to get it for me.”
“Now, let’s get this straight,” Mason said. “Did you tell him you’d pay a certain price for the stock, or did you tell him to get it for you?”
“Objected to as incompetent, irrelevant, and immaterial. It’s argumentative, a mere question of splitting hairs.”
Mason smiled. “It goes to the very gist of the action, Your Honor. If Mr. Peavis hired Mr. Lynk to get the stock for him as his agent, then the moment the stock came into Mr. Lynk’s possession, the title really vested in Mr. Peavis.”
Peavis nodded vehemently.
“If, on the other hand,” Mason went on, “Peavis merely communicated to Lynk a willingness to pay a certain price for the stock, and Lynk secured the stock, but it was taken from his possession before he had an opportunity to sell to Mr. Peavis, then Peavis had no title. He hoped to buy the stock. He had no vested interest in it.”