“There’d be a nice fee,” said Harrison Burke in a suave, oily voice, “five thousand in cash. Perhaps we could even make it a little more…”
Perry Mason slammed the receiver back on its hook.
The lawyer resumed his pacing of the floor. Fifteen or twenty minutes later the telephone rang.
Mason took down the receiver and heard Paul Drake’s voice. “I think we’ve got your man located. There’s a man named Harry Loring who is at the Belvedere Apartments. His wife left him about a week ago and is said to have gone to live with her mother. Do we want him?”
“You bet we want him,” Mason said, “and we want him quick! Can you go out there with me? I’ll probably want a witness.”
“Okay,” Drake said. “I’ve got a car here if you haven’t.”
“We’ll take two cars. We may need them.”
Chapter 18
Harry Loring was a thin, nervous individual, with a habit of blinking his eyes rapidly, and moistening his lips nervously with the tip of his tongue. He sat on a trunk which was strapped and shook his head at Paul Drake.
“No,” he said, “you’ve got the wrong party. I’m not married.”
Drake looked at Perry Mason. Mason gave a faint shrug to his shoulders, which Drake interpreted as a signal to him to do the talking.
“Did you ever know a Norma Veitch?” he asked.
“Never,” said Loring, darting his tongue to his lips.
“You’re moving out?” asked Drake.
“Yes,” Loring said. “I can’t keep on with the rent here.”
“Never been married, eh?”
“No, I’m a bachelor.”
“Where are you moving?”
“I’m sure I don’t know—yet.”
Loring looked from face to face with his eyes blinking.
“Are you gentlemen officers?” he asked.
“Never mind about us,” said Drake. “We’re talking about you.”
Loring said, “Yes, sir,” and lapsed into silence.
Drake flashed Mason another glance.
“Packing up rather suddenly, aren’t you?” Drake went on.
Loring shrugged. “I don’t know as it’s sudden. There isn’t much to pack.”
“Now listen,” Drake said, “there’s no use for you to try to string us along, because we can check up on you and find out the facts. You say you have never been married. Is that right?”
“Yes, sir. I’m a bachelor, just like I told you.”
“Okay. Now the neighbors say you were married. There was a woman here who lived in the apartment with you, as your wife, up until about a week ago.”
Loring’s eyes blinked rapidly. He shifted his position on the trunk, nervously.
“I wasn’t married to her,” he said.
“How long have you known her?”
“About two weeks. She was a waitress at a restaurant.”
“What restaurant?”
“I’ve forgotten the name.”
“What was her name?”
“She went under the name of Mrs. Loring.”
“I know that. What was her real name?”
Loring paused and darted his tongue to his lips. His eyes fidgeted uncertainly about the room.
“Jones,” he said, “Mary Jones.”
Drake laughed sarcastically.
Loring said nothing.
“Where is she now?” asked Drake, suddenly.
“I don’t know. She left me. I think she went away with somebody else. We had a fight.”
“What was the fight about?”
“Oh, I don’t know. It was just a fight.”
Drake looked over at Mason once more.
Mason stepped forward and took the conversational lead. “Do you read the papers?” he said.
“Once in a while,” said Loring, “not very often. Sometimes I look at the headlines. I’m not very much interested in newspapers.”
Mason reached to his inside pocket, and took out some of the clippings from the morning newspaper. He unfolded one which showed a picture of Norma Veitch.
“Is that the woman that was here with you?” he asked.
Loring barely glanced at the photograph, but he shook his head emphatically.
“No,” he said, “that wasn’t the woman.”
“You haven’t even looked at the picture yet. You’d better look at it before you get too positive in your denials.”
He thrust the picture in front of Loring’s eyes. Loring took the clipping and studied the picture for some ten or fifteen seconds.
“No,” he said, “that isn’t the woman.”
“Took you quite a while this time to make up your mind, didn’t it?” Mason pointed out.
Loring said nothing.
Mason suddenly turned and nodded to Drake.
“All right,” he said to Loring, “if that’s the attitude you want to take, you’ll have to take your medicine. You can’t expect us to protect you if you’re going to lie to us.”
“I’m not lying.”
“Come on, Drake. Let’s go,” Mason said, grimly.
The two men walked from the apartment, and closed the door behind them. In the corridor, Drake said: “What do you make of him?”
“He’s a rat or he’d have tried the stunt of becoming indignant, and asking us what the hell we meant by inquiring into his business. He looked to me as though he’d been on the dodge sometime in his life, and he’s afraid of the law. He’s used to being bullied by detectives.”
“About the way I’ve got him sized up,” said Drake. “What are we going to do?”
“Well,” said Mason, “we can take this picture and see if we can find some of the neighbors in the apartment who can identify her.”
“The newspaper picture isn’t so very good. I wonder if we can’t get a photograph,” Drake said.
“We’re working against time,” Mason reminded him. “Something may break in this thing almost any minute, and I want to keep ahead of the game.”
“We didn’t get very rough with him,” Drake pointed out. “He’s the kind of a man who would cave in if we went after him, hammer and tongs.”
“Sure,” said Mason. “We’ll do that when we get back. I want to get a little more dope on him if I can. I think he’ll turn yellow as soon as we put a little pressure on him.”
Steps sounded on the stairs.
“Wait a minute,” said Drake, “this looks like somebody coming.”
A thickset man, with heavy shoulders, plodded patiently up the stairs and into the corridor. His clothes were shiny, and his cuffs were frayed. Yet there was an air of determination about him.
“Process server,” whispered Mason to Drake.
The man came toward them. His manner was that of one who had, at one time, been a peace officer, and still retained something of the bearing of an officer.
He looked at the two men and said, “Are either of you Harry Loring?”
Mason promptly stepped forward.
“Yes,” he said, “I’m Loring.”
The man reached in his pocket.
“I guess,” he said, “you know what this is about. I have here a summons and a copy of a complaint, and copy of summons in the case of Norma Loring versus Harry Loring. I hereby show you the original summons, and deliver to you a copy of the summons and the complaint.”
He smiled wanly.
“I guess you know what it’s all about. I understood it was a case that wasn’t going to be contested and you were expecting me.”
Mason took the papers.
“Sure,” he said, “that’s all right.”
“No hard feelings,” said the process server.
“No hard feelings,” said Mason.
The process server turned, made a notation on the back of the original summons in pencil, and walked slowly and methodically to the stairs. As he went down, Mason turned to Drake and grinned.