“Maybe she was too rattled,” Hoffman pointed out.
“Not that baby,” Mason remarked.
“All right, go on,” said Hoffman, interested. “What’s next?”
“When I went in,” said Mason, “there was an umbrella in the stand, which was wet. There was a pool of water which had drained down from it on the floor underneath. You probably noticed it when you came.”
Sergeant Hoffman’s eyes narrowed.
“Yes,” he said, “come to think of it, I did notice it. What about it?”
“Nothing,” said Mason, “yet.” He reached out his finger and pushed the bell button.
After a few minutes the door was opened by the butler, who stared at them.
“Carl Griffin home?” asked Mason.
The butler shook his head. “No, sir,” he said, “he’s out. He had a business appointment, sir.”
“Mrs. Veitch, the housekeeper’s here?”
“Oh, yes, sir; of course, sir.”
“And her daughter, Norma?”
“Yes, sir.”
“All right,” said Mason, “we’re going up to Belter’s study. Don’t say anything to anybody about the fact that we’re here. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” said the butler.
Hoffman stepped inside the door, and looked searchingly at the hall stand in which the umbrella had stood the night of the murder. His eyes were very thoughtful.
Drumm was whistling nervously in a low, almost inaudible note.
They climbed up the stairs, and went into the suite where Belter’s body had been found. Mason switched on the lights and began a minute search of the walls.
“I wish you folks would take a look,” he said.
“What are you looking for?” asked Drumm.
“A bullet hole,” said Mason.
Sergeant Hoffman grunted and said, “You can save your time on that. We’ve gone over every inch of these rooms, and had them photographed, and mapped. A bullet couldn’t have gone through here without leaving a hole we’d have seen, and there’d have been plaster chipped loose.”
“I know,” said Mason. “I made a search before you got here looking for the same thing, and couldn’t find it. But I want to make one more search. I know what must have happened, but I can’t prove it, yet.”
Sergeant Hoffman, suddenly suspicious, said, “Look here, Mason! Are you trying to clear that woman?”
Mason turned and faced him.
“I’m trying to show what actually happened,” he said.
Hoffman frowned. “That doesn’t answer my question. Are you trying to free the woman?”
“Yes.”
“That lets me out,” said Hoffman.
“No, it doesn’t,” said Mason. “I’m going to give you an opportunity to get your pictures all over the front pages of the papers.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” said Hoffman. “You’re clever, Mason. I’ve looked you up.”
“All right, if you’ve looked me up, you know I never go back on my friends. Sidney Drumm is a friend of mine. I got him in on this. If it had been any kind of a frameup, I’d have got somebody I didn’t know.”
Sergeant Hoffman admitted grudgingly, “Well, I’m going to stick around a little while, but don’t try any funny stuff. I want to know what you’re getting at.”
Mason stood staring at the bathroom. There were chalklines on the floor, marking the position in which the body of George Belter had been found.
Suddenly Mason laughed aloud.
“I’ll be damned!”
“What’s the joke?” asked Drumm.
Mason turned to Sergeant Hoffman.
“Okay, Sergeant,” he said, “I’m ready to go ahead and show you something. Will you send for Mrs. Veitch and her daughter?”
Sergeant Hoffman looked dubious. “What do you want with them?”
Mason said, “I want to ask them some questions.”
Hoffman shook his head.
“No,” he said, “I don’t think I want you to—not until I know more about it.”
“This is on the level, Sergeant,” Mason insisted. “You sit and listen to the questions. Any time you think I’m getting off the reservation, you can stop me. Hell’s fire, man! If I wanted to slip over a fast one, I’d run you in front of a jury and then pull my stuff as a surprise. I certainly wouldn’t go out and take the police in on the ground floor of what my defense was going to be.”
Sergeant Hoffman thought a minute.
“That’s logical,” he said. He turned to Drumm. “Go on down and round up the two women, and bring them up here,” he said.
Drumm nodded and left the room.
Paul Drake stared at Mason curiously. There was not the faintest trace of expression on Mason’s face, nor did he say anything during the few minutes which elapsed after Drumm left the room and the time when shuffling steps were heard outside of the door. Then the door opened, and Drumm bowed the two women into the room.
Mrs. Veitch was as sombre as ever. Her dull black eyes stared incuriously at the men in the room. She walked with her peculiar, long, flatfooted stride.
Norma Veitch wore a tight fitting dress, which accentuated the curves of her figure. She seemed proudly aware of her ability to catch the masculine eye as she stared from face to face, with a half smile on her full lips.
Mason said, “We wanted to ask you a few questions.”
Norma Veitch said, “Again?”
“Mrs. Veitch, do you know anything about your daughter’s engagement to Carl Griffin?” asked Mason, ignoring Norma’s comment.
“I know they’re engaged.”
“Did you know that there was any romance there?” asked Mason.
“There’s usually a romance when people get engaged,” she said, in her husky voice.
“I’m not talking about that,” he told her. “Please answer my question, Mrs. Veitch. Was there any romance between the pair, that you know of, prior to the time that Norma came here?”
The dark, sunken eyes shifted for a moment toward Norma, then came back to Mason’s face.
“No,” she said, “not before they came here. They got acquainted afterwards.”
“Did you know your daughter had been married?” asked Mason.
The eyes stared full in his face without any change of expression.
“No,” said the woman wearily, “she hasn’t been married.”
Mason shifted quickly to Norma.
“How about it, Miss Veitch? Were you ever married?”
“Not yet,” she said. “I’m going to be. And I don’t see for the life of me how that’s connected with the murder of George Belter. If you folks want to ask questions about that, I presume we’ve got to answer them, but I don’t see that that means I have to go into my private affairs.”
“How could you marry Carl Griffin when you were already married?” Mason asked.
“I’m not married,” Norma Veitch said, “and I don’t have to stand for these insulting comments.”
“That isn’t what Harry Loring says,” Mason told her.
The girl’s face didn’t change expression by so much as the flicker of an eyelash.
“Loring?” she said, in a calmly inquiring tone. “Never heard of the man. Did you ever hear of a man named Loring, Mumsey?”
Mrs. Veitch puckered her forehead. “Not that I can recall, Norma. I’m not very good at remembering names, but I don’t know any Loring.”
“Perhaps,” said Mason, “I can refresh your recollection. He’s a man that lived in the Belvedere Apartments. He had apartment 312.”
Norma Veitch shook her head hastily, “I’m certain there’s some mistake.”
Perry Mason pulled the copy of the summons and complaint in the divorce action from his pocket. “Then perhaps you can explain how it happened that you verified this complaint, in which you swore on your oath that you had gone through a marriage ceremony with Harry Loring.”