CHAPTER FOUR.

Perry Mason latchkeyed the door of his private office.

Della Street, who had been sorting the mail, looked up with a smile.

"Well, Della," the lawyer said, "I wonder what adventures the day holds."

"Let us hope that it's nothing that will take your mind from the brief in the Rawson case or the stack of mail that I've marked urgent and have been calling to your attention for the last two days."

Mason settled himself in his swivel chair and sighed. "I presume one can't go through life just skimming the cream off existence," he said. "Sooner or later one has to get down to ch.o.r.es, routine drudgery. But I really did enjoy yesterday, Della. It was in the nature of an adventure.

"Now I'm somewhat in the position of the housewife who has given a very successful party, has ushered the guests out with cordial good nights and walks out into the kitchen to find a sink full of dirty dishes."

Mason sighed and picked up the folder Della Street had marked urgent. He opened it, hurriedly read through the letter that was on top, tossed it over to Della and said, "Write him that it will be impossible for me to be in San Francisco and take part in the case, Della."

Della Street raised her eyebrows slightly.

"I know," Mason said. "He makes a nice offer, but I don't want to try a case with him. He has the reputation of being a little too zealous on behalf of his clients, particularly in connection with producing witnesses who swear to alibis. What's the next one, Della?"

Della Street's telephone buzzed discreetly.

Della picked up the instrument, said, "Yes, Gertie," then looked at Mason and smiled. "A little more cream to be skimmed," she said. "Our friend, Ellen Robb, the singing skirt with the long legs, is in the reception room. She wants to know if it would be possible to see you. She says she'll wait the entire morning if you can give her just a few minutes. Gertie says she seems rather upset."

"Of course I'll see her," Mason said.

"Tell her to wait just a few minutes," Della Street told the receptionist, "and Mr. Mason will try to see her."

Mason pushed the file of urgent correspondence back.

"I thought we might have time for the other two letters that are on top. They're both urgent," Della Street said. And then added, "Miss Robb is probably conventionally dressed this time."

Mason grinned. "So the cream won't be as thick."

"Something like that," Della Street said. "Let us say that the scenic dividends may not be as great."

"You don't like her, do you, Della?"

"She has her points," Della Street said. "I should say her curves."

"And you don't approve?"

"There's something about her, Chief," Della Street said, "and frankly I don't know what it is."

"Something phony?"

"You have the feeling that she's . . . oh, I don't know. The girl's an exhibitionist. She's been capitalizing on a pair of wonderful legs and a beautiful figure. She uses them. Her singing voice is pleasing but it doesn't have much range. Her figure is her best bet."

"Pushing herself forward?" Mason asked.

"Oscillating is the word," Della Street said. "Of course, a woman with a figure like that, who is working in a place of that type is pretty apt to have been around, and . . . well, it would be interesting to know just what there is in her background, how she happened to be making her living that way."

"You mean she's probably done about everything?" Mason asked.

"Except teach Sunday school," Della Street said dryly.

"And you're warning me," Mason said, "not to become so fascinated by a pair of beautiful legs that I lose my perspective."

"Not only legs," Della Street said. "I have a feeling that she deliberately puts herself on exhibition in order to get what she wants."

"But this time," Mason said, "she will be conventionally garbed."

"She may be conventionally garbed," Della Street said, "but I'm willing to bet she's wearing something that's cut rather low in front and that, during the course of the conversation, she finds occasion to bend over your desk for some reason or other."

"It's a thought," Mason said. "Cough when she does it, will you?"

"Why?"

"So I can keep my perspective," Mason said, grinning. "Let's get her in, Della, and then we can get back to the routine of the urgent mail."

Della Street nodded, walked out to the outer office and a moment later came back with Ellen Robb.

Ellen Robb was wearing a skirt which was tight around the hips, with a band of pleats around the bottom which flared out as she swung around, displaying her knees. Her silk blouse revealed shapely curves. She wore a heavy pin at the closing of the low V-cut neckline.

"Oh, Mr. Mason," she said impulsively, "I feel like a heel coming in and taking up your time this way, but I desperately need your advice."

"About a settlement with George?" Mason asked.

She made a little gesture with her shoulders. "George is a lamb," she said. "He was as nice as I've ever seen him. He thanked me, Mr. Mason. He positively thanked me."

"For what?" Mason asked, indicating a chair.

Ellen Robb sat down and almost immediately crossed her knees. "Thanked me," she said, "for showing him what a heel he was. He told me that he was too accustomed to having his own way, that he was ruthless with other people and that it was a trait he was trying to overcome. He begged me not to leave him but to stay on, and he raised my wages twenty-five dollars."

"A week?" Mason asked.

"A week," she said.

"And you agreed to stay?"

"For the time being."

"So you're all straightened up with George?"

She nodded.

"Then what did you want to see me about?"

"The Ellis situation."

"What about it?"

"I'm afraid you started something with Mrs. Ellis."

"That was the general objective I had in mind," Mason said.

"Well, it goes a lot deeper than just a legal point, Mr. Mason. There's friction between Mr. Ellis and his wife. He thinks it would make him look like a piker for her to try and get back the money that he lost."

Mason said somewhat impatiently, "I tried to help you, Miss Robb, because I felt you had been wronged, but I can't adopt the troubles of the whole neighborhood."

Ellen Robb inched forward in the chair until she was sitting on the edge. She leaned forward to put her hands on the arm of Mason's chair. "Please, Mr. Mason," she said, "I didn't mean it that way."

Della Street coughed.

Mason looked at Ellen Robb, then glanced at Della Street. "Go ahead, Miss Robb," he said.

She said, "I'm so anxious that you understand, Mr. Mason, that I m just coming to you because . . well, because you do understand."

She sighed and straightened up once more in the chair, glanced down at her knees, pulled the hem of the dress lightly with her thumb and forefinger and said, "h.e.l.ly has gone overboard."

"h.e.l.ly?" Mason asked.

"Helman Ellis, the husband."

"Oh, yes. And what's he done?"

She said, "Look, Mr. Mason, I'm under no illusions about myself. I'm on display. I'm sucker bait. I have a good figure and I know it, and I'm supposed to let other people know it. That's part of the job."

"And h.e.l.ly, as you call him, has noticed it?" Mason asked.

"I'll say he's noticed it! He noticed it right from the start. Last night he--Mr. Mason, he asked me last night if I'd run away with him. He wanted to throw up the whole business and start all over again."

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him no."

"Well?" Mason asked, somewhat impatiently.

"All right," she said, "I'll get to the point. Nadine Ellis went to an attorney, a Mr. Gowrie. Do you know him?"

"Darwin Gowrie?" Mason asked.

"Darwin C. Gowrie," she said.

"I've heard of him," Mason said. "Quite a divorce lawyer, I believe."

"That's right. Mr. Gowrie called early this morning. He wanted to talk with me. He said he was Nadine's attorney--I thought, of course, it was about the legal point you had raised about the gambling, but I couldn't imagine why he wanted to talk with me. I thought he would want to talk with George."

"But you saw him?"

"I saw him," she said, "and it seems what he really wanted was to question me about h.e.l.ly."

"Getting evidence for a divorce?"

"I don't know. He asked me all about my relationship with h.e.l.ly, how long I'd known him, how many times he had been at the club, whether he noticed me and . . . well, whether he'd ever made pa.s.ses at me."

"Had he?" Mason asked.

"Of course," she said.

"And you told this to Gowrie?"

"No."

"You lied?"

"I lied."

"Convincingly?" Mason asked.

"I hope so," she said. "Isn't a woman supposed to . . . well, isn't there supposed to be sort of a code of ethics about--?"

"Professional confidences?" Mason asked.

"Something like that."

"I wouldn't know," Mason said. "Why do you come to me?"

"Because I want your advice."

"On what point?"

"I want to go to Mrs. Ellis and tell her."

"Tell her what?"

"Tell her she is wrong about Helman and me and shouldn't make a fool of herself. She has a very fine husband. She'd better hang on to him. I've seen too many instances of women divorcing a man over some little thing and then regretting their action."

"Making pa.s.ses is a little thing?" Mason asked.

"Of course. They all do--that is, nearly all--and I wouldn't give a snap of my finger for those who don't. Most of them don't really mean a thing by it. It's just the normal biological reaction of the male animal."

"You intend to explain that to Mrs. Ellis?"

"Not that so much as . . . well . . . the facts of marriage."