The Case of the Grinning Gorilla

“That’s fine,” Mason told her, glancing vaguely at a blonde who was waiting. “Tell him I’m on my way.”

Mason opened the gate in the long corridor leading to Paul Drake’s office, and found Drake holding his ear to a telephone, sorting out papers while carrying on a conversation with one of his men.

Drake motioned for Mason to sit down, and after a moment the detective said into the telephone, “All right. Get her to write her name on the back of the photographs so that it will make an absolute identification. She probably won’t care to make an affidavit as yet, but tie her up so she can’t back out. Be sure she identifies the photographs.”

Drake hung up, gave Mason a tired smile, and said, “Your hunch paid off, Perry.”

“What?”

“Getting the telephone numbers from which Addicks placed his collect calls to the yacht, and...”

“You mean you’ve tied him up with a woman?”

“That’s right.”

“Woman or women?”

“Apparently it’s the same woman in both instances — Helen Cadmus.”

Mason whistled.

“That’s about all there is to it. On a couple of occasions when the yacht got into port along about nine or ten o’clock in the evening, Addicks started back from the beach and yet didn’t get in until the next morning. When Addicks hadn’t taken Nathan Fallon, Mortimer Hershey, or Josephine Kempton along, there was nobody to make a check between the house and the yacht, and find out when the yacht did get in. I checked on the yacht’s log.

“A couple of times when Addicks started out on the yacht and then got off in Catalina, and sent the yacht cruising, he called the captain to give instructions. Those telephone calls were from these same two motels.

“I haven’t checked on the dates as yet, but there’s no question but what that’s where the calls came from, and in one of the motels the woman who runs the place is very definite in her identification. She identifies the photographs of Benjamin Addicks and that of Helen Cadmus.”

“How did he register?” Mason asked.

“He used a fictitious name, naturally.”

“They want license numbers of cars,” Mason said. “Did he...?”

“Yes, he gave the license number of his Cadillac.”

Mason thought that over. His eyes narrowed.

“Did you notice a blonde out in the office when you came in?” Drake asked.

“Yes, what about her?”

“I was going to call you. I asked her to wait a few minutes. She’s Mrs. Blevins, the wife of the animal psychologist. I got her to come to my office because...”

“Let’s get her in,” Mason said. “I want to talk with her. Now listen, Paul, very definitely I don’t want any slip-up on this thing. I want your men to get this angle tied up tight. What alias did Addicks use?”

“In both instances it was Barnwell. He was registered under the name of B. F. Barnwell.”

“What was Benjamin Addicks’s middle name, Paul?”

“I don’t know.”

Mason snapped his fingers and said, “I bet you a dime it was Franklin. Benjamin Franklin Addicks.”

“Well?” Drake asked.

“B. F. Barnwell would naturally be the way he’d register. He’d keep his first two initials B. F. Now look, Paul, Addicks had a lot of mining interests. He was in Nevada a lot. I want you to get your men started checking everything they can find in Nevada. I want you to find if there are any registrations in motor courts for B. F. Barnwell. And, while you’re about it, just for the fun of the thing, check the vital statistics. But find out everything you can about Barnwell.”

Drake said, “You’re going to have one hell of a bill on this, Perry. I’ve got men...”

“That’s all right,” Mason interrupted. “I’m in the middle of a fight, and something big is involved. I don’t know what it is. Apparently there’s nothing in those Helen Cadmus diaries, and yet everyone who has any connection with Addicks wants to get those diaries by one means or another. The only thing that I can think of is that I find nothing in the diaries because I’ve read them. The other people haven’t read them and are therefore assuming there’s something important in them because there’s something important that should be in them — all right, Paul, let’s get Mrs. Blevins in here.”

Drake said into the telephone, “Send Mrs. Blevins in,” then stretched back, rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, yawned prodigiously, said, “Gosh, Perry, I’m all in. I’ve been sitting here at the end of this telephone night and day...”

Mason said reassuringly, “We’re getting toward the end of it now Paul. We’re striking pay dirt.”

“I don’t know what good that stuff’s going to do,” Drake told him. “The guy plays house with his secretary — an idea not exactly original with him. It has been done, you know. You have to admit she was a mighty darned good looking girl...”

“I know, I know,” Mason interrupted, “but we’re getting a lead on something.”

“Well, pretty quick,” Drake said, “I’m going to fall right forward on my face and...”

The door opened and Mrs. Blevins, a blonde about twenty-seven years old, with big blue eyes, stood in the doorway.

Her clothes made no effort to minimize her figure. She not only had a good one but seemed quite conscious of the fact.