The Case of the Mischievous Doll

“Romantic as hell,” Drake said, his eyes still restlessly searching. “It must have been something in that bicarbonate of soda I had last night. It couldn’t have been anything in the hamburger... Okay, Perry, the place is clean down here. Not even anyone in a parked car.”

“Okay, let’s go up,” Mason said.

“Better lay our plans,” Drake said. “Suppose this guy in the corridor tries to duck out of sight when we go up there.”

“We go pull him out of hiding and see what makes him tick,” Mason said.

“If he’s a police officer you’ll have trouble.”

“If he isn’t, he’ll have trouble,” Mason said grimly. “In any event he’ll have some explanations to make. Come on, Paul, let’s go.”

They went up in the elevator, got out at the ninth floor and Mason said to Paul, “You take the left, I’ll take the right, Paul. Cover the entire corridor.”

The two men walked down the corridor to the end, then turned, retraced their steps and met again in front of the elevator.

“Anything at your end?” Drake asked.

Mason shook his head.

“Mine’s clear.”

“All right, let’s go talk with her... Now remember, Paul, any of this business about the estate is entirely extracurricular. At this time, we aren’t going to bring that up. We’ll look the situation over. So far I’m retained only for one specific purpose.”

“And what is that?” Drake asked.

Mason grinned. “Just to keep her from being a fall guy for something she didn’t do. Okay, Paul, here we go.”

They advanced to the door of 907.

Mason pressed his finger against the mother-of-pearl button, and chimes sounded on the inside of the apartment.

There was complete silence from the interior.

Mason said, “She certainly should be here.” He pressed the button again, listened to the chimes, then knocked on the door.

Drake said, “I can hear something inside, Perry, a dragging sound.”

Mason pressed his ear to the door.

“Sounds like something being moved across the floor,” he said, and banged peremptorily on the door.

From inside the apartment something fell with a thud that jarred the floor, then a woman screamed and the scream was interrupted as though someone had pressed a hand across her lips.

Mason flung himself against the door. The latch clicked, and the door opened a scant three inches to the end of a brass chain safety lock.

From the interior of the apartment a door banged shut.

“Let’s go,” Mason said, and slammed his shoulder against the door.

Wood creaked in protest, the chain snapped taut but the door still held.

“Come on,” Mason shouted, at Drake, “all together — both of us now. Let’s GO!”

The two men hit the door simultaneously. The screws pulled from the safety lock, and the door slammed wide open, banged against a doorstop, then shivered on its hinges.

Mason and Drake stood for a split second in the doorway looking at the scene of confusion which met their eyes.

The apartment consisted of a living-room, a bedroom, bath and kitchen. The door to the bedroom stood open so that it was possible to see the drawers which had been pulled from the bureau, the chest of drawers, and the contents dumped helter-skelter over the floor.

In the living-room a man lay sprawled on his back, motionless, in a grotesque sprawl, his mouth sagged open.

Sounds came from behind the closed door which evidently led to the kitchen.

Mason pushed past Paul Drake, ran to hurl himself against the kitchen door.

The door gave an inch or two, then closed itself as Mason backed away for another lunge at the door.

“Come on, Paul,” the lawyer shouted, “get this door open!”

Both men flung their weight against the door. Again the door opened an inch or two and again closed.

“Somebody’s braced against the door on the other side,” Drake said. “Watch out! They may start shooting through the panels.”

“Never mind,” Mason said, “there’s a woman in danger on the other side of that door. Smash it down.”

Drake grabbed him and pulled him to one side. “Don’t be a fool, Perry. I’ve seen too many of these things. We’ve trapped a killer in the kitchen. Telephone for the police. Use your head, and above all don’t stand in front of those panels. When the killer knows he’s trapped, there’ll be a fusillade of bullets coming through there.”

Mason stood contemplating the door, said, “All right, Paul. Telephone the police. I’ll take a look at this man and see how long he’s been dead.”

The lawyer moved a step or two, then suddenly and unexpectedly hurled himself again at the kitchen door.

Once more the door yielded slightly, then pushed back shut.

Mason said, “Wait a minute, Paul. There’s no one holding this door shut. It’s a chair or something propped against it and cushioned on some rubber so it— Come on, give me a hand here.”

“Just a minute,” Drake said. “I’ve got the police.”

The detective gave the address and number of the apartment, announced a dead man was on the floor, that the murderer or murderers were in the kitchen; that evidently they had the young woman who rented the apartment held as a hostage.

Drake hung up the phone.