The Case of the Mischievous Doll

“Now, this woman witness saw that Dorrie Ambler for some reason didn’t want to be recognized. Dorrie moved to the front of the elevator and kept her back to the woman and the dog, but the dog wanted her to pet him; he nuzzled her leg and wagged his tail. Well, after a minute Dorrie put her hand down and the dog licked her fingers. Then the elevator came to a stop and Dorrie hurried out.”

“The woman was walking her dog, and the dog stopped when they got to the strip of lawn just outside the door, but the woman saw a man waiting in a car at the curb and Dorrie almost ran to the car, jumped in and was whisked away.”

“Fingerprints?” Mason asked.

“None,” Tragg said. “That’s a strange thing. Both Apartments 907 and 805 have evidently been scrubbed clean as a whistle. There isn’t a print in them except the prints of Marvin Billings. He left his prints all over Apartment 907.”

“Did he have keys?” Mason asked.

“I shouldn’t tell you this,” Tragg said, “but I know how you feel. There wasn’t a single thing in Billings’ pockets. No keys, no coins, no cigarettes, no pencil, nothing. He’d been stripped clean as a whistle.”

Mason smiled. “Well, Lieutenant,” he said, “you make me feel a lot better, even if it looks as if I have been victimized. You’ve lifted a great big load off my shoulders.”

“All right, Perry,” Tragg said. “I just want to warn you of one thing, that if this is a scheme that you’re in on, you’re going to get hurt. We don’t like to have citizens arrange synthetic abductions and we don’t like murder. And I can probably tell you without violating any confidence that Hamilton Burger, our district attorney, is firmly convinced that this is a hocus-pocus that has been thought up by you to confuse the issues so that when your client is finally apprehended he’ll have a hard time convicting her of murder — and knowing Hamilton Burger as we both do, we know that this has made him all the more determined to expose the scheme and convict the plotters — all of them.”

“I can readily understand that,” Mason said. “Thanks for the tip, Lieutenant. I’ll keep my nose clean.”

“And your eyes open,” Tragg warned.

“I will for a fact,” Mason said as he hung up.

The lawyer turned to Della Street. “Well, Della, I guess we can get on with the mail now. I guess our erstwhile client was a pretty clever little girl and quite a schemer... You listened in on Tragg’s conversation?”

Della Street nodded, said suddenly and savagely, “I hope they catch her and convict her.”

Then after a moment she added, “But if Dorrie Ambler had only played it straight and let you present her claim to the estate, she could have shared in several million dollars. Now she’s got herself into a murder case.”

Mason said, “That’s something I don’t have to worry about. After she’s arrested, she can get a copybook, sit down and write ‘honesty is the best policy’ five hundred times.”

“It’ll be too late then,” Della Street pointed out.

Mason arose and started pacing the floor. “If it weren’t for two things,” he said at length, “I’d question the accuracy of Tragg’s conclusions.”

Della Street, knowing the lawyer wanted an excuse to think out loud, said, “What things, Chief?”

“First,” Mason said, “we know that our client has been scheming up bizarre situations to attract publicity. We know she wanted to do something to make the newspapers publicize the resemblance between her and Minerva Minden.”

“And the second thing?” Della asked.

“The dog,” Mason said. “Dogs don’t make mistakes. Therefore our client was alive, well, and navigating under her own power long after the supposed abduction.

“I guess, Della, we’re going to have to accept the fact that Miss Dorrie Ambler decided to use me as a pawn in one of her elaborate schemes and then something happened that knocked her little schemes into a cocked hat.”

“What?” Della Street asked.

“Murder,” Mason said. “Billings was a detective with an unsavory reputation. Those on the inside who knew the game, knew he’d blackmail a client if the opportunity presented itself.”

“And so?” Della asked.

“So,” Mason said, “realizing now Dorrie was merely trying to inveigle me into her scheme, knowing that she overreached herself, that she was perfectly free to call me long after her supposed abduction and didn’t do so, I can wash my hands of her. I’m certainly glad you didn’t walk into the trap of accepting that retainer, Della. As matters now stand, we did one piece of work for her and owe her nothing... Now, thanks to a little dog, I can quit worrying. Let’s get back to that pile of mail.”

Chapter Ten

Della Street, entering from the outer office, paused in front of Perry Mason’s desk. When the lawyer looked up she said, “I hate to do this to you, Chief.”

“What?” Mason asked.

“It’s been ten days since Dorrie Ambler disappeared,” Della Street said, “and you’ve managed to forget about it and get yourself back to a working schedule.”

“Well?” Mason asked.

“Now,” she said, “Henrietta Hull is in the outer office, waiting — impatiently.”