The Case of the Queenly Contestant

“I’ll have to call you a little later and give you the number, Mr. Mason. I have been traveling all night, you understand. I came to your office right away. I haven’t had a chance to get a hotel room or get freshened up. I wanted to see you at once — I anticipated I might have some delays — I know you’re a busy man — very prominent lawyer — more than that, a famous lawyer. I’ll be in touch with you. Thank you for seeing me. Good day, Mr. Mason.”

Dayton didn’t even turn toward the room from which he had entered but marched directly to the door leading to the outer corridor and went out.

“A private detective,” Mason said to Della Street; “one of the tough boys who carries a gun. He gets results by stopping at nothing. You have our client’s telephone number?”

She nodded.

“All right,” Mason said, “we’ll call her shortly; but first get the Drake Detective Agency on the line. Get Paul Drake in person if you can, Della.”

Della put through the call to the Drake Detective Agency, whose offices were next to the elevator at the end of the corridor, on the same floor as the lawyer’s office.

When Mason had Paul Drake on the line, he said, “Paul, I have just been interviewed by a man who is undoubtedly a private detective. He is too portly to conceal the bulge under his left armpit. He’s a tough customer. He was sent here from the Midwest to locate a client of mine. He thinks I am going to get in touch with that client either by telephone or personally, and since it is a matter I would hardly take up over the telephone, I think I may be wearing a tail.

“Now, here’s what I’m going to do. In precisely ten minutes from the time I hang up the telephone I am going to go to the elevator. I want you to get aboard the same elevator and ride down with me. Just speak to me casually.

“We’ll ride down together, then separate, and I’ll walk to the taxi stand on the corner, pick up a cab, and go to the railroad depot. Once there, I’ll go into a telephone booth, put through a call, walk out, get another cab, and come back to the office. I want you to have an operative waiting in a cab so I can be tailed to see if I am being shadowed by anyone else.

“Can you do that?”

“Can do,” Drake said. “I’ve got a couple of operatives in the office right now, making out some reports. I can send one of them down and have him engage a cab and be waiting.”

“Do that,” Mason said; “if he should lose me at a traffic signal, you can tell him to drive right to the depot and pick up my trail there. I’ll wait around the telephone booths for a minute or two before putting in the call. Look at your watch now; we’re going out in exactly ten minutes.”

Mason hung up the phone, said to Della, “Give me Ellen Adair’s telephone number, Della.”

Della Street, watching him curiously, said, “Aren’t you going to a lot of trouble and a lot of expense just on mere suspicion?”

“It’s not mere suspicion,” Mason said. “If that man wasn’t a private detective, I’ll go see my oculist. And when a small city newspaper sends a private detective instead of a reporter to get a story, it means something big is in the wind. Furthermore, I have a hunch there are two men on the job. One of them may be local, but this one came from Cloverville.”

Promptly at the end of nine minutes and forty-five seconds. Mason left his office, walked to the elevator, and pressed the down button.

Just before the cage came to a stop, Paul Drake emerged from his office.

“Hi, Perry,” Drake said; “what’s new?”

“Nothing much,” Mason said.

“You aren’t quitting for the day?”

“Heavens, no! Just have to consult with a client on a matter of business.”

They entered the cage together.

“Going to see a client, eh?” Drake asked.

“Uh-huh,” Mason said, without making any effort to carry on further conversation.

In the foyer of the building, Drake paused to buy a package of cigarettes. Mason strolled across to the sidewalk hailed a taxicab.

“Take me to the Union Depot,” he instructed, and settled back against the cushions.

The driver skillfully threaded his way through traffic and duly deposited Mason at the station.

Mason paid the fare, gave the cabby a tip, and walked toward the line of telephone booths near the station entrance. He entered one and stood so that his shoulders concealed the dial of the telephone from anyone who might have been watching to see what number he dialed; then he dialed the number of Paul Drake’s office.

Drake’s switchboard operator came on the line and Mason said, “Perry Mason, Ruth. Is Paul where you can put him on?”

“He’s just receiving a telephone report from one of his operatives,” she said. “I think it’s on the case that you’re interested in.”

“I’ll hang on,” Mason said, and waited some two minutes at the telephone. Then he heard Paul Drake’s voice.

“Hi, Perry; you’re down at the telephone booths at the depot?”

“Right.”

“Well, you’re wearing a tail all right.”

“A heavyset individual in the late forties with...”