The Case of the Daring Decoy, page 6
part #54 of Perry Mason Series
“What about Farrell?” Mason asked.
“Farrell!” she spat suddenly with dislike in her voice.
“What about him?” Mason asked. “I take it he’s different from Conway?”
“Very different!”
“Well,” Mason said, “you’re going to have to quit thinking about Conway, and start thinking about that voice, if you want to help him. You’re going to have to try and place what it was about the voice that was familiar.”
She shook her head. “I’ve been thinking and thinking, and somehow it just eludes me. Sometimes I feel that I almost have it and then it’s gone.”
“All right,” Mason said, “let’s start doing some methodical thinking. Rosalind, whoever she was, promised to deliver lists of those who had sent in their proxies.”
She nodded.
“Therefore,” Mason said, “she was either baiting a trap for Conway—and the way it looks now she was baiting a trap—or she was offering genuine information. In either event, she had to be someone who was fairly close-to Farrell.
“If she was baiting a trap, then she was Farrell’s tool, because the Farrell crowd would be the only ones who would wish Conway any bad luck. If, on the other hand, she was acting in good faith, then she must have had access to information that only some trusted employee of Farrell’s would have.”
Eva Kane nodded.
“It was a woman’s voice,” Mason said. “Did it sound young?”
“I think so. I think it was a young woman.”
“Are many young women close to Farrell?”
She laughed and said, “Mr. Farrell is very close to many young women. Mr. Farrell is a man with restless hands and roving eyes. He doesn’t want any one woman. He wants women—plural. He doesn’t want to settle down and have a home, he wants to satisfy his ego. He wants to play the field.”
“A little difficult to work for?” Mason asked.
“It depends on the way you look at it,” she said drily. “Some of the girls seem to like it. And to like him.”
“He’s married?”
“Yes, he’s married, but I understand they separated a month ago.”
“What kind of woman is his wife?”
“Very nice. She’s—” Abruptly Eva Kane sucked in her breath. Her eyes became wide. “That’s it, Mr. Mason! That’s it!”
“What is?”
“The voice. Rosalind! It’s Evangeline Farrell!”
“Now, wait a minute,” Mason said. “You’re certain?”
“Yes, yes! I knew all along there was something about it that—I’ve talked with her on the phone, when Mr. Farrell was with us. She has that peculiar trick of holding onto one word for a beat and then speaking rapidly for five or six words, then pausing and speaking rapidly again.”
“She was trying to disguise her voice on the phone?” Mason asked.
“Yes. The voice was disguised. It was—Oh, very sweet and seductive and syrupy and—But that little trick of timing. That’s distinctive. That was Evangeline Farrell.”
“She’s not getting along with her husband?”
“So I understand. They’ve separated. It was—Oh, it’s been a month or so ago. There was something in the paper about it. One of the gossip columnists had an article. She walked out on him and—I don’t know what did happen. I don’t think she’s filed suit for divorce. Maybe she wants a reconciliation.”
“Do you know where she lives?” Mason asked.
“They had a rather swank apartment and … and I think she was the one who moved out. I think she left him.”
“No divorce?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Grounds?”
“There should be lots of them. Around us girls at the office he didn’t even bother to be subtle about it.”
“Where can I get her present address?”
“I may have it in our address book. You see, she’s a stockholder in the Texas Global. Because of the proxy fight, I’ve made lists of the names and addresses of all stockholders of record. There’s one at the’ office, Mr. Conway has one, and I have one.”
“Here?”
“Yes. I keep mine with me at all times.”
“How does it happen she’s a stockholder?”
“Part of Mr. Farrell’s compensation while he was with us was in stock, and those shares of stock were turned over to his wife.”
“When he got them, or as a result of some property settlement?”
“When he got them. He likes to keep all his property in the name of some other person. But I think she wrote about them after the separation. I’m certain we had a letter giving a new address.”
“See if you can find that address,” Mason said.
She said, “Pardon me,” went to a desk, pulled out a large address book, thumbed through the pages, then said, “I have it. It’s die Holly Arms.”
“I know the place,” Mason told her. “She’s living there?”
“Yes. Do you want to talk with her on the phone?”
He thought a moment, then said, “No, I’d better surprise her with this. Thanks a lot, Miss Kane.”
“Is there anything I can do—to help?”
“You’ve done it.”
“If Mr. Conway phones, should I tell him that I think I know the voice?”
“Tell him nothing,” Mason said. “Not over the telephone. You can’t tell who’s listening. Thanks a lot. I’m on my way.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Mason picked up the house telephone in the lobby o£ the apartment hotel.
“Mrs. Farrell, please.”
The girl at the switchboard was dubious. “I beg your pardon. It’s after ten o’clock. Was she—?”
“She’s expecting the call,” Mason said.
“Very well.”
A moment later a woman’s voice said, “Hello.”
Mason said, “I’m an attorney, Mrs. Farrell. I’d like to see you on a matter of some importance.”
“Are you representing my husband?”
“Definitely not.”
“When did you wish to see me?”
“Right away.”
“Right away? Why that’s impossible … ! What is your name, please?”
“Mason.”
“You’re not—not Perry Mason?”
“That’s right.”
“Where are you, Mr. Mason?”
“I’m downstairs.”
“Are you—? Is anyone with you?”
“No.”
“May I ask why you want to see me?”
“I’d prefer not to discuss it over the telephone,” Mason said. “I can assure you it’s a matter of some urgency and it may be to your advantage.”
“Very well. Will you come on up, Mr. Mason? I’m in lounging pajamas. I was reading and—”
“I’d like to come right away, if I may.”
“All right. Come on up. You have the number?”
“I’ll be right up,” Mason said.
Mason took the elevator, walked down a corridor, pressed his finger against the mother-of-pearl button beside the door of Mrs. Farrell’s apartment. Almost instantly the door was opened by a striking, redheaded woman who wore Chinese silk lounging pajamas, embroidered with silken dragons. There was the aroma of Oriental incense in the apartment.
“Mr. Mason?” she asked.
Mason nodded.
She gave him her hand. “How do you do? Won’t you come in?”
Mason found himself in the living room of an apartment which had at least two rooms.
Lights were low, and there was an air of scented mystery about the place.
The brightest spot in the room was where a silk-shaded reading lamp cast subdued light on a deep reclining chair and footstool.
An opened book lay face down on the table near the arm of the chair.
“Please be seated, Mr. Mason,” Mrs. Farrell said, and then when Mason had seated himself, glided across to the easy chair, dropped into its depths with a snuggling motion and picked up a long, carved, ivory cigarette holder, which contained a half-smoked cigarette.
She took a deep drag, said, “What is it you want to talk with me about, Mr. Mason?”
“About Texas Global and the proxy battle”
“Oh, yes. And may I ask why you’re interested?”
“I’m representing Jerry Conway.”
“Oh!”
“Why did you want to talk with him?” Mason asked.
“Me? Talk with Mr. Conway?”
“That’s right.”
She chose her words carefully. “I don’t want to talk with him. I know Mr. Conway. I like him. I have great confidence in his business management. I suppose you know, Mr. Mason, that my husband and I have separated.
“I expect to file suit for divorce on grounds which—Well, frankly, Mr. Mason, you’re a lawyer and you understand those things. The grounds may depend somewhat on the type of property settlement which is worked out.”
“There is considerable property?” Mason asked.
“As to that,” she said, “there are two ways of thinking. Gifford Farrell is a gambler and a plunger. There should be quite a bit of money, but Gifford’s attorney insists that there is very little.”
“However, he has an earning capacity?” Mason said.
“Yes. He’s accustomed to doing big things in a big way.”
“Therefore,” Mason pointed out, “it would be very much to your interest to see that he wins out in this proxy fight.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because then he would be in clover financially.”
She took a deep drag on the cigarette, exhaled, said nothing.
“Well?” Mason asked.
“I would say that was a fairly obvious conclusion, Mr. Mason.”
She extracted the end of the cigarette from the ivory holder, ground it out in the. ash tray.
“May I fix you a drink, Mr. Mason?”
“Not right now,” the lawyer said. “I’m sorry I had to call at such a late hour. If you can give me the one piece of information I want, I can be on my way.”
“I didn’t know I had any information that you wanted, Mr. Mason, but—You say you’re representing Mr. Conway?”
“That’s right.”
“And you’re here in his behalf?”
“Yes.”
“What is it you want to know?”
Mason leaned forward in his chair. “How it happens that, if you’re trying to negotiate a property settlement with your husband and want to get the most you can out of it, you offered to give Jerry Conway information on the number of proxies that have been received to date by the proxy committee?”
“Mr. Mason, what on earth are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about,” Mason said. “I want to know why, and I want to know why you disguised your voice and took the name of Rosalind.”
She sat perfectly still, looking at him with startled slate- gray eyes.
“Well?” Mason asked.
“Why, Mr. Mason, what makes you think that I would do anything like that?”
Mason said impatiently, “Come, come! You used a telephone. Calls can be traced, you know.”
Startled, she said, “But I didn’t use this telephone. I—”
Abruptly she caught herself.
Mason said nothing, continued to regard her with steady, penetrating eyes.
She said, “Well, I guess that did it. I seem to have walked into your trap.”
Mason remained silent.
“All right,” she said suddenly. “I’ll tell you. I’m a stockholder of Texas Global. I have a fair block of stock in that company. I have a feeling that that stock is about all of the financial nest egg I’m going to get, and if Gifford Farrell gets control of that company, I don’t think the stock will be worth the paper it’s written on within a period of two years. If Jerry Conway continues as president, that stock is going to be very valuable.”
“Therefore, you’re for Conway.”
“I’m for Conway, but I don’t dare let it be known. I don’t dare do anything that could be seized upon by Gif- ford’s attorneys and twisted and distorted into evidence that they could use against me. I—Mr. Mason, how did you find that I made those calls?”
“That’s quite a long story,” Mason said. “Something has happened that makes it quite important to get at the facts in the case. Now, you sent Conway to the Redfern Hotel. Why?”
“I sent him to the Redfern Hotel?” she asked.
“That’s right.”
She shook her head.
“Yes, you did,” Mason said. “You had him running around so as to ditch persons who were supposed to have been shadowing him. Then you telephoned him at six-fifteen and told him to—”
“What did I tell him at six-fifteen?” she asked.
“You know,” Mason told her. “You told him to go to the Redfern Hotel and ask for messages for Gerald Boswell.”
She picked up the ivory cigarette holder and began twisting it in nervous fingers.
“Didn’t you?” Mason asked.
“I did not, Mr. Mason. I don’t know anything about the Redfern Hotel. I didn’t tell Mr. Conway to go there.”
“What did you tell him?” Mason asked.
She hesitated thoughtfully.
Mason said, “I think it’s going to be to your advantage to confide in me, Mrs. Farrell.”
“All right,” she said suddenly, “you seem to know enough. I’m going to have to trust to your discretion. You could place me in a very embarrassing position if you let Gifford know what I had done.”
“Suppose you tell me just what you did do.”
“I wanted to give Mr. Conway some information I had. I had a list of the persons who had sent in proxies. I thought it was an accurate, up-to-the-minute list that would be of the greatest value to him. I wanted him to have that list.”
“Why didn’t you mail it to him?”
“Because I was afraid someone knew that I had this list. If it was ever traced to me, and then my husband could prove that I had given it to the person he was fighting for control of the company, he’d use it to prejudice the court against me.”
“So what did you do?”
“I intended to give him a big build-up, send him out to a motel somewhere to keep a mysterious appointment, and then phone him and tell him that I’d planted the- list in his car while he was waiting. I wanted it to be handled with such a background of mystery and all that he’d think I was very, very close to Gifford and terribly frightened. I wanted to do everything as much unlike myself as I possibly could. I wanted to cover my trail so thoroughly he’d never suspect me.
“I tried to arrange a meeting with him twice. Tonight he was to ditch the shadows, go to a public telephone in a drugstore that was a couple of blocks from here. I was to telephone him there at six-fifteen.”
“And you did?”
“I did,” she said, “and he didn’t answer.”
“Are you telling me the truth?”
“I’m telling you the truth.”
“You didn’t get him on the telephone and tell him to go to the Redfern Hotel and ask for messages in the name of Gerald Boswell?”
She shook her head, said, “I know nothing whatever about the Redfern Hotel. I’ve heard the name, but I don’t even know where it is.”
Mason said, “You’ll pardon me, but I have to be sure that you’re telling the truth.”
“I’ve told you the truth,” she said, “and I’m not accountable to you. I don’t propose to have you sit there and cross- examine me. I don’t owe that much to Mr. Conway and I don’t owe that much to you.”
“Perhaps,” Mason said, “you owe that much to yourself.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“For your information,” Mason said, “a woman was murdered at the Redfern Hotel this evening. Conway was in the suite where the murdered girl was found. He was sent there by someone who telephoned the drugstore where he was to get his final directions and—”
“So that’s it!” she exclaimed.
“What is?”
“I lost control of him. Someone must have called him there just a few minutes before I did. I called him a minute or two before six-fifteen, got a busy signal on the line. I called him at almost exactly six-fifteen, and there was no answer. I kept ringing and finally a man’s voice answered. I asked if Mr. Conway was there, and he said he was the druggist in charge of the store, and that no one was there. He said a man had been there a few minutes earlier, and had left.”
Mason took out his cigarette case, started to offer her one of his cigarettes.
“Thanks, I have my own,” she said.
Mason started to get up and light her cigarette, but she waved him back, said, “I’m a big girl now,” picked up a card of paper matches, lit her cigarette, dropped the matches back on the table.
Mason snapped his lighter into flame, lit his cigarette.
“Well?” he asked.
She said, “It’s his phone that’s tapped. It’s not mine. I put in the calls from pay stations. You can see what happened. I was anxious to see that he wasn’t followed. I didn’t want anyone to know I had had any contact with him. Someone listened in on the conversation. What about that secretary of his? What do you know about her?”
“Very little,” Mason said.
“Well, you’d better find out,” she said, “because someone beat me to the punch on that telephone call and sent him to the Redfern Hotel. I was going to tell him to meet me in a cocktail lounge about a block and a half from the drugstore, but I wanted to be certain he wasn’t followed,”
“Do you now have an accurate list of the proxies, or—?”
“I now actually have such a list.”
“May I ask how you got it?”
She smoked for a moment in thoughtful silence, then extricated herself from the chair with a quick, lithe motion, said, “Mr. Mason, I’m going to confide in you.”
The lawyer said nothing.
She walked over to a bookcase, took down an atlas, said, “When a woman marries, she wants a man for her very own. She wants security. She wants a home. She wants companionship on a permanent basis.”
Mason nodded.
“I should have known better than to have married Gifford Farrell in the first place,” she said. “He’s a playboy. He doesn’t want a home, he doesn’t want any one woman, and he can’t give anyone security. He’s a gambler, a plunger, a sport.”
