For a moment panic gripped Stewart Bedford. He hurried back to the other room, found his hat and his brief case. He opened the brief case, looked for his gun. The gun was gone.
He put on his hat, held the brief case in his hand, closed the door into the adjoining unit, and by so doing shut out all of the light except a flickering red illumination which came and went at regular intervals.
Bedford pulled aside the curtain, looked out and saw that this light came from a large red sign which flashed on and off the words The Staylonger Motel, and down below that a crimson sign which glowed steadily, reading Vacancy.
Bedford tried the door of the motel, shuddering at the thought that perhaps Geraldine had left the door locked from the outside. However, the door was unlocked, the knob turned readily, and the door swung open.
Bedford looked out into the lighted courtyard. The units of the motel were arranged in the shape of a big U. There were lights on over each doorway and each garage, giving the motel an appearance of great depth.
Bedford looked in the garage between the two units which he and Geraldine had been occupying. The garage was empty. The yellow car was gone.
Faced with the problem of getting out where he could find a taxicab, Stewart Bedford realized that he simply lacked the courage to walk down the length of that lighted central yard. The office was at the far end, right next to the street. The manager would be almost certain to see him walking out and might ask questions.
Bedford closed the door of unit fifteen, walked rapidly around the side of the building until he came to the end of the motel lot. There was a barbed wire fence here, and Bedford slid his brief case through to the other side, then tried to ease himself between the wires. These barbed wires were tightly strung; Bedford was nervous, and just as he thought he was safely through, he caught the knee of the trousers and felt the cloth rip slightly.
Then he was free and walking across the uneven surface of a field. The light from the motel sign behind him gave him enough illumination so he could avoid the pitfalls.
He found himself on a side road which led toward the main highway, along which there was a steady stream of automobiles coming and going in both directions.
Bedford walked rapidly along this road.
A car coming along the main highway slowed, then suddenly turned down the side road. Bedford found him-self caught in the glare of the headlights. For a moment he was gripped with panic and wanted to resort to flight. Then he realized that his would be a suspicious circumstance which might well be communicated to the police and result in a prowl car exploring the territory. He elevated his chin, squared his shoulders, and walked steadily along the side of the road toward the headlights, trying to walk purposefully as though going on some mission—a businessman with a brief case walking to keep some appointment at a neighboring establishment.
The headlights grew brighter. The car swerved and came to a stop abreast of Bedford. He heard the door open.
“Stu! Oh, Stu!” Elsa Griffin’s voice called.
She was, he saw, half-hysterical with apprehension, and in the flood of relief which came over him at the sound of her voice he didn’t notice that it was the first time in over five years she had called him by his familiar nickname.
“Get in, get in,” she said, and Stewart Bedford slid into the car.
“What happened?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Bedford said. “All sorts of things. I’m afraid we’re in trouble. How did you get here?”
“Your telephone message,” she said. “Someone who said he was a waiter telephoned that a man had left a message and a twenty-dollar—”
“Yes, yes,” he interrupted. “What did you do?”
She said, “I went down to the motel and rented a unit. I used an assumed name and a fictitious address. I juggled the figures on my license, and the manager never noticed. I spotted that yellow car—I’d already checked the license. It was a rented car from one of the drive-yourself agencies.”
“So what did you do?” he asked.
“I sat and watched and watched and watched,” she said. “Of course I couldn’t sit right in the doorway and keep my eye on the cabin, but I sat back and had my door open so that if anyone came or went from that cabin I would see it, and if the car drove out I could be all ready to follow.”
“Go on,” he said. “What happened?”
“Well,” she said, “about an hour and a half ago the car backed out and turned.”
“What did you do?”
“I jumped in my car and followed. Of course, not too close, but I was close enough so that after the car got on the highway I could easily keep behind it. I had gone a couple of miles before I dared draw close enough to see that this blonde girl was alone in my car. I turned around and came back and parked my car. And believe me, I’ve had the devil of an hour. I didn’t know whether you were all right or not. I wanted to go over there, and yet I was afraid to. I found that by standing in the bathroom, with the window open, I could look out and see the garage door and the door of the two units down there at the end. So I stood there in the bathroom watching. And then I saw you come out and go around the back of the house. I thought perhaps you were coming around toward the street by the back of the houses. When you didn’t show up, I realized you must have gone through the fence, so I jumped in my car and drove around, and when I came to this cross street I turned down it and there you were.”
“Things are in quite a mess, Elsa,” he said. “There’s somebody dead in that cabin.”
“Who?”
“Binney Denham.”
“How did it happen?”
“I’m afraid he was shot,” he said. “And we may be in trouble. I put my gun in my brief case when I got that phone call last night. I had it with me.”
“Oh, I was afraid,” she said. “I was afraid something like that might happen.”
“Now wait a minute,” Bedford said. “I didn’t kill him. I don’t know anything about it I was asleep. The girl gave me a drugged drink—I don’t think it was her fault I think someone got into the cabin and drugged the whole bottle of whisky. She poured drinks out of that.”
“Well,” Elsa Griffin said, “I have Perry Mason, the lawyer, waiting in his office.”
“The devil you have!” he exclaimed in surprise.
She nodded.
“How come you did that?”
She said, “I just had a feeling in my bones. I knew there was something wrong. I rang Mr. Mason shortly after you left the office and told him that you were in trouble, that I couldn’t discuss it, but I wanted to know where I could reach him at any hour of the day or night Of course, he’s done enough work for you so he feels you’re a regular client and … well, he gave me a number and I called it about an hour ago, right after I returned from chasing that blonde. I had a feeling something was wrong. I told him to wait at his office until he heard from me. I told him that it would be all right to send you a bill for whatever it was worth, but I wanted him there.”
Stewart Bedford reached out and patted her shoulder. “The perfect secretary!” he said. “Let’s go.”