The Case of the Reluctant Model

“And how did he know about it?”

“Maxine Lindsay told him.”

“And why did she tell him?”

“Because he’s been befriending her. She’s been trying to get started as a photographic portrait painter and Rankin had been helping her. She was grateful to him and—”

“Oh-oh,” Drake said. “I begin to get the picture. It does look a little fishy.”

“Everything is there, every element,” Mason said. “Confidentially, Paul, Rankin came to me and wanted me to file suit against Durant, I told him that was the foolish way of doing it, that he should get Olney to file the suit, that this would put Durant behind the eight ball and force him out of business.”

“Rankin wanted him forced out of business?”

“I didn’t read his mind and wouldn’t tell you if I had. Durant is a fourflusher and isn’t doing the game any good. I told Rankin he couldn’t afford to mix his reputation up in it; that he should play it so the whole case hinged on the picture itself. So Rankin went to Olney, Olney got his attorneys, the attorneys called me and there you are.”

“And I take it you told Olney’s lawyers that they had to have everything sewed up?”

“Hell, I didn’t need to tell them,” Mason said. “They’re lawyers. They knew what had to be done. They got art experts to appraise the painting. They relied on me to get the affidavit that would show Durant had made the statement that it was phoney.”

“Well,” Drake said thoughtfully, “it’s a damned good vest button and it may fit on a vest. How do we start finding out?

“First,” Mason said, “you get your men lined up. Then I’ll put in a call for Maxine at the number she left... Take a look at that number, Della, then skip down to the office and consult your notes. You have her apartment number. See if it’s her apartment and—”

“No,” Della Street said, “it isn’t her apartment, I know that. The exchange is different.”

“Okay,” Mason said, “let’s call her.”

“Now?” Drake asked.

“Now,” Mason said. “I think having her meet me at a place where we can put shadows on her will solve the problem. I’m willing to bet that after she sees us she makes tracks to Durant... Paul, you get on one extension, Della gets on the other and I’ll talk with her while you’re listening and making notes.”

“We can do better than that,” Drake said. “I’ll switch in on a recording.”

Mason grinned and said, “You’d be too legitimate about it, Paul. You’d have a beep on it.”

Drake shook his head. “I’m ethical, Perry, but I’m not that ethical.”

“All right,” Mason said, “go ahead and record the conversation. Della, you dial the number. Paul, get your recorder running. What phone do I take, Paul?”

Drake said, “Della dials on this phone, I listen on this one, and when she gets the party you pick up that phone, Perry. Now Della, remember that we don’t want her to have an idea it’s an extension phone so you say, ‘Just a minute, Miss Lindsay, I’ll put Mr. Mason on.’ Then you say something in a low voice into the receiver which makes it sound as if you’re talking to Perry, such as, ‘Here she is, Chief,’ or something of that sort.”

Della Street nodded, picked up the phone. “All ready?” she asked.

Drake threw a switch under the desk, said to Della Street, “Press that button for an outside line. I’m all ready.”

Drake gave one final word of caution. “Now remember,” he said, “don’t anybody cough, don’t breathe so she can hear you over the telephone. If she hears three persons breathing she’ll get wise. Everybody keep absolutely quiet except the one who’s doing the talking.

“Go ahead, Della.”

Della Street’s nimble, trained fingers whirled the dial of the telephone. When the whirling dial had come to rest there was a moment while the phone could be heard ringing, then a thin, frightened voice said, “Hello?”

“Miss Lindsay?” Della Street asked.

“Yes, yes,” the voice said. “Who is this? Is this Miss Street?”

“That’s right,” Della said. “You wanted to talk with Mr. Mason. He’s right here, I’ll put him on.”

“Oh yes, yes, please,” she said.

Della Street turned her head, spoke in a low voice and said, “Here she is. She’s on the line, Chief.”

Mason waited half a second, then said, “Yes? Hello. Hello, Miss Lindsay, this is Perry Mason.”

“Oh, Mr. Mason, I’m so glad you called. I just had to get in touch with you and I didn’t know what to do.”

“What seems to be the trouble?” Mason asked.

“I’m in terrible trouble, Mr. Mason. It’s something private. It’s something I can’t confide in anyone, but I’m going to have to... well, I’m going to have to leave and I didn’t want Mr. Rankin to suffer because of — well, you know — so I thought it was only fair to tell you.”