Winifred led the way down the corridor to the bedroom, which apparently was just as Perry Mason had last seen it, except that the bed had been slept in.
"Where's Douglas Keene?" Mason asked.
She frowned, and said, "I told you all that I knew about him."
"I don't want you to think I'm betraying any confidences," Mason told her, "but it's necessary that these people know what's happening, because they've got to help us. Paul Drake is a detective who works for me, and Della Street is my secretary, who knows everything that goes on. You can absolutely trust their discretion. Now I want to know where Douglas Keene is."
She blinked her eyesrapidly, as though about to cry, but faced them steadily, saying, "I don't know where he is; all I know is he sent me a message saying that he was going to leave, where no one would ever find him."
"Let's take a look at the message."
She pulled back the pillow, and produced an envelope on the outside of which her name had been written. There was no other writing on the envelope, no address and no stamp. She opened the envelope and took from it a folded piece of paper. After a moment's hesitation, she handed the paper to Perry Mason.
Mason, standing near the center of the room, his feet spread wide apart, shoulders squared, read the message with expressionless features. When he had finished, he said, "I'm going to read this aloud," and then read in a monotone: "'Darling: I am up against a combination of circumstances I can't beat. I lost my head and made a mistake, and I'll never have any opportunity to rectify that mistake. Please believe that I'm innocent of any crime, but you'll need lots of faith to hold that belief in the face of the evidence which will be presented. I am going out of your life forever. The police will never catch me. I am far too clever to walk into the traps which catch the ordinary fugitive from justice. I'll travel by plane, and no one will ever find me. Ashton had the Koltsdorf diamonds concealed in his crutch. He had hollowed out a hiding place for them. The diamonds are still there. Give the police an anonymous tip and let them trace the crutch. I shall always love you, but I am not going to drag your name through the mire of a murder trial. Try and make Ashton talk. He can tell a lot. Lovingly yours— Douglas. "
Mason stared steadily at the letter for a while, then suddenly whirled to face Winifred Laxter.
"You didn't show me that note when I was here before," he said.
"No, I didn't have it."
"When did you get it?"
"It was slipped under the door."
"After I left?"
"Yes, I guess so. It must have been if you didn't see it there when you went out."
"You said Douglas had telephoned you."
"Yes."
"He didn't tell you this about the diamonds over the telephone?"
"No."
"How did he know where the diamonds were?"
"I don't know; I only know what's in the note."
"You love him?"
"Yes."
"Were engaged to him."
"We were going to be married."
"You didn't call him Douglas."
"What do you mean?"
"You had some pet name for him."
She lowered her eyes, and flushed.
"And," Mason went on, "when you didn't call him by that pet name, you still didn't call him Douglas—you called him Doug."
"Does that make any difference?" she countered.
"Simply this!" Mason said. "If Douglas had written that note to you, he'd have signed it 'Doug' or some pet name, and it would have been a lot more tragic. There'd have been some affectionate stuff in it, and he'd have told you goodby, and that he loved you. That note wasn't written for you; it was written for the public. That was a note that was given you to show people."
She was watching him with wide eyes, her lips compressed tightly together, as though she were trying to keep from whimpering or letting some damaging statement escape her.
"That note's a blind. Douglas telephoned you, and told you he was in a jam. He wouldn't leave without seeing you. He came to say goodby. You talked him into staying. You told him you'd employed me, and I was going to clear things up. You asked him to stay; he refused. You asked him if he wouldn't at least stay where you could keep in touch with him until after I'd made a complete investigation."
Her face gave no faintest flicker of expression, but she clenched her right fist, slowly brought it up until the muscles were pressing tightly against her lips.
"And so," Mason went on inexorably, "Douglas Keene agreed to stay within reach until the police had uncovered all of the facts, and I had tried to explain those facts in such a way as to establish his innocence. But you wanted to throw the police off the trail; so Douglas Keene left this note that you were to give to me, and later on intended to give to the newspaper reporters."
Mason pointed a rigid forefinger at her. "Speak up," he said, "don't lie to your lawyer. How the hell can I help you if you start concealing facts?"
"No," she said, "that's not true. That's… Oh!"
She dropped on the edge of the bed and started to cry.
Mason strode to the closet door, jerked it open, went to the room which contained the shower, opened the door, and looked about in that room. He frowned thoughtfully, shook his head, and said, "She's too wise to have him where the officers would be apt to look. Paul, get busy and see if there isn't a storeroom around here where boxes and stuff are kept."
Mason strode to the bed, jerked back the covers, felt of them and nodded. "Just one blanket," he said. "She's taken off some of the blankets to give him."
Della Street crossed to Winifred's side, put her arm around the girl's shoulder and said soothingly, "Can't you understand, dear, he's trying to help you? He's only being gruff because time is precious, and he must know the facts before he can plan his campaign."
Winifred slid her head over on Della Street 's shoulder and began to sob.
"Won't you tell us?" Della asked.
Winifred shook her head, rolling it from side to side on Della Street 's shoulder.
Mason strode out of the door to the corridor which ran between booths and lunch counter, peered about him, then crossed behind the lunch counter and started looking into the corners and down under the counter.
Paul Drake had explored a side passageway. Suddenly he gave a shrill whistle. "Here it is, Perry."
Winifred screamed, jumped to her feet, and ran the length of the passageway, her robe billowing out behind her. Mason, walking rapidly, covered the space almost as quickly as the running girl. Della Street, moving at a more leisurely pace, brought up the rear.
A door was open. It showed a litter of broken boxes, old barrels, some cans of paint, a few surplus stores, broken chairs and various odds and ends which had accumulated from the operation of the waffle kitchen.