The Case of the Mischievous Doll

“I do,” she interposed. “I don’t like fingerprints. That is, I don’t like the idea of being fingerprinted. However, if you would like to compare my thumbprint with the print on the licence, here’s my thumb. But I don’t want to make fingerprints. I just don’t like the idea of getting ink all over my fingers and feeling like a criminal... Can you compare the thumb itself with the print and tell?”

Drake gravely took a small magnifying glass from his pocket, moved over to sit beside her.

“Permit me,” he said as she produced the driving licence. He gently took her hand in his, held the thumb under the magnifying glass, then looked at the print on the driver’s licence.

“I have to make a transposition this way,” he said, “and it’s a little difficult. It would simplify things if you’d...”

“No ink,” she said, laughing nervously.

“It just means I’ll be a little longer,” Drake said.

Della Street winked at Perry Mason.

Drake moved his glass back and forth from the thumb to the print on the driver’s licence, then looked up at Perry Mason and nodded. “All right,” he said, “check. You’re Dorrie Ambler. But, of course,” he added hastily, “we’ll check on the appendicitis operation.”

She got to her feet abruptly, moved over to a corner of the room.

“I’ll get away from the windows,” she said.

She slipped off her jacket, raised her blouse to show a small strip of bare skin, then became suddenly self-conscious and pulled it back down.

“Actually,” Mason said, “the thumbprint is enough.”

“No, no,” she said, “I want you to...” She broke off, laughing nervously. “After all,” she said, “I suppose a lawyer is like a doctor and I think nothing of being examined by my doctor. Well, here goes.”

She pulled a zipper at the side of her skirt, slipped her waistband down and pulled her blouse up.

She stood there for a second or two, letting them view smooth, velvety skin, its beauty marred by an angry red line, then suddenly shook her head, pulled the skirt into position and pulled up the zipper.

“Heavens,” she said, “I don’t know why, but I just feel horribly undressed.”

“Well, we’ve seen it,” Drake said, “and in a few months the colour will leave that scar and you’ll hardly know it’s there.”

“You can identify me?” she asked.

“Well,” Drake said, smiling, “with that thumb and that appendectomy scar I think I can make a pretty good identification if I have to.”

“That,” she said, “is all I want.”

While she had been fumbling with her clothes, Della Street had swiftly opened Dorrie Ambler’s handbag, looked inside, snapped the bag shut and then catching Mason’s eye, nodded to him.

“All right, Paul,” Mason said significantly, “I guess that’s all. You’re a witness. You can make the identification.”

“Perhaps it would help,” Drake said, “if I knew what this was all about.”

“It would help,” Dorrie Ambler said, “if I knew what it was all about. All I know is that either I have a double or I’m being groomed as a double for someone else and I’m... I’m afraid.”

“How are you being groomed?” Mason asked.

“I’ve been given these clothes to wear,” she said, flouncing the skirt up in such a way that it showed a neat pair of legs well up the thighs. “I’ve even been given the stockings, the shoes, skirt, jacket, blouse, underwear, everything, and told to wear them, and I’m following certain instructions.”

Mason said, “Are there any cleaning marks on those clothes?”

“I haven’t looked.”

“It might be a good plan to look,” Mason said, “but it probably would take fluorescent light.”

She said, “I... I’m doing something on my own, Mr. Mason, and I’ll be back later on.”

“Just what do you contemplate doing?” Mason asked.

She shook her head. “You wouldn’t approve,” she said, “and therefore you wouldn’t let me do it, but I’m going to force the issue out into the open.”

Abruptly she picked up her handbag, looked at her watch, turned to Mason and said, “I presume your secretary handles the collections.”

Mason said to Della Street, “Make a ten-dollar charge, Della, and give Miss Ambler a receipt.”

Della said, “This way, please,” and led the client out of the office.

Mason and Drake exchanged glances.

“You’ve got a man on the job?” Mason asked.

“Jerry Nelson,” Drake said. “He’s one of the best in the business. It just happened he was in my office making a report on another assignment when Della came in with your note. I also have a second man in a car at the curb... Boy, that’s a dish!”

Mason nodded.

“What do you suppose is eating her?” Drake asked.

“I don’t know,” Mason said. “We’ll find out. Probably someone is grooming her for a double in a divorce action. Let me know just as soon as your men have a definite report.”

“She’ll just go back to her apartment now,” Drake said.

Mason shook his head. “I have a peculiar idea, Paul, she’s going someplace with a very definite plan of action, and she has a gun in her purse.”

“The deuce she does!” Drake exclaimed.

Mason nodded. “Gertie spotted it when she was in the outer office, and Della confirmed it by taking a peek in her purse while you were studying feminine anatomy.”