The Case of the Queenly Contestant

“There are several million people located somewhere in this vicinity,” she said.

“You don’t think they can trace you?”

“There is only one way they can trace me,” she said, “and that is through the Indianapolis trail — and the newspaper simply has to be stopped before they start following that trail.”

Mason nodded to Della Street. “Get me the managing editor of The Cloverville Gazette on the line, Della.”

“Shall I tell them who’s, calling?” Della Street asked.

Mason nodded. “Better put the call through from the switchboard in the outer office, Della.”

Della Street nodded, went out to give the call to Gertie at the switchboard.

When she had gone, Mason said to his client, “You have reason to believe there is something more behind all this than just the desire on the part of some reader to dig into the past and find out what happened to you as a beauty-contest winner?”

She nodded.

“Care to tell me what it is?” Mason asked.

“I don’t think that is necessary,” she said. “Are you going to tell the editor of the paper that I am a client of yours?”

“Not in so many words,” Mason said.

Della Street returned to the office. “The call is going through,” she said.

“Della,” Mason said, “give Ellen Adair a dollar bill.”

Della Street glanced at Mason quizzically.

Mason indicated the petty-cash drawer.

Della opened it, took out a dollar bill, gravely handed it to Ellen Adair.

“Now then,” Mason said, “Della Street is a resident of Hollywood who is thinking of producing a play. She may want to give you a part in that play. She...”

The telephone rang.

Della Street picked up the receiver, nodded to Mason.

“Hello,” Mason said, “is this the managing editor of The Cloverville Gazette?... I see. I’m Perry Mason, an attorney in Los Angeles, and I am representing a Hollywood party who is interested in a deal with Ellen Calvert, who was the subject of an article which appeared a short time ago in your paper.”

“Well, well, well,” the voice at the other end of the line said, “this is indeed an honor. We’re attracting attention quite far away from our local sphere of influence.”

“You are, indeed,” Mason said. “Have you got anywhere with the story of Ellen Calvert?”

“We’re doing some research. We’ve got some very fine photographs of her when she won the contest. There was a banquet by the Chamber of Commerce — lots of copy. We’ve got photographs and files and...”

“Kill it!” Mason said.

“What was that?”

“I said kill it!”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean,” the managing editor said.

“I mean kill it. Take your men off it. Forget it. Stop it. Don’t touch it with a ten-foot pole,” Mason said.

“May I ask why not?”

“Primarily because I’m telling you not to touch it. If you do, you’re going to get into a whole mess of trouble.”

“We are not accustomed to having the editorial policies of this newspaper dictated by persons who ring up and make threats.”

“I’m not making threats,” Mason said, “and I have no desire to intimidate you. I’m simply representing a client and taking the first step which is necessary to protect the interests of that client — to wit, telling you to kill the story.

“Now then, you probably have some attorney who represents you. I would much prefer to deal direct with your attorney. I will explain to him the legal reasons back of the position I am taking.”

“If you could tell me the legal reason, if you could give me just one good legal reason,” the editor said, “I’d feel a lot different about all of this.”

“Ever heard about the invasion of privacy?” Mason asked.

“What newspaperman hasn’t?” the editor said. “Although I understand it’s rather hazy as far as the legal applications are concerned. But the doctrine is well known.”

“Well,” Mason said, “the law of invasion of privacy protects a person against having her privacy invaded. It is the right of a person to be let alone.”

“Now just a minute,” the editor said. “I’m no lawyer, but there are certain exceptions to this rule. When a person becomes newsworthy, the right of privacy no longer exists. When a person deliberately puts himself in a position where he is newsworthy, the doctrine...”

“Don’t waste my time telling me the law,” Mason said. “Ask your attorney to call me on the phone.”

“Do you dispute the legal points I am making?” the editor asked.

“Certainly not,” Mason said. “Those legal points are all right, but after the particular events which made a person newsworthy have terminated, the right of privacy again exists.”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow you,” the editor said.

“If the cashier of your local bank embezzled a hundred thousand dollars, that would be news,” Mason said. “You could publish photographs of the embezzler. You could cover the trial of the embezzler. You could cover the sentence.