The Case of the Queenly Contestant

It was two o’clock the next afternoon when Della Street, answering a call from the receptionist, said into the telephone, “Just a moment; I’ll call you back, Gertie.”

Della dropped the telephone into its cradle, said to Perry Mason, “We have a man in the outer office who says his business is urgent. His name is Jarmen Dayton. He says that he has to see you right away upon a matter of the greatest importance — to you.

“Gertie told him he would have to have more specific information than that and he said he was representing The Cloverville Gazette.”

“An attorney?” Mason asked.

“Apparently not,” she said. “He gave Gertie only the name of Jarmen Dayton.”

The lawyer’s eyes narrowed. “I had a hunch about that case yesterday,” he said. “Bring Dayton in, Della, and we’ll find out exactly what he wants.”

Della nodded, left the office, and returned with a man in his late forties. He was partially bald and of stout build, and he affected a brusque manner.

“Mr. Mason!” he exclaimed, pushing his way across the office, holding out a rather pudgy, short-fingered hand. “This is indeed a pleasure! A very great pleasure!”

The lawyer shook hands.

“I’ve come quite a distance to see you, sir. I thought perhaps I’d have some trouble since I had no appointment, but...”

“You could have telephoned,” Mason said.

“Believe it or not, Mr. Mason, I’ve been going too fast to pause for telephones, had to catch a jet plane by the skin of my eyeteeth — just barely did make it.

“Don’t like to run; doctor told me not to. But in an emergency you forget about everything except catching that plane. Mind if I sit down?”

“Please do,” Mason said. “Now you’re representing The Cloverville Gazette?”

“That’s right. Thought I’d better come out here and have a talk with you.”

“You’re an attorney?”

The man ran a hand over his high forehead, brought his palm down along the back of his neck, then rubbed the side of his jaw. “Not exactly,” he said.

“Well, let’s be exact,” Mason said; “either you are or you aren’t.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re an employee of the paper?”

“Well, there again I have to say not exactly. Now, don’t start cross-examining me. Mason. I know the managing editor quite well, and he thought I’d better talk with you man to man — no telephone stuff, you understand, just right across the desk, eyeball to eyeball, face to face, man to man, put our cards right on the table.”

Mason tapped the blotter on his desk with his forefinger. “There’s the table.”

“This Calvert case,” Dayton said. “Something of a mystery there — and a story, a whale of a story. Now, of course, the paper doesn’t want any lawsuits, but the paper does want the story. The darn thing is twenty years old, but people still talk about it — that is, the old-timers — garbled versions, all that sort of thing — not fair to the community, not fair to Ellen Calvert.”

“Let’s get this straight,” Mason said. “The newspaper sent you all the way out here to talk with me and try to get that Calvert story — and all the newspaper wants it for is to put an item in its column of what happened twenty years ago. Is that right?”

Again Dayton rubbed his hand over his head. “Well, now, Mr. Mason,” he said, “you keep putting me in a spot — you really do. The truth of the matter is that after the newspaper published this little lead that was sent in by one of its readers asking what had happened to Ellen Calvert, the phone started ringing. Readers in droves rang up and said that they had always wondered about Ellen Calvert, that it was a story the paper should publish.

“Now the paper may have been just a little conservative when you talked with the editor yesterday. Of course, you understand time is a couple of hours later back there. Anyway, when they got to checking things — well, it was thought I’d better come out here and put the cards on the table.”

“Keep putting them on the table,” Mason said, “and turn them face up.”

“Well, we want to find her. We want to find out what’s happened to her. We’re even in a position to make a payment — a very substantial payment.”

“For a country newspaper?” Mason asked.

“We aren’t country any more,” Dayton said; “we’re city.”

“How much?” Mason asked.

Dayton’s eyes studied Mason’s face. “A payment to you, Counselor, for your cooperation and a payment for Ellen Calvert.”

“How much?”

“How much would be required?”

“I don’t know.”

“I think,” Dayton said, “we could put up the required amount, whatever it might be — that is, of course, within reason, you understand, Mr. Mason, within reason.”

“I’ll have to give that matter some consideration,” Mason said.

“Of course you will, Mr. Mason, of course, of course. You’ll have to take it up with your client. I understand perfectly.”

Dayton abruptly got to his feet. “Do you want to call me or shall I call you?”

“You had better give me a number where I can reach you,” the lawyer said.