The case of the waylaid.., p.1
The Case of the Waylaid Wolf, page 1
part #61 of Perry Mason Series
The Case of the
Waylaid Wolf
Erle Stanley Gardner
Chapter 1
It had started to rain that morning when Arlene Ferris parked her car in the fenced-off parking lot reserved for employees in the executive offices of the Lamont Rolling, Casting and Engineering Company.
The precipitation was a cold, wintry rain, and Arlene rolled up the windows of her car, bundled her raincoat about her and walked briskly to the side entrance marked Employees Only.
It was still raining at noon, but there was no necessity for Arlene to leave the building since the employees of the executive officers were able to use the underground tunnel to the cafeteria in the main building.
At quitting time Arlene was in the midst of work on some specifications which she knew should go out in the night’s mail. It would take her about thirty minutes to finish up, but since Arlene was never one to watch the clock on a secretarial job, she pounded away at the typewriter, heedless of the exodus of other employees.
When she handed in the work to George Albert, the office manager, he glanced at the clock and was gratefully surprised.
“Thank you very much, Miss Ferris,” he said.
“Not at all. I realized these should be in the mail tonight.”
“Not all of our girls are that considerate. We certainly appreciate your loyalty to the job. It surprised me you were willing to waive overtime.”
“A good job is worth being loyal to,” she said, and wished him good night.
The rain had turned into a cold drizzle. Reflected lights shimmered on the wet paving of the parking lot. Arlene hurried to her car, opened the door, got in, turned the key and stepped on the starter.
Sometimes the car took a little longer to start on cold, rainy nights, so she wasn’t too concerned at first when the only sound which emanated from underneath the hood was the grind of the battery-driven starter with no explosive response from the motor.
After the first minute and a half, she became distinctly worried and looked around at the now all but deserted parking place. Only a few cars were spotted here and there, and Arlene suddenly realized that her battery was not turning the motor as fast as it had been. Her car seemed definitely stalled.
Suddenly a cheerfully competent voice said, “What’s the matter? Having trouble?”
Arlene rolled down the left window to inspect the smiling, confident eyes of the tall, broad-shouldered man whose raincoat was belted about his trim waist.
“I seem to be having trouble with my motor,” she said.
“Better let the battery rest for a minute,” the man said. “You’re not doing any good, just grinding away at it. Let me take a look.”
He stepped to the side of the motor, raised the hood professionally, plunged his head and shoulders inside, then emerged after a moment and said, “Watch my right hand. When I wave it, press the starter. When I move it down sharply, stop. Be sure the ignition key is turned to the ‘on’ position. All ready?”
Arlene nodded gratefully.
Once more the head and shoulders vanished from sight. She watched the right hand. It waved gently, and Arlene pressed the starter. Almost at once tho hand was plunged downward in a swiftly emphatic gesture, and Arlene took her foot off the starter.
The man lowered the hood of the car, walked around and shook his head. “No spark,” he said.
“What does that mean?”
“Something’s definitely wrong with your electrical system. There’s no use running down your battery by using the starter. You’re just not getting any current to the spark plugs. I’m afraid there’s not much I can do in the rain. With the hood up, water keeps dripping down on the distributing system—that’s probably what’s the matter with it anyhow. I think you’d better leave it right here tonight. By tomorrow the rain will be over, the sun will be shining and the car will start right off.”
“But,” Arlene said, “I…”
The man’s smile was engaging. “Exactly,” he said. “I have my car right here. I’ll be glad to take you home.”
As Arlene hesitated, he added, “That is, if it isn’t too far. If it is, I’ll see that you get a bus or a cab.”
Arlene took another long look at the face. The mouth was smiling. He had regular, even teeth. There was just the hint of something about the lips which indicated he was rather spoiled, but the eyes were expressive and there was a lean competence about him. Moreover, he wouldn’t have been in the parking lot unless he was connected with the company, and if he was connected with the executive branch of the company he undoubtedly was all right.
“You’re sure I won’t be inconveniencing you?”
“Not at all,” the man said, opening the door. “Roll up your window tight because it may rain some more tonight. I think it’ll be clearing by midnight—at least that’s the weather report. Here’s my car, right over here.”
When she saw the car she knew who he was. This was the son of old Jarvis P. Lamont, the owner of the company —Loring Lamont. He had been away on a tour of South America “surveying the business field" and had only recently returned. Arlene had, however, seen his car once when the elder Lamont had been chauffeured to the plant in it.
The young man held the door open for her with deferential courtesy. As she leaned back against the soft cushions, appreciating the rich leather upholstery, Loring Lamont jumped in the other side, and the motor, already running, purred into multi-cylindered response. A current of warm air flowed reassuringly about her chilled ankles. The big car glided into motion so gently she hardly realized it had started. Loring Lamont drove out past the watchman at the entrance to the parking lot.
“Right or left?” he asked.
“Left,” she said.
“That’s fine. That’s the way I was going. How far?"
“My speedometer clocks it at two miles,” she told him. And then added with a nervous laugh, “However, my car is not quite as late a model as this one.”
“What’s the address?” he asked. She told him.
He frowned, said, “Say, look, I… what’s your name?"
“Arlene Ferris.”
“Mine’s Lamont,” he said. “Loring Lamont. Look, Miss Ferris, I suddenly remembered I’ve got some papers to deliver for the old man … gosh, I’m sorry. I heard your motor grinding away and realized you were running your battery down, and . . well, you’re pretty easy on the eyes and I guess I forgot my responsibilities for a minute.”
“That’s all right,” she told him. “You can take me to where I can get a bus … or a cab.”
“Now look,” he said, “I can do better than that. If you aren’t in a hurry, just settle back and relax. I’ll have to deliver those papers, but the car is warm and comfortable. You can turn on the radio, get the latest news, music or anything you want. Then after I’ve delivered the papers I’ll take you home. Or, if you’d like, we can stop for something to eat. I’m absolutely free after I deliver those confounded papers.”
She hesitated for a moment, relaxing in the warm, dry comfort of the car. “All right,” she said, “I’m in no hurry. If it won’t inconvenience you …”
“No, no,” he protested quickly. “I’ve got to come back to town anyway after I deliver the papers.”
“Back to town?” she asked quickly. “Is it far?"
“Not with this car,” he said. “We’ll get out of traffic and hit the freeway. Don’t worry. Listen to the radio and .. . and I hope your acceptance includes dinner.”
“We’ll discuss that a little later,” she said. And then, with a quick laugh, added, “After I get to know you better."
“Fair enough,” he said.
The plant was within a mile of the freeway. Lamont turned on the freeway, drove for some fifteen minutes, then turned off, purred along a paved road for four or five miles, then turned off on a dirt road that wound its way among hills. They were now entirely out of traffic.
“How much farther is it?” Arlene asked, her voice sharpened with suspicion.
“Only a little way,” he said. “We have a little country place up here, and my dad’s associate is waiting for the papers there. Dad told him I’d be out.”
“Oh,” she said, and settled back again. She knew of the existence of the country place.
The dirt road was winding and twisting, a barbed-wire fence on each side. There were No Trespassing signs, then the car eased to a stop in front of a locked gate. Loring Lamont opened the gate, then drove along a graveled driveway, past a swimming pool, and finally stopped at a house which had a wide porch running around it, furnished with luxurious outdoor furniture.
“Well, what do you know!” Loring Lamont said. “The guy doesn’t seem to be here.”
“It’s certainly all dark,” she said, “and the gate was locked.”
“We keep the gate locked, but he has a key,” Loring said. “However, the place is dark, all right. You wait here and I’ll run in and see if there’s a note or something. My gosh, Miss Ferris, I certainly hate to have brought you all the way out here in case … but the man must be here! He’s to meet me here and wait for the papers … he’s staying here tonight and Dad’s coming out later for a conference.”
“Perhaps he went to sleep,” she said, “and forgot to turn on the lights.”
“You wait right here,” he said. “I’ll run in and see.”
He left the motor idling, jumped out his side of the car and hurried into the house. She saw lights come on, on t
he porch, then lights in the interior of the house.
It was almost five minutes before he returned. His manner was apologetic. “Now,” he said, “there are complications.”
“What?”
“Dad’s associate was delayed in town,” he said. “He’s on his way out here now. I got Dad on the phone and told him I’d leave the papers, but he says I’ll have to wait, that those papers are classified and that I must deliver them personally and accept a receipt in person. It won’t be long. Come on in and we’ll wait. I don’t think it will be over a few minutes.”
She said, “I’ll wait here in the car and …”
He laughed. “Don’t be so upstage. Anyhow, you can’t wait in the car. I’m not too long on gas and I don’t want to leave the motor idling. Without the motor running, the heater will be off, and … come on in, I’ve turned up the thermostat and the house will warm quickly. You’ll be very comfortable. If you’d like a drink we can fix up something that will put sunshine into the atmosphere.”
He removed the keys from the car, then went around to her side of the car and held the door open invitingly, and after a moment’s hesitation she gave him her hand, jumped to the ground and followed him into the house.
The interior was furnished with fine old Navaho rugs and mission furniture. It had an atmosphere of quiet luxury.
Loring Lamont crossed over to a sideboard, opened a door disclosing a sparkling array of glasses, opened another door to a compartment containing a stock of liquor.
“A drink while we wait?” he asked.
“No, thanks,” she said. And then, looking at her wrist-watch and for the first time having a vague feeling of apprehension, said, “I really must be getting home.”
“Oh, come now,” he said. “You’re not in that much of a hurry. You’re going to have dinner with me. Don’t worry. Our man will be here in a few minutes, then all I have to do is give him the papers and we’ll be on our way. I’m going to have a little drink. Come on, be sociable.”
“Well,” she said finally, “I’ll take a Martini.”
He mixed the drinks with a practiced hand. “Dry?” he asked.
“Rather dry, thank you.”
He stirred the cocktails, poured them, handed her a glass, said, “Here’s to getting better acquainted,” and sipped the drink.
The telephone rang.
He frowned his annoyance, said, “Now what is it?” and crossed over to the telephone. "Yes? Hello,” he said.
He was silent for a moment, then said, “Oh, come now. I’m sorry but I’ve waited just as long as I can … where is he now? Where can I meet him? But I tell you, I can’t wait any longer. I have a very important appointment and there’s someone with me who has to … but look, Dad …”
He said “hello" several times, indicating that he had been cut off, then dropped the receiver into place and came across to frown moodily over the glass at Arlene.
“This is the deuce of a note,” he said. “That was Dad on the telephone. Old Jarvis P. himself, in one of his worst moods. He’s opened up a brand new angle of discussion with this man, and I’m instructed to wait until he gets here. He says it may be as much as an hour.”
Loring Lamont seemed genuinely concerned. “I’m terribly sorry,” he said. “I got you into this. I should have told you right at the start… only I didn’t know myself. The man was supposed to be waiting out here. When old Jarvis P. gets in one of those moods that’s all there is to it. Finish your drink and I’ll see if there is anything to eat in the refrigerator. We can at least have an appetizer.”
Before she had a chance to protest, he tossed off the rest of his cocktail, went into the kitchen and she heard him rummaging around, opening the door of the refrigerator, closing it, opening and closing cupboard doors.
He came back and said, “How are you on biscuits?”
He said it so easily and naturally that, for the moment, she lost her suspicion and, emboldened by the warmth generated by her drink, said, “I’m pretty darn good on biscuits.”
“Swell,” he said. “If you’ll make some biscuits, I’ll fry some ham and eggs, and we can have dinner right here. I’m sorry I got you into this, but I simply must deliver those papers, and … it won’t be as good a dinner as we could have had in a restaurant—except for the biscuits, of course. I have an idea they’ll be out of this world.”
“What do you have?” she asked. “Flour, milk, butter, shortening?”
“Everything,” he said, “everything except fresh bread. There’s no fresh bread here. There’s fresh milk. We also have powdered milk, lots of canned goods, lots of ham, eggs, bacon, sausage, coffee, liquor. We keep the place provisioned because Dad likes to come out here occasionally for a conference, a more intimate type of conference than he can have in the office.”
She unbuttoned her jacket, asked, “Where’s the hand-washing department?”
“Through that other room,” he said. “First door to the left. You’ll find everything—what do you want out here in the kitchen?”
“An apron mostly,” she said.
She washed her hands, returned to the kitchen, and, feeling the effect of the cocktail, really began to enjoy herself. Loring Lamont turned on a hi-fi and the room was filled with music. Arlene mixed the biscuits and permitted herself a few dances with Loring Lamont while they were baking. To her delight, they turned out to be perfect—fluffy, flavorful biscuits which melted in her mouth when she tasted one.
Loring Lamont took a bite and was lavish in his praise.
He broke eggs in the frying pan, put ham on hot plates, lifted the percolator of coffee, smiled at her and said, “Now this is real cozy, real homelike.”
At that moment the telephone sounded a strident summons.
Loring Lamont seemed for the moment genuinely surprised, then he excused himself, went to the phone, picked up the instrument, said cautiously, “Hello,” then after a moment, “Oh, yes, hello … hello. All right. Okay. Now wait a minute let’s not discuss it now. I’m .. . just a minute. Hold on. Okay.”
Loring Lamont stepped out of the little alcove which housed the telephone, said to Arlene, “Will you take those eggs off the stove? Then go ahead and start eating—I won’t be long. This is just an annoying interruption.”
He went back, said into the telephone, “Okay. I’ll take it on another line. Just hang on for a minute. Okay.”
Loring Lamont left the phone off the hook, hurried back to another part of the lodge, picked up an extension phone and Arlene could hear a mumbled conversation.
She eased the eggs out of the frying pan to the plates, stood looking at the tempting array of ham, eggs and hot biscuits, thinking that this was homelike indeed, that someone always called on the telephone when hot food was on the table.
Then she heard Loring Lamont hurrying back. He went to the telephone, picked up the receiver, slammed it into place and came toward her.
“Something serious?” she asked.
He kept on advancing toward her. For a moment she was puzzled. Then he had her in his arms, pulled her to him, kissed her hard on the lips.
She tried to push him away.
She was startled at the change in his face. There was no longer any mask of polite affability. There was savage, primitive passion, and a ruthlessness which frightened her.
Arlene pushed herself far enough back to aim a stinging slap at his face.
His eyes showed anger for a moment, then there was only a mocking smile. “Come on, baby,” he said, “don’t be a prude. Get off your high horse. We’re stuck out here for a while and we may as well make the most of it. After all, I’m not exactly repulsive. At least I don’t think I am. For your information, girls who have been nice to me have gone a long way in the company. Dad’s private secretary, for instance, got her job through me. She was in a stenographic pool, and …”
“Well, I don’t need to go a long way in the company,” she blazed. “And don’t have to put up with anything like your tactics!”
Suddenly she realized a fatal discrepancy in his earlier remarks.
“You told me,” she said, “that the man had already started, that he was on his way out here. Then after that telephone call you said your father was detaining him.”
“I was mistaken the first time. They’d told me he’d started out so I wouldn’t get too impatient. Then Dad called me and said he was holding him there for further conference.”
