The entire end of the room where Weyman was struggling to escape became a seething mass of spectators. The coroner abandoned any attempt to secure order. The jurors themselves surged from their seats and joined in the melee. Perry Mason looked at his wrist watch, grinned at Coroner Scanlon, and said, “Thanks, Coroner, for the co-operation. I have fifty-seven minutes within which to go to my office, pick up my passport, and catch my boat for Honolulu, the Orient, Bali, Singapore, and wayplaces.”
Chapter sixteen
Perry Mason’s powerful roadster roared into pulsating speed, as the car swept down the road from Los Angeles to Wilmington.
“Well,” he grinned, looking at his watch, “we can just about make it — with luck. But we’ll be starting out with just the clothes we stand in. We won’t have any baggage aboard. It’s a shame all that new baggage of yours is going to be wasted.”
“Oh, no, it isn’t,” Della Street said. “Our baggage is all aboard.”
“It’s what?” Mason asked. “You mean—”
“Keep your eyes on the road,” she warned.
“What’s the catch?” Mason asked.
“No catch at all,” she told him. “You told me to fill that baggage with bricks, old shoes, or anything else. I saw no reason why I should do that, so, instead, I filled it with all my personal belongings. When I took it out of the apartment house I didn’t tell the transfer man to take it to the Trader’s Transfer Company, but told him to take it directly to the President Monroe. Just so Sergeant Holcomb thought it had gone to Trader’s Transfer Company was all that was necessary. And as for your baggage, I hired a valet to go out to your flat, pack up what you needed and ship it. I thought you’d neglect to do it.”
“Good girl,” Mason said, “I should have known you’d think of all the things I forgot— And so Holcomb thought the baggage was at Trader’s. I’m a little rusty about what happened after that because I was stacking the cards to have the inquest go the way I wanted it. What’s the lowdown?”