"I am NOT dressing up in some silly costume and going to a Hallowe'en party." Perry Mason folded his hands on his desk and looked defiantly at his secretary .
"But, Perry," she said in her most persuasive tone, "It doesn't have to be a silly costume. You could go as someone suave and sophisticated." She thought for a moment. "You could be Rhett Butler or Mr Darcy or.…or Rudolf Valentino…"
"Della…"
"Paul is going as Sherlock Holmes " she continued, "but don't tell anyone. It's supposed to be a big surprise". She giggled. "The great detective as the Great Detective! I wonder if he can persuade his current date to go as Irene Adler."
"Della," smiled Perry, "Irene Adler is one of the cleverest women in literature. If he's taking that blonde he introduced us to the other night, I doubt if she could find a body in a flood-lit room."
"That's unkind, Perry," said Della reprovingly. "She can't help being a bit on the dumb side. Maybe Mae West is more her scene."
"Sherlock Holmes and Mae West," laughed Perry, "now there's a combination!"
"Don't change the subject," said Della. "What handsome, debonair character are you going to portray?"
"Della, I have made it quite clear that I am not going. That's final. No arguments."
Della Street knew her boss well enough to sense when to let a subject drop. She usually had the knack of twisting him round her little finger to do her bidding whether he wanted to or not, but she was perspicacious enough to recognise when to give up. "Well, if that's your final word, I'll let Mr Brent's secretary know that you won't be coming, but I presume you won't object if I go?"
"No, of course not, Della. You go and enjoy it. It just isn't my cup of tea."
Della sighed in defeat. Stewart Brent, the owner of the building where Perry Mason had his offices, was hosting a party for Hallowe'en and had invited all his tenants, but Perry was quite adamant that since "costumes" were required, he had no intention of participating. Sometimes he liked to stand on his dignity just a bit too much, thought Della.
Hallowe'en duly arrived. Della had been unable to persuade her boss to change his mind, but he had agreed to pick her up at her apartment, drive her to the party and work in his office till it was time to take her home. He made out that he had work to catch up with, but truth to tell he wanted to make darned sure that no-one else took her home. She had been very secretive about her costume, but when she opened the door to him, he caught his breath. She had decided to go as Cleopatra, and he couldn't keep his eyes off the beautiful eyes now outlined in kohl, the black wig which fell to her shoulders and the slinky dress which hugged her curves. He was sorely tempted just to close the door, take her in his arms and give way to the tingling in his groin at the sight of her. He managed to control himself, however, with the thought that he would be bringing her home later and then… They would have their own Hallowe'en celebration where costumes would very definitely NOT be required.
When they got to the Brent building, Perry gallantly escorted her to the suite on the tenth floor where the party was taking place, then excused himself to take the stairs one floor down to his own office. He took off his jacket and pulled out the brief he was working on. He worked for about an hour, then he realised that he was feeling rather cold. He looked up to reach for his jacket and got the shock of his life to see a woman sitting in the chair on the other side of his desk.
"I'm sorry, I didn't hear you come in," he observed as he rose to greet her. He was sure he had locked the outer office door, but memory can play strange tricks. He sat back down as the woman opposite sat staring at him. She was, he reckoned, about twenty-five years old with very pale skin, piercing blue eyes and she was dressed in a silver lamé flapper dress from the 1920s. She exuded a strong scent of Chanel No 5.
"Have you come down from the Brent party?" he asked. Perhaps she had drunk too much and strayed into the wrong office suite. "Please let me escort you back upstairs."
Still she stared at him, then very quietly she said, "Why, Robert?"
"I'm afraid you are making a mistake," said Perry. "My name isn't Robert and I don't think I've had the pleasure of meeting you before. I think you are in the wrong office. "
She gave him a look which seemed to him to be pure hatred. "Did you think you could use me and cast me aside? What you said when I told you about the baby, it was disgusting! And now I've lost our child. OUR CHILD! I hate you, Robert Ford!"
Perry was at more and more of a loss. "I'm sorry, but my name is Perry Mason. I don't know anyone called Robert Ford and I don't know you. I presume you have wandered down to my office by mistake from Stewart Brent's Hallowe'en party. Let me help you back upstairs."
"This has got nothing to do with Stewart," she said.
Perry noticed with a shiver that all the time she was staring straight at him without blinking. He almost had the feeling that she was staring straight through him. "Please, Miss… I'm afraid I don't know your name, but let me take you back to the party."
"You don't know my name?" she almost spat out. "You knew my name all right while you were making love to me 'Oh God, Myra! Myra! Myra!' you used to scream. That was when you were getting what you wanted. You used me and when I told you I was pregnant, what did you do? You laughed in my face! Offered me $500 to get rid of the baby. Now my life's not worth living. I hate you, Robert Ford and I'm going to kill you!"
Slowly she slipped her hand into the silver lamé bag on her lap and withdrew a small pistol. Perry leapt to his feet but she pointed the weapon straight at his chest.
"My God, she's insane," he thought. "Please, er… Myra is it? You are making a terrible mistake! I think you maybe need some help. Let me go and find someone…"
"Don't move, she snarled. "It's loaded and I know how to use it." He watched horrified as in slow motion her finger pulled back the trigger and fired the gun straight at his heart. He heard the shot. His last thoughts were of Della. "My love, I'm so sorry…" ran through his brain, then a grey mist enveloped him.
"Perry, what's wrong? What's happened?" The mist cleared and he was aware of Della leaning over him as he sat slumped at his desk.
"Della, be careful. She's got a gun," he cried, pulling her to him.
"Who's got a gun, Perry?" she asked. "There's nobody here."
"She shot me. I saw her," he said, then it slowly dawned on him that he was not bleeding or in any way harmed. "The woman who was here. The woman in the silver flapper dress."
"Perry, darling," said Della. "There's nobody here and the office is locked. I think maybe you fell asleep and had a bad dream."
He looked around him, confused. "I suppose you're right, he said. "I must have been dreaming. But it was so real. I could smell her perfume. Chanel No 5. Laura used to douse herself in it. That's how I recognised it." He closed his eyes as if trying to clear his head. Then he smiled at Della. "How was the party? Is it finished?"
"It was fun," she replied. "We ended up telling spooky stories. Stewart Brent told us a very creepy tale. Did you know there was a murder in this building?About thirty years ago when Stewart was a very junior clerk in an insurance company here, a young woman got herself into trouble with one of the bosses in another firm. At first he showered her with gifts. He gave her perfume. Chanel No 5 was her favourite and he said you could smell her coming before you saw her she used it so lavishly. He was married and basically dumped her when she found she was pregnant with his child. One night, it just happened to be Hallowe'en, she came back to the office to confront him. He laughed at her and she pulled out a gun and shot him. Then she shot herself. Stewart couldn't remember which office it was, but it was on this floor."
Perry stared at her. "Did he mention any names?"
"Only that her boss was head of an accountancy firm called Ford and Maddox. He couldn't recall the girl's full name. Only that it was Myra something…He knew her slightly from seeing her in the elevator now and then. The murder was a terrible shock to everyone. Perry are you all right? You look as if you've seen a ghost."
For a long time Perry Mason was silent, then he shuddered and pulled Della to him. "I love you, sweetheart," he whispered. "Let's go home."
He led her from the room with his arm tightly round her waist. He switched off the lights and locked the door. The office lay still. All that remained was the lingering fragrance of Chanel No 5.