The Case of the Curious Bride Read Online Free PDF

made-over private residence. In a short time it would be torn down to make way, in turn, for a larger apartment. Mason pressed the button on Apartment B, opposite the pasteboard slip on which appeared the words "Gregory Moxley."
    Almost immediately there was the sound of an electric buzzer releasing the door catch; the lawyer pushed open the door. A long flight of stairs loomed ahead of him. He climbed the stairs, heard the sound of motion in the corridor and then nodded to a man whose figure loomed at the head of the stairs. The man was some thirty-six years of age, with quick, watchful eyes, a ready smile, and a genial manner. Despite the heat of the day, his clothes were flawless and he wore them with distinction. He emanated an atmosphere of physical well-being and prosperity. "Good afternoon," he said. "I'm afraid I don't know you. I was expecting a visitor who had an appointment with me."
    "You mean Rhoda?" asked Perry Mason.
    For a swift instant the man stiffened as though bracing himself for a blow. Then the booming geniality was once more apparent in his voice. "Oh," he said, "then I was right after all. Come on up, come in and sit down. What's your name?"
    "Mason."
    "Glad to know you, Mr. Mason."
    A hand shot out, gripped Perry Mason's hand in a firm, cordial clasp.
    "You're Moxley?" Mason asked.
    "Yes, Gregory Moxley. Come on in. Certainly is hot, isn't it?" He led the way to a library, indicated a chair.
    The room was comfortably furnished, although the furniture was rather old-fashioned. The windows were open. Across fifteen feet of space loomed the side of a modern apartment house. Mason sat down, crossed his legs, reached mechanically for his cigarette case. "That other apartment house shuts out some of your ventilation, doesn't it?" he asked.
    Moxley gave it a frowning glance of annoyance.
    "It raises hell with both my privacy and my ventilation. On days like this it makes an oven out of my apartment."
    Moxley grinned good-naturedly. It was the grin of one who has learned to take the world philosophically, accepting the bitter as well as the sweet.
    "I presume," Mason said, "it won't be long before they tear this apartment down and put up one of those big apartments here."
    "I suppose," Moxley agreed, his eyes studying Mason's face in thoughtful appraisal, "that it's inevitable. Personally, I don't like it. I like small apartment houses. I don't like these big places where there's a manager constantly snooping around, and an air of impersonal efficiency."
    "You seem to be the only tenant in this place," the lawyer went on.
    Moxley's laugh was quick and contagious. "Did you come here to discuss real estate?" he asked.
    Mason joined in his laugh. "Hardly," he said.
    "What did you come to discuss?"
    Mason stared steadily at the man's watchful eyes.
    "I came," he said, "as a friend of Rhoda."
    Moxley nodded. "Yes," he said, "I presumed as much. I didn't suppose you had…"
    The words were interrupted by the sound of a harshly strident bell which exploded the hot silence of the afternoon. Moxley frowned, looked at Perry Mason. "Was any one," he asked, "coming here to join you?" Mason shook his head.
    Moxley seemed undecided. The smile faded from his face. The look of genial urbanity vanished. His eyes hardened into speculative appraisal. The lines of his face were grim. He got up from his chair without a word of excuse, walked on noiseless feet to the doorway, and stood where he could see both the corridor and Perry Mason.
    The bell rang again. Moxley pressed a button, and stood waiting while an electric buzzer released the door catch. "Who is it?" he called in a voice that had entirely lost its booming cordiality.
    "Telegram," said a man's voice. There were steps on the stairs, a rustle of paper, then steps going down the stairs and the slamming of the front door.
    Moxley walked back to the room, tearing the envelope open. He unfolded the message, read it, then looked suspiciously at Perry Mason.
    "This message,"