The Case of the Baited Hook (21 page)

"Have you," he asked, "got a warrant?"

There was no mistaking the triumph on Sergeant Holcomb's face. "That," he said, "was exactly what I was hoping you'd say… No, Mr. Mason, I haven't a warrant, but I'm going to get one in just ten seconds. The skids are all greased."

He strode across to the telephone, picked up the receiver, and said, "Get me the D.A.'s office."

Mason shrugged his shoulders. "All right," he said. "I'll go with you to the district attorney's office."

"It's too late for that now," Sergeant Holcomb said.

Mason's voice was cold. "I think not," he said. "I have never refused to accompany you. I simply asked you if you had a warrant for my arrest."

Sergeant Holcomb dropped the receiver. "All right, Mason," he said. "Let's get started."

Mason delayed as long as he dared getting his hat and coat. Then he said, "I'll have to call my receptionist and tell her I'm going to be out."

Sergeant Holcomb said, "Make it snappy."

Mason called Gertie to the private office. She was still panting from her struggles, and she glared with hostility at the officers.

"Gertie, I'm being taken to the office of the district attorney for questioning. I want you to make some notes on things that are to be done in cases that are pending."

"Make it snappy," Sergeant Holcomb said.

Mason said, "In the case of Smith versus Smith, arrange for the taking of a deposition."

For a moment there was a frown of perplexity on Gertie's forehead; then with the realization that Della Street was not in the office and the knowledge that the files held no case of Smith versus Smith, she said, with a flash of comprehension, "Yes, Mr. Mason. Is there anything else?"

"Yes. In the case of Jones versus Raglund, my time is up for the filing of an answer and cross – complaint tomorrow. In the event I don't return and am unable to file the answer and cross – complaint, arrange to get a stipulation extending my time."

"Yes, Mr. Mason. And suppose I can't get a stipulation?"

"Then you'll have to get a court order," Mason said.

"Just how will I go about doing that?"

Sergeant Holcomb said, "Come on. You'll have a chance to telephone her after the D.A gets done with you."

"This is an important matter," Mason said. "I can't let the case go by default."

"Well, you can telephone her. Come on. We haven't got all day. The D.A is waiting."

Mason said to Gertie, "Simply explain the circumstances to the presiding judge. Now in the case of Hortense versus Wiltfong, you'll have to give back the retainer. Explain to Mr. Hortense that I'm going to be unable to handle his case. That's not to be done unless I fall to return by five o'clock, or…"

Sergeant Holcomb moved toward Mason. "My God, you don't have to dictate memoranda covering your whole practice… Say, what are you doing, sparring for time?"

Mason said, "That's all, Gertie… Come on, gentlemen."

13

PERRY MASON FOLLOWED SERGEANT HOLCOMB INTO THE district attorney's outer office. The plain – clothes officer brought up the rear.

Mason saw Paul Drake seated beside a man who was obviously a police detective.

"Hello, Paul," Mason said, affecting surprise. "What's the idea?"

Drake got to his feet. "So far no one's told me."

Sergeant Holcomb said, "Come on, Mason. The D.A.'s waiting."

Drake shot forward his hand impulsively. "Perry," he said, "no matter what they say, I want you to know that I'm for you. No one can ever make me believe there's anything crooked about the way you do things."

Thanks," Mason said, gripping Paul's hand and feeling, as he did so, a folded piece of paper which Drake had surreptitiously slipped into his palm.

"Come on," Holcomb said impatiently, standing in a double doorway which led to an inner suite of offices.

The detective who had been seated next to Drake intervened. "You two guys don't need to go into a huddle." he said. "Break away."

Mason turned away, casually slipping his right hand into his trousers pocket.

"This way," Holcomb said.

Beyond the double doorway, a long corridor stretched past doors bearing the names of deputies. At the far end of the corridor, a mahogany door was inscribed simply with the words, "Hamilton Burger, District Attorney."

"He's expecting us," Sergeant Holcomb said, and opened the door to walk in. Mason followed, and the plain – clothes man, apparently having done his duty by having herded the lawyer thus far, turned to stand with his back to the wall near the doorway.

The automatic door check clicked the door shut.

Mason saw Hamilton Burger seated behind his desk, a barrel – chested, thick – necked individual who gave the impression of having great physical strength and a bulldog mental tenacity.

"How do you do, Mason," he said. "Sit down over here in this chair."

Mason nodded and glanced around at the office. A man, who was evidently a shorthand reporter, sat at a little table, a notebook opened in front of him. The page of the notebook which was visible was half filled with shorthand characters, evidently notes taken of a conversation with some other witness. Carl Mattern sat back against the wall looking very self – righteous. Mrs. Tump, seated beside him, glowered belligerently at Mason, and beside her, Byrl Gailord, who had evidently been crying, raised her eyes to regard Mason with hurt dignity. There were dark smudges where the mascara had been dissolved by her tears and smeared by her soggy handkerchief.

"All right," Mason said. "What is it?"

Hamilton Burger said, "I have sufficient information to justify a warrant for your arrest. Because you are an attorney and so far have had what officially amounts to good standing, I've decided to give you an opportunity to explain your actions."

"Thank you," Mason said with acid politeness.

"I may say," Burger went on, "that while you are in good standing at present, that has been due, in my opinion, largely to luck. I have long warned you that your methods would eventually get you into trouble."

"I think we can dispense with any lectures," Mason said. "My methods are my own, and my ethics are my own. I'm responsible for both. If you have anything to say, say it."

Hamilton Burger said, "Sit down in this chair, Mason."

Mason took the chair which was nearest to the district attorney's desk, separated by only a few feet from that of the shorthand reporter.

"I warn you. Mason, that this interview is to be reported, and that anything you say may be used against you. You don't need to make any statements unless you want to. If you do make them, they are to be deemed free and voluntary statements, made without coercion or promises."

"Forget the formula," Mason said. "Let's get down to brass tracks. I know all the preliminaries."

Burger nodded to Mattern. "Mr. Mattern," he said, "I want you to tell Mr. Mason exactly what you've told me. You can condense it to simply hit the high spots."

Mattern said, "What's the use? He knows it all."

"Nevertheless," Burger said, "I want you to repeat it."

Mattern raised his eyes to stare steadily at Mason, a stare of cold accusation. He said, in a strong, well – modulated voice, "I was Mr. Tidings' secretary. Last Tuesday morning Mr. Mason called at my office."

"What time?" Mason asked.

"Shortly before nine o'clock," Mattern said.

Hamilton Burger said, "Kindly don't interrupt the statement of the witness, Mr. Mason. Your opportunity for a defense will come later. I simply want you to be advised of the information which has been placed in my hands. This is not the time to cross – examine witnesses."

"If you want to accuse me of anything," Mason said, "and expect me to answer that accusation, I'm going to know the details. Go ahead, Mattern."

Burger frowned with annoyance.

Mattern, still with his eyes fixed steadily on Mason, said in the same level voice, "Mr. Mason told me that Mr. Tidings had met with an accident. He didn't say what sort of an accident. He said that Mr. Tidings, according to his information, was dead, that he was representing Byrl Gailord, that Byrl Gailord was the beneficiary under a trust which Mr. Tidings was administering, that he understood Tidings had intended to make a purchase of a large block of stock in the Western Prospecting Company, that it was very much to the advantage of his client to have the deal go through, that he thought the stock was a good investment for her, and that he was interested in having the amount involved-fifty thousand dollars-earmarked by having it appear that at least that much of Tidings' funds were held in the Gailord trust."

"Did he say anything about it being to the interests of other clients to have it appear that Tidings' death should be assumed by the police to have occurred at a time subsequent to that at which the death had actually occurred?" Hamilton Burger asked.

"Not in so many words," Mattern said, frowning as though searching his recollection. "I think I've already told you exactly what he said, as nearly as I can remember, Mr. Burger."

"Well, tell it to me again," Burger said.

"He said that there were reasons which he wouldn't go into which would make it very much to the advantage of his clients to have it appear that the time of death did not occur until after noon on Tuesday."

"Did he say client or clients?" Burger asked.

"Clients. I remember that very distinctly," Mattern said.

"But he didn't say specifically whether by clients he referred to Miss Gailord and some other client?"

"No, he didn't. But I do remember that he used the word clients-in the plural."

"Very well," Burger said. "Go ahead."

Mason faced the hostility of Mrs. Tump's eyes, the silent accusation of Byrl Gailord, and casually took a cigarette case from his pocket. He selected a cigarette and made a search of his pockets for matches. In the course of the search, he managed to extract from his right – hand trousers pocket the folded note which Drake had given him. He snapped a match into flame, and lit the cigarette. As Mattern resumed his statement. Mason made a surreptitious study of the message Drake had slipped him. It had been printed in ink upon a narrow strip of paper. The words were simple and to the point: "Freel is registered in St. Gennaine Hotel under name Herkimer Smith, Shreveport, Louisiana."

Mason shifted the match to his left hand, dropped it into an ash tray; his right hand casually dropped into the side pocket of his coat and deposited Drake's printed message.

Mattern went on steadily. "Mr. Mason told me that under the law of agency I would have no authority to conclude the deal if Tidings were dead, that his clients wanted the purchase consummated, that it would be better for all concerned to have it appear that the transaction had been completed before Tidings died. He said that if I'd co – operate with him, he'd give me ten thousand dollars when the purchase had been completed."

"Did you agree to co – operate with him?" Burger asked.

"I objected at first," Mattern said. "Naturally the information came as a shock to me, and I was astonished to think that a man in Mr. Mason's position would make such a proposition to me."

"And did you communicate your reluctance to Mr. Mason?"

"I did. I told him that I couldn't do it."

"And what did Mason say?"

"Mason pointed out to me that Tidings was dead, and there was nothing I could do that would restore him to life, that it would be much better for all concerned, particularly his clients…"

"And he used the word in that connection and in the plural?" Burger asked.

"That's right, he did. Yes, sir."

"Go ahead."

"…that it would be much better for his clients if it was made to appear that Mr. Tidings had met his death after noon of that day. He asked me if it wasn't true that Mr. Tidings had secured a cashier's check in an amount of fifty thousand dollars which was to be delivered for the purchase price of the stock. I told him that this was true. So then Mr. Mason suggested that he would call me later on, on the telephone, that I was to tell his secretary that Mr. Tidings was available and would talk with Mr. Mason. Mason said that he'd come on the line, and I could carry on a conversation, and he would pretend that it was Tidings on the other end of the line, that I was also to advise any other person who called that Mr. Tidings was in his office but was engaged in a conference and couldn't be disturbed, that I was to go ahead with the stock purchase just as though Tidings were there, and that I was to swear that Tidings had accompanied me down in the elevator; and then, to clinch matters after the purchase had been completed, I was to swear that Tidings had called up and asked me if everything had gone through according to schedule."

"And he promised you ten thousand dollars for this?" Burger asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Was that ten thousand dollars paid?"

"Yes, sir."

"How?"

"In fifty – and hundred – dollar bills."

"What did you do with that money?"

"I deposited it in a bank."

"The bank where you carry your regular account?"

"No, sir. It was another bank. I went to a bank where I wasn't known. I told them that I wished to open an account and made the deposit under a fictitious name."

"What name?"

"Anthony Blake."

"Did you tell anyone about this?"

"No, sir… Not until I told you early this morning."

Burger glanced at Mason. "All right. Mason," he said, "what have you to say to this?"

"I want to ask him a couple of questions," Mason said.

"I don't think this is the time or the place," Burger said. 'This isn't a trial. I'm merely putting my cards on the table showing you the information which I have at hand."

Mason ignored the comment and said to Mattern, "I suppose, Mattern, the district attorney found out about that fictitious account and asked you to explain it."

"He did nothing of the sort," Mattern said indignantly. "No one knew anything about that account. My conscience started bothering me, and I finally came to the district attorney and explained all the circumstances to him."

Mason turned to Hamilton Burger. "You can see what happened," he said. "Mattern knew that Tidings was dead. He confessed to me that he'd discovered that fact early Tuesday morning. Bolus, who's president of the Western Prospecting Company, was planning on unloading his stock. He'd offered Mattern a ten – thousand – dollar bonus when the deal went through. I pointed out to Mattern that with the facilities at your command, you'd be able to trace that payment through the bank. He knew he was trapped, so he concocted this story."

"That's a lie," Mattern said.

The district attorney said, "You can't make anything like that stick. Mason. I've talked with Emery Bolus, the president of the Western Prospecting Company. It's true that the sale was of private stock. I believe it was the stock held by Bolus, who wished to unload, but Bolus knows nothing whatever of any ten – thousand – dollar payment and had no inkling that Tidings was dead at the time the transaction was completed. You can't escape the consequences of your act by trying to drag others into it."