“Your brother?” Mason asked.
“Well, my brother’s connections perhaps had something to do with it. They didn’t think he was directly interested.
They did think that I had plenty of capital, and that if anything happened and I found myself in need of more than I had available, my brother was always ready to stand back of me.”
“So,” Mason said, “you didn’t dare to admit that you had been the one who had been with your brother because so much of that conversation had been published in the newspapers.”
“That’s exactly it.”
“Didn’t your brother’s disappearance have a bad effect upon the transaction?”
“I’ll say it did,” Shore said with feeling, “but I was able to find and interest a man who furnished me the necessary capital—taking, as it happened, the lion’s share of the profits. The fact that the affairs of the Shore National were so promptly investigated, the fact that my brother left so large a cash balance—those all helped.”
“You didn’t confide to Mrs. Shore perhaps that you were the one who had been with Franklin?”
“I didn’t confide in anyone. I didn’t dare to at the time.”
“And after the necessity for the secrecy was removed?” Mason prompted.
“I stuck with my story. Put yourself in my position, and you’ll realize I had to.”
“Go ahead.”
“Tonight when Helen told me that Franklin had telephoned her, I was sick with apprehension. I felt that I had to see Franklin before anyone else did.”
“So while Helen returned to the hospital to see how Amber Eyes was getting along, you were out trying to get in touch with your brother. Is that right?”
“Yes. Helen went to the hospital directly after dinner to pick up the kitten. She then took the kitten down to the place where our gardener maintains a little bachelor shack, and then went up to keep her appointment with you.”
“And during that interval of time, you went to the Castle Gate Hotel?”
“Yes. That was why I didn’t come up with Helen to see you.”
“You were trying to see Leech?”
“Yes.”
“Any success?”
“No. I inquired first over the telephone, and was told that Leech had gone out with a man, but would be back soon. That left me in something of a spot. I thought the man might well have been my brother, Franklin. So I went to the hotel and waited. I didn’t know Leech, but I felt certain he was with Franklin and that he’d be back within an hour.”
“You waited?” Mason asked.
“Yes. I sat there waiting until it came time to go and meet you.”
“He didn’t come in?”
“No. At any rate, I don’t think so. I do know Franklin didn’t come in.”
“And the clerk noticed you?”
“Yes. He spotted me as not being one of the regulars. I sat there by the door, and he kept looking at me. He may have thought I was a detective. As I gather from what Lieutenant Tragg said, the hotel apparently caters to men who have somewhat shady backgrounds, and that must make them suspicious of strangers. At first I intended to park my car near the door and wait in the car; but I couldn’t find a parking place within half a block, so I decided I’d go inside and wait.”
“And the fact that you were afraid the clerk might identify you as being the man who had been waiting around earlier in the evening made it absolutely essential that you shouldn’t be seen in the hotel.”
“Yes—that, of course, is in the strictect professional confidence.”
Mason said, “I think you can rest assured Tragg will reason all this out for himself.”
There was a vacant space at the curb. Shore swung his car to the side of the road, parked it, and shut off the motor. “I can’t keep on driving,” he said. “Give me a cigarette, will you?”
Mason handed him a cigarette. Shore’s hands were shaking so that he could hardly hold the flame from the match to the end of the cigarette.
“Go on,” Mason said.
“That’s all there is to tell you.”
Mason glanced back at Della Street, then said to Gerald Shore, “It’s all right, except the motivation.”
“What is wrong with the motivation?” Shore asked.
“You wouldn’t have done what you did and as you did unless the necessity for seeing your brother before anyone else did had been much greater than would have been the case if you were merely trying to protect yourself against an original discrepancy in your statements.”
Shore turned to Mason. “I see that I’ve got to be frank with you.”
“It’s always an advantage,” Mason observed dryly. “As a practicing attorney, you should realize that.”
Shore said, “I think you’ll realize that no one ever knows exactly how honest he is. He goes through life thinking he’s honest, because he’s never been confronted with a sufficient temptation; then suddenly he’s confronted with some crucial situation where he finds himself facing ruination on the one hand and with a chance to turn defeat into victory by doing something which seems very simple but which is—well, not dishonest, but not strictly legal.”
“Never mind the excuses,” Mason said somewhat sharply. “Don’t underestimate Tragg. When he works on a case, he works fast. I want facts. You can fill in reasons and excuses later. And get this straight. All that you’ve told me before this is what I had already deduced. All you’ve done so far has been to cross the t’s and dot the i’s. The thing you’re coming to now—if you tell me the truth—is going to be the determining factor in whether I represent you.”
Shore nervously took the cigarette from his mouth, dashed it out of the window to the sidewalk. He took off his hat and ran his hands through the wavy splendor of his gray hair. “This is something which must never, never come out,” he said.
“Go ahead,” Mason said.
Gerald Shore said, “I begged and pleaded with my brother. I had to have ten thousand dollars. He read me a lecture on my general business methods—a lecture which I wasn’t in a position to appreciate because, if I didn’t get that ten thousand dollars, I was completely ruined. If I did, I felt I’d clean up enough money on that one deal so I could quit taking long chances and become more conservative. My brother finally promised that he would help me. He said that he had some other matters to attend to that night, but that before he went to bed, he would make a check for ten thousand dollars and put it in the mail.”
“A check payable to you?” Mason asked.
“No. A check payable directly to the party to whom the money was due. Time was too short to have a check go through my account.”
“Your brother did that?” Mason asked.
“My brother didn’t. He disappeared without doing that.”
“Then we can take it for granted that after your visit, he was confronted with a certain urgency which made his disappearance so imperative that he forgot his promise to you.”
“I suppose so.”
“When did you learn of the disappearance?”
“Not until the next morning.”
“And that day was the last day you had in which to take some action?”
Shore nodded.
“You had, perhaps, already assured your associates that the matter had been taken care of?” Mason inquired.
“At nine-thirty that morning,” Shore said with feeling, “I rang up the party to whom the payment was due and told him that he would have his check before the banks closed that afternoon, that the check would be made payable to him and would be signed by Franklin B. Shore. About ten minutes after I’d hung up the telephone, Matilda got in touch with me and asked me to come over at once. She told me about what had happened.”
“Now, as I remember it,” Mason said, “the fact of the disappearance was kept from the public for a day or two.”
Shore nodded.
Mason looked at him shrewdly. “During that time, several large checks were cashed,” he said.
Shore nodded.
“Well?” Mason prompted.
“Among them,” Shore said, “was a check to Rodney French for ten thousand dollars.”
“Rodney French was the man to whom you owed the money?”
“Yes.”
“And to whom you had promised the payment?”
“Yes.”
“And that check?” Mason asked.
Gerald Shore said, “That check was made out and signed by me. I forged my brother’s signature. My brother had promised me that I could count on that check. I felt that—that I was entitled to do what I did in all honesty.”
“And Matilda Shore never knew that the check was forged?”
“No one ever knew it was forged. I—I made a good job of it. As it happened, my brother had called up his bookkeeper late that night in connection with some other matters, and had mentioned that he was making out this check to Rodney French for ten thousand dollars.
“I don’t suppose, Mr. Mason,” Shore went on, emotion choking his voice, “I could ever explain to you what all this meant to me. It was the turning point in my career. Prior to that time, I’d been mixed up in a lot of get-rich-quick schemes—legitimate all right, but, nevertheless, promotional gambles. I’d been intent on making money. I guess my brother’s influence furnished the spur which goaded me on. I wanted to be like him. I wanted to show that I, too, had the ability to make money. I wanted the things which went with financial security.
“After the devastating experience which I had that time, I took stock of myself. I wasn’t particularly impressed by what I found.—That’s been ten years ago, Mr. Mason. I think I can truthfully say that I’ve changed since then—changed in a great many respects.”
“Go on,” Mason said. “I’m interested.”
“For one thing, I’ve realized that there’s something more to life than making money.”
“You mean acquiring wisdom, or a philosophy of life?” Mason asked.
“No, I don’t,” Gerald Shore said. “I mean in the duties and responsibilities a man has toward others.”
“In what way?”
“I used to think a man’s life was his own to live as he wanted to live it. I realize now that isn’t true. A man isn’t entirely a free agent. He’s constantly influencing others by his character, by what he says, by the way he lives, by . . .” Shore’s voice choked, and he became silent.
Mason waited, smoking quietly.
Shore went on after a few seconds, “Take Helen, for instance. She was a girl of fourteen, standing, to use a trite expression, on the threshold of life. She had always looked up to me and respected me. She was approaching a time in life when moral values were about to become more significant to her. If something happened, if she had discovered that—well, Mr. Mason, from that time on, I changed my entire goal in life. I got a completely different set of objectives. I began to try and pattern my life so that those who looked up to me wouldn’t— Oh, what’s the use?”
“There’s a great deal of use,” Mason said, his voice kindly.
“That’s all there is to it,” Shore said shortly. “I quit trying to make money. I began to take more of an interest in people, not for what they could do for me, but for what I could do for them. I realized that, to younger persons at least, I was a trustee for certain standards. And I,” he continued bitterly, “a confessed forger, am ranting all this stuff, I who have committed a crime and who thought that crime would go undiscovered, had the temerity to think that I could avoid paying for what I had done.”
Mason waited until his emotion had subsided, then inquired, “How about Rodney French? Did he ask any questions?”
“No. He did go so far as to telephone Franklin’s bookkeeper and ask him if Franklin had said anything about making out that check. That was when the check wasn’t in the morning mail. Upon being assured that Franklin had so advised his bookkeeping department, French took the money and kept quiet.”
“Otherwise, French might have resorted to a little blackmail after he learned of Franklin’s disappearance?” Mason asked.
“I don’t know. I suppose that after he heard of the disappearance and heard my denial that I had been with my brother, French became rather suspicious.”
“And just why,” Mason asked, “did that make you feel that your brother would have become estranged from you?”
“Don’t you see?” Shore said, unmistakable anguish in his voice. “The newspapers dug up a lot of stuff. A lot of the details about my brother’s financial transactions were given to the public, the amount of his bank balance, the checks which had been drawn in the last few days—and there was, of course, mention made of the fact that the last check which he had drawn had been one in favor of Rodney French to an amount of ten thousand dollars.”
Mason gave the matter thoughtful consideration. “You don’t think your brother forgave you—under the circumstances?”
“I had hoped that he would understand and forgive,” Gerald said, “but when he saw fit to make himself known by calling up Helen instead of me, I—Well, you can draw your own conclusions.”
Mason pinched out the end of his cigarette. “If Lieutenant Tragg ever gets hold of all these facts,” he said, “he’ll convict you of first-degree murder.”
“Don’t I know it!” Gerald Shore exclaimed. “And there’s nothing I can do. I feel like a swimmer who’s being carried along by a current against which he can’t struggle, headed toward a deadly whirlpool.”
Mason said, “There’s one thing you can do.”
“What?”
“Keep your mouth shut,” the lawyer said. “Let me do the talking—and that means let me do all of it.”
11
HELEN KENDAL had taken off her coat, hat, and gloves and was reading a book when she heard a car in the driveway.
She glanced at her wrist watch. Surely no one could be coming at this hour, but unmistakably, the car was turning into the private driveway. Then, as the driver kicked out the clutch and she heard the succession of knocks and bangs which came from under the hood, her heart caught, skipped a beat, then started pounding. She felt certain there was only one motor in the world which was in quite such a state of disrepair, yet still running.
She went quickly to the door.
Jerry Templar was getting out of the car, moving with that slow efficiency which seemed almost to border on awkwardness, yet which somehow managed to accomplish so much. He looked slim and straight in his uniform, and Helen realized the Army training had given him a certain determination, an assurance of his ability to accomplish things which had not been there a few months earlier. This man was in some ways a stranger to her, a familiar friend who had become invested with a new, breath-taking power to affect her life, to make her heart skip beats, then pound wildly.
On no account would she mention the murder or anything of the family complications, Helen decided. He had come tonight, unannounced, to see her. With Jerry, there were more important things to talk about. Perhaps tonight—
“Oh, Jerry!” she exclaimed. “I’m so glad to see you!”
“Hello, darling. I saw lights and thought perhaps you hadn’t gone to bed. Can I come in for a few minutes?”
She took his hand, drew him into the hallway, and closed the door. “Yes,” she said, rather unnecessarily.
Helen led the way into the big living room and dropped down on the davenport. She watched Jerry curiously to see where he would sit. Was he going to the chair on the other side of the fireplace, or was he coming over to her on the davenport? Shamelessly she willed him to come over beside her, but he just stood there in the middle of the room.
“You look tired, Jerry.”
He seemed surprised. “Tired? I’m not.”
“Oh! My mistake! Cigarette?” She held a box toward him.
That did it. He crossed the room slowly, took a cigarette and settled down beside her.
“Where have you been all evening?” he demanded.
Helen’s eyes dropped. “
Out,” she said.
“I know that. I’ve called you four times.”
“Twenty cents! You shouldn’t throw money around like that, Jerry.”
“Where were you?” It was almost an accusation.
“Oh, here and there,” she replied evasively. “No place special.”
“Alone?”
Helen looked up at him, and her eyes were mocking. “You’re mighty curious, soldier,” she drawled. “Do all your women sit home every night on the chance you may call?”
“I haven’t got any—women,” he said roughly. “You know I—”
“Go on.”
Instead of going on, however, Jerry jumped up and began pacing the floor.
“Where’s your aunt?” he demanded suddenly. “In bed?”
“She was, the last time I saw her.” Then, very casually, “So are Komo and the housekeeper.”
“Your aunt doesn’t like me!”
“Such perception, Jerry! I’m amazed.”
“What’s she got against me?”
There was a silence.
“I guess I won’t answer that one,” Helen finally decided.
There was another silence.
“Were you out with George Alber tonight?”
“It’s none of your business, of course, but as it happened I was with Uncle Gerald all evening.”
“Oh!”
Jerry looked relieved and settled down on the davenport again.
“When are you going to your officers’ training camp, Jerry?”
“As soon as I get back to the outfit next week, I guess.”
“Monday—six days more,” Helen murmured. “You’re not thinking about anything much or anybody these days except the war, are you?”
“Well, there is a job to be done.”
“Yes, but we’ve still got to live,” Helen said softly. If she could only get him to break through that self-imposed wall of silence. If he would only stop being so ridiculously noble, so self-disciplined, and let himself go for once. She turned toward him, chin up, lips half parted. They were all alone in the big house. The ticking of the grandfather’s clock in the hall was loud.
The Case of the Careless Kitten Page 9
