The Casebook of Sidney Zoom

by Erle Stanley Gardner

  Vera Thurmond appeared with coffee steaming in a cup, coffee that was black and bitter.

  “We’ve got to get this down her,” she said, “and make her keep it down. Then you’ve got to walk her around the deck where she can get the fresh night air.”

  Together they got two cups of coffee down the young woman’s throat. Samson and Zoom got her to the deck, started walking her along the moist planks — planks that were kept spotlessly clean and on which the night dew had left a thin film of moisture.

  “Let me alone,” she said thickly, “I want to lie down.”

  Zoom paid no attention to her, but kept pushing her along. By degrees, the fresh air of the night and the coffee got in its work.

  “I think we can take her down below now,” Zoom said.

  “Oh, I’m all right now,” she told him in a voice that was bitter. “Why didn’t you leave me alone? Now I’ve got to do it all over again.”

  Zoom made no comment but assisted her down the companionway to the dining salon.

  Samson turned to Zoom.

  “I wonder,” he said, “if...”

  “Well,” said Zoom, “go ahead. What is it?”

  “If,” said Samson in a voice that quavered, “I could have some of that coffee? I haven’t eaten for three days.”

  He moved toward a chair, stumbled, and pitched forward on his face.

  Zoom bent over him, but it was the young woman who reached him first.

  “You poor boy,” she said.

  Zoom raised Samson from the floor and into a chair. His eyelids fluttered as Vera Thurmond brought him a steaming cup of coffee. Samson drank the coffee, turned on them savagely.

  “Keep your damned sympathy,” he said, “I don’t want it.”

  There had been a few drops of brandy in the coffee and after it had taken effect, Zoom fixed an egg-nog.

  “Take this,” he said, “and then we’ll try something solid and substantial.”

  He turned to the girl.

  “What,” he asked, “is your name?”

  “Say,” she said staring around curiously. “What kind of a place is this?”

  “A yacht,” said Zoom.

  “Who owns it?”

  “I do.”

  “What do you do with it?”

  “Sail it occasionally.”

  “What’s the idea of getting this fellow and me aboard?”

  “I thought,” said Zoom, “I could help you, and at the same time help myself.”

  “You could have left: me alone and helped me a lot more,” she said.

  Zoom stared at her steadily.

  “When I have heard your story,” he said, “I can give employment to this man.”

  “How?” she inquired, curiosity getting the better of her.

  “I don’t know,” he said, “but there will be a way. Things are never hopeless. People who brood over their problems, lose sight of obvious solutions. People who kill themselves because they can’t find a way out are like the persons who get lost every year and lie down to die within a few hundred yards of a habitation; like the wanderer in the desert who perishes of thirst within a mile of water.”

  She looked at Burt Samson.

  “Where does he come in?” she asked.

  “I am going,” said Sidney Zoom, “to give him a job helping to untangle your affairs.”

  “Who’s going to pay him?”

  “I’m not,” Zoom said. “We’re going to collect from some other person.”

  The young woman stared at him incredulously.

  Vera Thurmond nodded her head.

  “He always does,” she said.

  The young woman took a deep breath.

  “Okay,” she said, “I can stand it if you can. My name’s Nell Benton. Did you ever hear of Finley Carter?”

  “Rather an eccentric millionaire,” asked Zoom, “whose hobby is the collection of paintings and the playing of chess?”

  “That’s the one,” she said.

  “I’ve heard of him,” Zoom said.

  “Do you know him personally?”

  “No. I’ve never met him.”

  “I acted as his secretary,” she said. “I was discharged.”

  “Why?” asked Zoom.

  “Because of dishonesty,” she said.

  She stared at Sidney Zoom as though seeking to probe his thoughts.

  “You don’t seem particularly shocked,” she said after a moment, her voice showing the bitterness of her feelings. “Why don’t you get a smirking look of self-righteousness on your face?”

  Sidney Zoom’s voice was patient. “I don’t get shocked,” he said, “and I am not self-righteous. As far as the law is concerned, it is an excellent system for the majority of cases; it falls far short in certain individual cases. Under those circumstances, I have no hesitancy about stepping outside the law myself.”

  The blue eyes widened.

  “Go on,” Sidney Zoom said, “give me the details.”

  “It was so simple,” she said bitterly, “that it sounds absurd. Someone made very fair copies of a couple of rare paintings, and substituted them for the originals.”

  Sidney Zoom’s face showed quick interest.

  “One of the originals,” she said, “was found in my room, another one was found in a pawn shop. The pawnbroker said that a young woman had left it with him. He had no conception of the value of it, and had given her but five dollars on it. The description he gave of the woman fitted me exactly.

  “Mr. Carter,” she said bitterly, “was most generous! He simply discharged me and kept the money that was due me. He said that he wouldn’t send me to jail, inasmuch as he had recovered the paintings. I tried to get other employment; there was no use. I had been with Finley Carter for five years. It’s hard enough to get a job anyway, there aren’t many vacancies. Once or twice I got people interested in me. They rang up Carter. He told them that he had discharged me for dishonesty.”

  Sidney Zoom jack-knifed his lean length into a swivel chair at the head of the dining table. His eyes glowed with a fierce interest.

  “This,” he said, “is one of the most interesting situations I have ever encountered in my life.”

  She stared at him, her eyes flashing.

  “Are you,” she asked, “trying to make fun of me?”

  “On the contrary,” said Sidney Zoom, “the obvious, outstanding facts not only show your innocence, but convince me that there is some remarkably sinister plot afoot.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “In the first place,” said Zoom, “the fact that the paintings were copied indicates that there is an artist who is in on the conspiracy.”

  “Naturally,” she said scornfully.

  “The artist,” went on Sidney Zoom, “is a friend of someone in the house. He must have had unlimited opportunity to make copies of the pictures that were stolen. That means that he must have access to the house.”

  “Yes,” she said sarcastically, “even the master mind of Mr. Finley Carter reasoned that far. The fact that the artist had his opportunity to work undisturbed, showed that I was his accomplice.”

  Zoom shook his head from side to side in silent negation.

  “If,” he said, “you had been with Finley Carter for five years you would have known the value of the paintings. If you had gone to the trouble and risk of having them copied, you wouldn’t have disposed of one of them for five dollars. Moreover, if you had an artist as your accomplice, the artist would have known of channels through which the pictures could have been disposed of to advantage. Therefore, it is perfectly obvious that the object of the scheme was to discredit you.”

  “But why?” she asked, her face showing interest.

  “That,” said Sidney Zoom, “is one of the things we will find out. What were your duties?”

  “I handled his correspondence.”

  “Did you have access to any funds?”

  “None... That is, there was an account of five hundred dollars that
I handled.”

  “What account was that?”

  “Housekeeping money.”

  “It was fixed at five hundred dollars?”

  “Yes. I made out checks on it, Mr. Carter signed the checks. Usually he signed them in advance. He figured that he could trust me to the extent of five hundred dollars.”

  “Was it a separate account?” asked Zoom.

  “Yes.”

  “How did he keep it separate from his other accounts?”

  “By keeping it in an entirely different bank. It was a branch bank located in the neighborhood — the Second National Affiliate. His regular account was in the Mechanics National.”

  “How many servants?” asked Sidney Zoom.

  “There was James Stearne, chauffeur; Harry Exter, butler and valet; and Mrs. Ethel Clint, housekeeper. There was no one else other than myself. Finley Carter is a crusty old bachelor.”

  Sidney Zoom glanced at the portholes; they showed the grayish light of coming day. He looked at the haggard, drawn features of Burt Samson, then nodded to Vera Thurmond.

  “Get the cook up, Vera,” he said. “We’ll have breakfast. Put Samson to bed. Send his clothes up to the best ready-to-wear store you can find, and get a new suit of blue serge. Duplicate the other as nearly as you can.”

  He nodded his head to the pair.

  “Vera Thurmond,” he said, “will show you your staterooms. You’ll get some sleep.”

  “Say,” said Samson getting to his feet, “what kind of a nut factory is this?”

  “Shut up,” Sidney Zoom said without raising his voice. “You wanted work — you’re going to get it, and it’s going to be hard work. You’re going to get some grub on your stomach; you’re going to get some sleep, and then you’re going to have a job.”

  “A job,” said Samson sneeringly, “who’s going to pay me?”

  Sidney Zoom’s voice was as final as the tolling of a bell.

  “Finley Carter,” he said, “is going to pay.”

  Sidney Zoom turned to Nell Benton.

  “During the time,” he said, “that you worked for Carter, I take it you became rather familiar with his signature?”

  She nodded.

  “And can you tell me,” asked Sidney Zoom, “where I can find a specimen of his signature?”

  “In my purse,” she said bitterly, “I asked him for a reference. He gave me a letter stating that it was impossible for him to give me a reference. That I had been discharged because of dishonesty.”

  Zoom nodded thoughtfully.

  “I should like that letter,” he said.

  “What,” she inquired, “do you want to use it for?”

  “As a sample,” Sidney Zoom said.

  “A sample?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I desire to forge the signature of Finley Carter.”

  Chapter III

  Zoom’s Plan

  Sidney Zoom had considerable aptitude with a pen, and he practiced the signature of Finley Carter until he was able to dash it off with that smooth speed which makes for artistic forgeries.

  He presented his forged credentials to the cashier of the Second National Affiliate, and it would have taken an expert some time to have detected the fact that the signature of Finley Carter was, in fact, a forgery.

  Perhaps had the signature been on a check, the matter would not have gone through quite so expeditiously, but being on a letter to the effect that the bearer was making an audit of Carter’s books in order to secure some information in connection with a refund from the income tax department, the signature was accepted without question.

  Within a matter of minutes, Sidney Zoom found himself ensconced in a little cubby-hole office, with the statements and vouchers pertaining to the account of Finley Carter before him.

  The account, as Zoom noticed, had been used just as Nell Benton had claimed — for the payment of housekeeping expenses. The account seldom went below three hundred dollars, and seldom above five. Checking over the date and amount of deposits, Zoom was able to ascertain that the millionaire lived unpretentiously and that his existence was governed by a methodic regularity.

  It was within the past few days that the account had suddenly broken from its conservative deposits and withdrawals. There were deposits which ran into the thousands, and two withdrawals had been made that had virtually cleaned out the account.

  Sidney Zoom armed himself with this information and then waited upon the cashier.

  “Can you tell me,” he said, “why it is that the account which ran around five hundred dollars for months has suddenly become very active in large amounts?”

  The cashier smiled.

  “Mr. Carter,” he said, “used this bank merely as a housekeeping convenience until quite recently. Then he had some trouble with the bank which handles his main business. There was a misunderstanding over something — I don’t know the exact nature of it, but Mr. Carter decided to give us more of his business.”

  “Would it,” asked Sidney Zoom, “be possible for you to tell me how you received this information?”

  “Over the telephone,” said the cashier.

  “And with whom were you talking?”

  “With Finley Carter himself.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “Quite certain,” said the cashier. “I know his voice fully as well as I know his signature.”

  “The withdrawals,” Zoom pointed out, “are quite large and are virtually in the form of cash.”

  The cashier stared at him curiously.

  “Those also,” he said, “are okayed by telephone instructions from Mr. Carter.”

  Zoom bowed gravely.

  “Thank you,” he said. “I have completed my investigations here.”

  The cashier was overly polite.

  “You understand,” he said, “that we want to do everything we can to accommodate Mr. Carter. We consider his account a valuable one, and he can rest assured we will give him the very best of service.”

  “When I see Mr. Carter,” said Sidney Zoom, “I shall tell him that your cooperation with me has left nothing to be desired.”

  The clerk thanked him, and Sidney Zoom left the bank and entered his automobile. His forehead was furrowed in frowning concentration as he drove rapidly to the float where his yacht was moored.

  Nell Benton, looking rather white, her eyes dark with mingled emotions, wore some lounging pajamas which Vera Thurmond had found for her and surveyed Sidney Zoom with puzzled eyes. Burt Samson, attired in his new suit, seemed somehow to be more certain of himself, to have taken on a certain added vitality which radiated from him in an atmosphere of positive assurance.

  Zoom nodded to Vera Thurmond.

  “I want you,” he said, “to ring the residence of Finley Carter, Tell whoever answers the phone that you’re one of the bookkeepers at the Second National Affiliate, that you desire to ask him a question about his account Ask him if a check for twenty-two thousand dollars, issued to the Wheeling Construction Company, is regular. And I want you, Miss Benton, to listen on an extension telephone. I want you to listen carefully to the sound of Finley Carter’s voice. I want you to tell me if it sounds natural.”

  Nell Benton stared at him with eyes that grew wider.

  “Why, he couldn’t issue a check for twenty-two thousand dollars on that account,” she said. “He doesn’t keep anything in it except enough money for housekeeping.”

  “He’s keeping plenty in it now,” Sidney Zoom said grimly, “and apparently is keeping in constant communication with the bank over the telephone.”

  Vera Thurmond put through the call. The yacht had a private switchboard which was connected with a telephone cable at a private connection Zoom had arranged at the mooring float, and Zoom was able to listen on one extension while Nell Benton listened on the other. Vera Thurmond followed his instructions to the letter, making an inquiry about the validity of the check.

  Sidney Zoom, listening, could find no faintest trace of tension, no lack of sponta
neity. The voice seemed edged with impatience as it announced that the validity of the check had already been confirmed in a telephone communication to the cashier.

  “I will,” said the voice with petulant impatience, “be forced to transfer my account if these telephone calls continue. Certainly the check is good. Checks that come in over my signature should be honored.”

  “Yes,” said Vera Thurmond in a patient voice, “but you see, the amount was rather large and the Wheeling Construction Company secured what was virtually a cash payment...”

  “What the devil do I care what they did with it?” rasped the voice. “The check was given to them for a consideration. I received the benefit of it. They’re entitled to the cash. That’s what the check is for. Any time you people feel that you can’t cash my checks, all you’ve got to do is to say so.”

  “It’s not that,” Vera Thurmond said sweetly, “but the fact that the check was rather large in its amount. We simply wanted to protect you and your account, Mr. Carter.”

  “The amount isn’t large,” said the voice, “that is, it’s not unusually large. My account is an active account and a large account.”

  “Thank you,” said Vera Thurmond, and hung up.

  Sidney Zoom glanced inquiringly at Nell Benton.

  “It’s his voice all right,” she said, “but I can’t understand it. I don’t think it’s like him to talk that way, and yet there can be no mistaking his voice.”

  “Did he sound as though he might be under a strain, or as though he were being threatened?” asked Sidney Zoom.

  She shook her head slowly.

  “No,” she said, “he sounded exactly natural — that is, his voice did — but I don’t think he would have adopted that attitude toward a check for that amount. There’s something funny about it.”

  Sidney Zoom nodded.

  “Just who of the servants,” he asked, “comes into personal contact with Finley Carter?”

  “The chauffeur,” she said, “doesn’t unless he’s called. Exter is in constant contact with him. The housekeeper comes when she’s summoned, otherwise she does the cooking and has charge of the house. A woman comes in to do the cleaning.”

  Zoom turned to Burt Samson.