“I can keep an eye open,” Mason said. “If I find something that will justify my employment, I’ll take it up with you. The court will probably appoint some trust company as a trustee. The trust accounts will have to be carefully examined.”
“Can I be appointed?” Mrs. Tump asked.
“Perhaps,” Mason said, “but a court would be more inclined to appoint a company which had auditing facilities at its command.”
“I’d serve without compensation just to get things straightened up.”
“We’ll have to wait a few days until we can find out more about it,” Mason said. “A court might permit Miss Gailord to nominate the trustee.”
“I’d want Mrs. Tump, of course,” Byrl Gailord said.
The telephone on Mason’s desk rang sharply. Mason said, “Excuse me,” picked up the receiver, and heard the voice of his receptionist saying, “Sergeant Holcomb is here. He says he must see you immediately. There’s a man with him.”
Mason thought for a moment. “Did you tell him I was busy, Gertie?”
“Yes.”
“Didn’t give him the names of my clients, did you?”
“No. Certainly not.”
“Tell him I’ll be right out,” Mason said.
He hung up the telephone and excused himself to his clients. “Sergeant Holcomb of the Homicide Squad is outside,” he said. “He wants to see me at once. I won’t be long. Excuse me, please,” and went out to the reception office, carefully closing the door of his private office behind him.
Sergeant Holcomb said, “Let’s go some place where we can talk.”
“The law library is available,” Mason said, opening the door to the long room with its shelves lined with books.
The officer nodded to the young man who was with him, and said, “All right, Mattern. Come along.”
Mason shifted his eyes to make a quick appraisal of the young man. He was somewhere in the late twenties with a head which seemed too large for his body. The bulging, prominent forehead and slightly protruding eyes gave him an appearance of owlish intellectuality which was emphasized by large, dark-rimmed spectacles.
Mason led the way into the law library and closed the door. “What is it, Sergeant?” he asked.
Sergeant Holcomb jerked his head toward the narrow-shouldered young man. “Carl Mattern,” he said, “Tidings’ secretary.”
Mason nodded in acknowledgment of the introduction. Mattern didn’t say anything. He seemed intensely nervous.
Sergeant Holcomb said, “You’re representing Byrl Gailord?”
Mason hesitated a moment, then said, “On certain matters, yes.”
“What’s that other name?” Holcomb asked Mattern.
“Tump. Mrs. A. E. Tump.”
“Know her?” Holcomb asked Mason.
“Yes.”
“She your client?”
“Not exactly. What are you getting at?”
Sergeant Holcomb said, “Mattern says you called up and talked with Tidings yesterday about an appointment.”
“Yes. I told you I’d talked with him on the phone.”
“That appointment was to discuss Byrl Gailord’s affairs?”
“In a way, yes.”
Sergeant Holcomb said, “Where can I find Byrl Gailord now?”
Mason said, “That’s something I don’t feel called upon to answer—not as matters stand now.”
“Not being much help, are you?” Sergeant Holcomb asked.
Mason said, “If you’ll come down to earth and tell me what you’re driving at, I might be able to help you.”
Sergeant Holcomb said, “I’m checking up on motives, that’s all. Mrs. Tump and Byrl Gailord were making things pretty hot for Tidings. They tried to see him Monday afternoon, and Tidings refused to talk with them. They were hanging around outside his office, waiting for him to come out. Tidings said he’d see Miss Gailord, but he’d be damned if he’d talk to Mrs. Tump; said she was a hellcat.”
“So she killed him?” Mason asked with a smile.
“Nuts,” Holcomb said. “You know what I’m after, Mason. I want the low-down. I want to know what they knew about him, and whether they accused him of embezzling funds. After all, when a man’s killed, we check up on his enemies. You know that as well as I do. . . . As far as that’s concerned, a woman could have killed him as well as a man. . . . That lipstick makes it look like a woman.”
“I don’t think Mrs. Tump uses any,” Mason said with a smile.
Sergeant Holcomb frowned and started to say something, but paused as the door leading to the reception office opened, and Gertie said, “I’m sorry to interrupt. There’s someone on the line who says he must speak with Sergeant Holcomb right away.”
Sergeant Holcomb looked around the room. “Can I take the call on this phone?” he asked, indicating an extension phone on a small table near the window.
Gertie said, “I’ll connect you,” and stepped back into the reception room, closing the door to the law library.
Sergeant Holcomb picked up the telephone, said, “Hello,” then after several seconds said again, “All right . . . hello. Who is it? . . . All right. Go ahead.”
Carl Mattern said in a low voice to Mason, “This has upset me frightfully. I’m so nervous I can hardly think straight.”
Mason looked down at the wide, greenish-blue eyes which stared steadily up from behind the horn-rimmed glasses. “I presume it was quite a shock,” he said. “It must . . .”
He broke off as Sergeant Holcomb, muttering an oath, slammed the receiver back into place, and, with no word of explanation, took two quick strides toward the door which led to Mason’s private office.
“Don’t go in there,” Mason said.
Sergeant Holcomb ignored Mason. He jerked open the door, strode into the private office.
The two women, sitting huddled in a whispered conference, looked up in surprise.
Holcomb swung back to face Mason. “Holding out on me, eh? If I hadn’t been tipped off that she was on her way to your office, I’d have fallen for it. . . . That sort of stuff isn’t going to get you any place, Mason.”
Mason said, “I don’t have to report to you when a client calls on me. I’m having a conference with these women.”
“Well, ain’t that too bad?” Sergeant Holcomb said. “That conference is going to wait until I ask a few questions. . . . You two women were having some trouble with Albert Tidings, weren’t you?”
Abigail Tump took the conversational lead. “Certainly,” she said. “And the Hastings Hospital was having trouble with him. Mr. Tidings was a crook.”
“You know he’s dead?” Sergeant Holcomb asked.
“Yes. Mr. Mason told me.”
“All right,” Sergeant Holcomb said. “Now you went to Tidings’ office Monday afternoon to try and see him. He told his secretary to tell you that he’d talk with Byrl Gailord, but he’d be damned if he’d talk with you. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes,” Mrs. Tump said.
“But you did talk with him?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
She said, “We waited outside in the parking lot where he keeps his automobile. Byrl knew where it was. We parked our car right next to his.”
“What time did you talk with him?”
“Right after he left the office Monday, about four-thirty or quarter to five.”
“Did you make any threats?”
Mrs. Tump took a deep breath and seemed to swell up with indignation. “Did I make any threats?” she asked. “Well, I like that! Threats indeed! That man threatened to have me arrested for defamation of character. He said I’d poisoned Byrl’s mind against him. He said that under the trust he had absolute discretion as to what he’d give her and when he’d give it to her, and if I didn’t quit interfering, he wouldn’t give Byrl one damn cent. Those were his exact words, young man. One damn cent. Does that sound as though I was threatening him?”
“And what did you tell him?” Sergeant Holcomb a
sked.
She said, “I told him that he was going to be forced to make a complete accounting on that trust fund, and tell Byrl exactly how her affairs stood, that I wasn’t anybody’s fool, and that I was going to consult a lawyer.”
“Then what?” Holcomb asked.
“Then,” she said, “I told him that Mr. Perry Mason was going to be my lawyer, and that Mr. Mason would call on him at eleven o’clock the next morning. And that seemed to knock him for a loop. He mumbled something we couldn’t hear, and started his car and drove away.”
Sergeant Holcomb glanced inquiringly at Byrl Gailord. “You were there?” he asked.
She nodded.
“How does that check with your recollection of what happened?”
Byrl Gailord lowered her eyes thoughtfully for a moment, then said almost inaudibly, “It isn’t the way I remember it.”
Sergeant Holcomb pounced on her statement. “What’s wrong with it?” he asked.
She said, “Uncle Albert—that’s Mr. Tidings—wasn’t quite as short and irritable as it would seem from the way Mrs. Tump tells it.”
“He was, too,” Mrs. Tump said indignantly. “He was very abusive. He . . .”
“I don’t think you understand Uncle Albert as well as I do,” Byrl Gailord interrupted. “He’s exceedingly nervous when he’s in a hurry, and he was in a hurry then.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Tump admitted, “he did say something about an appointment.”
“An appointment?” Sergeant Holcomb asked eagerly. “Who with?”
“He didn’t say,” Mrs. Tump said.
“A lady,” Byrl Gailord corrected.
“Yes, that’s right. He did say something about he couldn’t keep a lady waiting,” Mrs. Tump agreed, “but he didn’t say definitely that it was an appointment.”
“Well, not in so many words,” Byrl supplemented, “but I gathered that he had an appointment with a young woman.”
“A social engagement?” Sergeant Holcomb asked.
Byrl twisted her gloves. “Personally,” she said, “I think it was a business appointment, and I think it was something which worried him very much, something which made him preoccupied and irritable.”
“You’re giving him altogether too much credit,” Mrs. Tump said. “The man was rude, impertinent, and—and ugly. He was trying to be abusive.”
Byrl Gailord shook her head decisively, and met Sergeant Holcomb’s eyes. “That isn’t true, Sergeant,” she said. “Mrs. Tump didn’t know him well, that’s all. If you investigate, you’ll find Mr. Tidings had a very important appointment, and he was in a hurry to keep it. It was an appointment which meant a great deal to him, either personally or in a business way.”
Carl Mattern said, “That agrees with what I told you, Sergeant.”
Sergeant Holcomb frowned to him. “You said that Tidings knew these women were hanging around the parking place.”
“I think he did,” Mattern said. “He saw them drive in there, but I told you that I thought Mr. Tidings had an important appointment. That appointment was with a woman, I’m quite certain. . . . And I think it was on business matters.”
“You don’t know what business?”
Mattern chose his words carefully. “It was with a woman who had been making some trouble for Mr. Tidings, or was in a position to make some trouble for him. I know that.”
“You can’t give me her name?”
“No.”
“When did Tidings come to his office Tuesday morning?”
“Around nine-thirty. Between nine-thirty and ten.”
“And he didn’t say anything about having kept an appointment Monday night?”
“No.”
“Didn’t say anything about where he’d been or whom he’d seen?”
“Not a word.”
“Could you tell anything from his manner?”
“Well, he seemed more at ease, I thought. . . . A little less nervous, but that may have been merely my impression.”
Sergeant Holcomb turned back to Mrs. Tump. “Now then, Mrs. Tump,” he said. “You went back to Tidings’ office on Tuesday morning, didn’t you?”
Mrs. Tump fidgeted uneasily in her chair.
“Go ahead,” Sergeant Holcomb said. “Answer the question.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Why?”
“Well,” she said, “I figured . . . I don’t know. I just wanted to give him one more chance.”
Sergeant Holcomb said, “You figured that you’d arranged with Mason to ring him up and frighten him, that the thought that Perry Mason was going to represent Byrl Gailord would scare Tidings into making some sort of a settlement, and you intended to see him and make a settlement direct and chisel Mason out of a lawyer’s fee, didn’t you?”
Mrs. Tump said indignantly, “I did nothing of the sort,” but her eyes avoided those of Mason and of Sergeant Holcomb.
Sergeant Holcomb smiled frostily at Mason. “Why did you want to see him?” he asked Mrs. Tump.
“I . . . Well, I wanted to explain to him that—well, I wanted to tell him that Mr. Mason was going to act for Byrl.”
“That was the only information you wanted to give him?”
“Yes.”
Sergeant Holcomb grinned triumphantly. “We’ll let it go at that. What time did you get there?”
Mrs. Tump nodded to Mattern. “His secretary knows. It was shortly before noon.”
“And Tidings wasn’t in his office?”
“The secretary said he wasn’t in his office.”
“But you didn’t believe that?”
“Well, not exactly.”
“You went over to the parking lot again?”
“I looked around there, yes.”
“And then you went to Mr. Tidings’ club?”
There was a distinct pause before Mrs. Tump said, “Yes.”
“And somewhere along the line,” Sergeant Holcomb said triumphantly, “you found out where Tidings was. You followed him out to the home of his wife, where the body was found, and you had your last conversation with him there, didn’t you, Mrs. Tump?”
She met his eyes then with indignant denial. “I did nothing of the sort,” she said. “You have absolutely no right to make such a statement. I can make trouble for you on that.”
“Where were you at one o’clock Tuesday afternoon?”
“Why, I . . . I’d have to think. . . . Wait a minute. I was at my hairdresser’s. I had a twelve-thirty appointment.”
Sergeant Holcomb frowned thoughtfully. “Where were you, Miss Gailord?”
She said, “Why, I don’t know . . . Tuesday . . . Oh, I know. I was having lunch with Coleman Reeger. . . . I guess you know him. He’s the polo player. His family is very prominent socially.”
Sergeant Holcomb walked over to the telephone on Mason’s desk, picked it up, and said, “Put me through to police headquarters. I want to get the autopsy surgeon who’s working on the body of Albert Tidings. I’ll hold the phone.”
He stood with the receiver held to his ear.
Mattern said to Mason, “I can tell you some things now, Mr. Mason, which I wasn’t at liberty to say before. As far as Miss Gailord’s affairs are concerned, I know something about them. The very last thing Mr. Tidings did was to make a most advantageous deal for Miss Gailord.”
“What was it?” Mason asked.
“He sold out ten thousand shares of stock in the Seaboard Consolidated Freighters, and invested the proceeds in Western Prospecting. Just before he left the office, he told me to be sure to take the check down to Loftus & Cale, to see that the deal was put through.”
“How much was the check?” Mason asked.
“Fifty thousand dollars.”
“What’s Western Prospecting? Is that a listed stock?” Mrs. Tump asked.
“No, Mrs. Tump. It’s not listed.”
“I never heard of it,” Mason said.
“Well,” Mattern said, “confidentially, they’ve struck. . . . I’m sorry, Mr. Mason, but I
can’t divulge details, but Mr. Tidings made a complete investigation. Out of that one deal, Miss Gailord will net—well, let’s call it a handsome profit.”
“Why so cagey?” Mason asked.
“Because,” Mattern said, “the information is highly confidential, and you know there’s nothing on earth so dangerous as having information leak out on a stock deal. I didn’t intend to say anything about the stock as an investment. I merely mentioned it to show that Mr. Tidings was working in Miss Gailord’s interests. He devoted weeks of study to the situation. He’d had a mining expert making confidential reports on the holdings of Western Prospecting, and had been to considerable pains to get detailed, accurate information on one of their holdings—a mining property.”
Mason said, “There’s no reason why you can’t give Miss Gailord any information you have about that stock.”
Mattern said, “You’re a lawyer, Mr. Mason. I’m not. I’m not going to match wits with you, and I’m not going to argue law; but I presume Mr. Tidings’ estate will have to be administered. The administrator will have a lawyer. I’ll turn my information over to the administrator, and you can talk with the administrator’s lawyer. . . . I think you can appreciate my position.”
“What time did you take this check over to the broker’s?”
“Shortly before eleven.”
“Tuesday morning?” Mason asked.
“Yes, sir. I left with the check a short time after you called.”
“And that was a personal check issued by Mr. Tidings?”
“No, sir. It was a cashier’s check. . . . The amount was rather large, and for certain reasons Mr. Tidings was very anxious to have the matter concluded without waiting for a personal check to clear. He’d got the cashier’s check Monday.”
“He didn’t take it over personally?” Mason said.
“No, sir. He sent me. That’s one of the things I’m for, to relieve him of detail work of that sort.”
“And when did Tidings leave his office?”
“At the same time I did. He went down in the elevator with me.”
“And didn’t tell you where you could reach him to report on the completion of the transaction?”
“No, sir. He called me.”
“When was that?” Sergeant Holcomb asked, putting his hand over the mouthpiece of the telephone.
The Case of the Baited Hook Page 8
