The Case of the Baited Hook

by Erle Stanley Gardner

  “I presume she can verify not only the occasion but the time,” Mason said.

  “Certainly. She works in an office where they go by the clock. Her lunch hour is from twelve to one. She has to be back at her desk promptly at one o’clock.”

  “I see,” Mason said, “and after that?”

  “After that,” Mattern said, “I went back to Mr. Tidings’ office. There were some matters to take up with the manager of the building, and I rang up the manager’s secretary and asked for an appointment as near one-thirty as was convenient.”

  “You got one?”

  “Yes, at one-twenty-five. I talked with the manager of the building for fifteen minutes. I had told his secretary that my business would not take longer than that, and I remember looking at my watch and commenting to her as I went out that it had been fifteen minutes on the dot.”

  “And then?” Mason asked.

  “Then,” Mattern said, “I went down to a jewelry store to see about buying a new wrist watch. A chap whom I know works there, and I looked at wrist watches for nearly half an hour.”

  “He’ll remember the occasion?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “And the time?”

  “He certainly will,” Mattern said, laughing, “because we were discussing the accuracy of watches. I bet him that my own wrist watch wouldn’t vary more than one second in half an hour from his standard chronometer. I was there half an hour, and we checked the second hand.”

  “That brings you up to two-thirty,” Mason said.

  “That’s right.”

  “What did you do after two-thirty, Mattern?”

  “I had some matters to go over with the accountant who makes out Mr. Tidings’ income tax reports. I asked him to meet me at the office at quarter of three. We were there until five.”

  “And after five?” Mason inquired.

  “I invited a young lady to meet me at five-twenty, to go to dinner and a movie.”

  “The same young lady whom you took to lunch?”

  “No, another one.”

  “Why five-twenty in particular?” Mason asked.

  “Well,” Mattern said, “it was . . . well, it just happened to be the time that I mentioned, that’s all.”

  “Wasn’t that rather early for a dinner date?”

  “Yes, perhaps. But I wanted to get in to the show in time for the first picture.”

  “This young woman works?”

  “No, she doesn’t.”

  Mason said, “Well, let’s go back to Tuesday morning.”

  “I came to the office at nine o’clock,” Mattern said. “Mr. Tidings came in about nine-fifteen. We handled some correspondence until ten-thirty, then we discussed details in connection with the closing of the Western Prospecting deal, and you called up. That started Tidings sputtering about what a busybody Mrs. Tump was, and we discussed that for several minutes. Then Tidings went out, and I went over to close that Western Prospecting deal.”

  “See anyone except Tidings on Tuesday morning?” Mason asked.

  “The brokers. Then there was Mrs. Tump shortly after eleven.”

  “I mean before that.”

  Mattern thought for a moment, then slowly shook his head. “No,” he said. “I don’t think anyone came to the office.”

  “Immediately after noon,” Mason said, “your time seems to have been pretty well checked.”

  “Yes, sir. There’s not more than twenty minutes at any one time, and it would have been a physical impossibility for anyone to get out to that bungalow where the body was found and back to the center of town within a twenty-minute period.”

  Mason said, “That’s rather significant, don’t you think, Carl?”

  “What do you mean?” Mattern asked in surprise.

  Mason said, “You haven’t any alibi until around eleven o’clock on Tuesday morning. From then on, you have a perfect alibi covering every minute of the day, and the interesting thing is that in virtually every instance you made certain that the time would impress itself upon your witnesses.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Mason stared at him steadily. “I mean, Carl,” he said, “that you were trying to give yourself an alibi, that you were taking every precaution to see that every minute of your time was accounted for. . . . Take for instance your comments with the secretary of the building manager on the length of time your conference had taken. . . . The discussion about time at the jewelry store. . . . The appointment with the tax accountant, and last of all that five-twenty dinner date.”

  “Why, I . . . I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Mason.”

  “Oh, yes, you do,” Mason said gently. “You must have known he was dead before you went over to the broker’s, Carl.”

  For a long moment, there was tense silence in the apartment. A cheap alarm clock ticked audibly on the dresser. Mattern’s eyes, wide and protruding behind the dark-rimmed spectacles, showed consternation.

  Mason said, “I don’t think you killed him, Carl, but I do know that you were interested in that stock transaction. You knew that he was dead before it was time to go over to the broker’s office, and you knew that you had to make it appear Tidings was alive at the time that agreement was concluded.

  “You were shrewd enough to realize that if you did make it appear he was alive at noon on Tuesday, the authorities would be forced to fix the time of death as almost immediately after noon, and so you were careful to build up an alibi which would protect you during the afternoon.”

  Mattern said, “Mr. Mason, I can assure that I did nothing of the sort. I . . .”

  “Don’t get yourself in bad,” Mason said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Simply this,” Mason observed, crossing his legs, settling comfortably back against the chair, and lighting a cigarette. “I’m a mean fighter, Carl.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “In a fight,” Mason said, “I try to damage my adversary in every way possible. I hit below the belt.”

  Mattern nodded.

  “I’m representing a person,” Mason said, “who is going to be accused of the murder of Albert Tidings.”

  “And you mean you’d try to pin it on me in order to get that person off?”

  Mason struck a match to his cigarette, blew out the flame, and smiled affably at Mattern. “Exactly,” he said.

  “Do you mean to say you’d frame an innocent man . . .”

  “Wait a moment, Carl,” Mason interrupted, stopping him with an upraised hand. “Let’s leave the innocent man out of it.”

  “But I am innocent.”

  “That,” Mason said, “is nothing for me to decide. That’s up to the jury.”

  “But you have no reason to believe I killed him.”

  Mason said, “Frankly, Carl, I don’t think you did.”

  “Then why are you accusing me of it?”

  “I’m not accusing you of it,” Mason said. “I’m simply telling you that you knew he was dead prior to Tuesday noon, that you covered up that death, and then started getting yourself an alibi. But you’ll find a jury isn’t going to be as charitable as I am.”

  “You must be crazy!”

  Mason said, “I’m willing to believe that you’re not a murderer, that you shrewdly manipulated things so you could close the sale of that Western Prospecting stock. When you found Tidings was dead, you realized you had to keep his death covered up until you could put through that deal. But what you overlooked, Carl, was that once you started tampering with the facts, a jury would conclude you were guilty of murder.”

  Mattern blinked his eyes rapidly. “They couldn’t,” he said.

  “Oh, yes, they could, Carl. Let’s suppose, for instance, that you had reason to believe Tidings was going to be at that bungalow on Tuesday morning. Suppose you went out with a brief case filled with mail and documents to get instructions, and suppose you found Tidings lying dead on the bed. You slipped quietly out of the house without anyone seeing you. You knew that
the news of his death would put a stop to that stock deal, and so you decided to have it appear that he had died shortly after noon on Tuesday. Fortunately, my telephone call gave you an opportunity for a second string to your bow. I had never heard the voice of Albert Tidings. By a bit of vocal manipulation you were able to leave me with the impression that I had talked with Tidings over the telephone.

  “You’re a very clever young man, Mattern, but you must give me credit for knowing something about the psychology of a juror. I’m telling you, Mattern, plainly and frankly, that a jury probably would convict you of Tidings’ murder purely on circumstantial evidence once that chain of facts had been brought to light. The jury would consider that you’d killed him on Tuesday morning. . . . And that would coincide with the findings of the autopsy surgeons.”

  Mason devoted his attention to watching the smoke drift up from one end of his cigarette, seeming to dismiss Mattern entirely from his mind.

  After a few seconds, Mattern said, “But those things can’t be proven.”

  Mason smiled. “Oh, yes, they can,” he said. “I can prove them.”

  “You can?”

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  Mason smiled and said, “I’m not going to disclose my entire hand, Mattern, but remember that you were a bit greedy and a little hasty. Realizing that the stock transaction might be open to question, you were just a little too anxious to get your split from Bolus. Peculiar chap, that Bolus. Rather selfish, I would say. Once the authorities accused him of being your accomplice in the murder, he’d move heaven and earth to show that he was your accomplice only on the stock jobbing deal, and that you alone were responsible for Tidings’ death.”

  Mattern shifted his position uncomfortably in the chair.

  Mason said, “Thought I’d let you know where I stood, Mattern, that’s all. I wanted to be absolutely fair.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Mattern asked.

  “Nothing,” Mason said, in some surprise. “Nothing at all. But I just wanted you to know that when it comes time for me to defend my client, I’ll be able to make out a pretty good case against you.”

  Mattern laughed and said, “I can’t see what you’re getting at, Mr. Mason. By telling me this in advance, you’ve put yourself entirely in my power. Suppose I should relate this conversation to a jury?”

  “No need for you to bother,” Mason said. “I’ll tell them about it myself. Remember, Mattern, I dropped in to tell you that I had reason to believe you knew Tidings was dead Tuesday morning before that stock transaction was concluded. Among other things, I wanted to hear your voice so I could convince myself that it was you who were talking with me over the telephone Tuesday morning. I’m convinced now.”

  “A jury wouldn’t take your evidence very seriously.”

  “Perhaps not,” Mason said. “It would be your word against mine.”

  “And you’re interested in saving your client’s neck,” Mattern said.

  “Just as you’re interested in saving your own,” Mason reminded him.

  “Mine isn’t in any danger.”

  “And,” Mason went on, “you’ll also remember that one of the reasons for this visit was to ask you if you had any financial interest in that stock sale of the Western Prospecting Company.”

  “And I assured you that I didn’t,” Mattern said.

  Mason arose, stretched, yawned, and said casually, “Know Colonel Gilliland?”

  “No,” Mattern said.

  “In charge of the income tax evasions detail here,” Mason said. “Charming chap. You’ll probably get acquainted with him later on.”

  There was anxiety in Mattern’s eyes.

  “Friend of mine,” Mason went on. “You know, the government has quite a system. If anyone gives ’em a tip on an income tax evasion, the government will investigate, and if they recover a tax on the strength of that tip, they’ll pay a reward amounting to a percentage of the tax. You can’t fool the government, you know. They can examine the records of banks and the books of corporations. . . . Well, I’ll be running along, Mattern.”

  Mattern said, “Hey, wait a minute. You aren’t going to tell this man Gilliland anything about me?”

  “Why not?” Mason asked.

  “Because—Well, because under the circumstances that would be the hell of a thing to do.”

  “Why?”

  “Haven’t I co-operated with you?”

  Mason said, “It’s all right, Mattern. There’s nothing to worry about. If you didn’t get any cut out of that fifty thousand, no one can do a thing to you. Of course, Gilliland will go into the books of the Western Prospecting Company, will scrutinize Bolus’ income tax statement, check the bank records, look into your bank deposits, and work on a few other angles. He’ll make a good job of it.”

  Mattern said, “Come back here, Mason. Sit down.”

  Mason raised his eyebrows. “Why?”

  Mattern said, “You’ve got me.”

  “Got you?” Mason asked. “What do you mean?”

  “I got ten grand out of that sale,” Mattern blurted.

  “That’s better,” Mason observed, walking over to a chair and seating himself. “Tell me about it.”

  “There’s nothing much to tell,” Mattern said meekly. “I felt like a heel all the time, but I needed the money. I just had to have it.”

  “Why?” Mason asked.

  “Oh, some bum hunches on horses,” Mattern said.

  “Did Bolus get in touch with you?”

  “No. I got in touch with him. I knew something about the stock. I put the proposition up to him. I was to interest Tidings as trustee in the stock, and get a fifty per cent cut. . . . And it’s really a good stock at that, Mr. Mason, a very good speculative buy.”

  “But you didn’t get fifty per cent?” Mason asked.

  “No,” Mattern said bitterly. “Bolus, the damn crook, chiseled me. After I’d brought the parties together and got the deal so far under way that I couldn’t have backed out of it without making everyone suspicious, Bolus told me he’d been under more expense than he’d figured, that he’d have to give some banker a cut, and that I’d have to take ten thousand instead of twenty-five.”

  “Why give the banker a cut?” Mason asked.

  “Some banker that Tidings had asked for a report on the stock developed an itching palm. Anyhow, that’s what Bolus said.”

  “All right,” Mason said. “Go ahead. Tell me how you knew Tidings was dead?”

  “I tell you I didn’t know it.”

  “Bunk,” Mason said.

  “Honestly, Mr. Mason, everything else is just as I told you.”

  Mason said, “Mattern, I’m getting damn tired of your lies. . . . Know what I think I’ll do? I think I’ll go down to the D.A. and give him a tip on you.”

  “You’ve got nothing on me,” Mattern said.

  “No?” Mason asked with a cold smile.

  “Absolutely not.”

  “In the first place,” Mason said, “you needed that ten grand because you’d made a mistake in picking ponies. Is that right?”

  “Yes. What of it? Lots of people play the races.”

  “Uh huh,” Mason said. “But you need money in order to play the races.”

  “Well, I got the money, didn’t I?”

  “After you’d incurred the losses,” Mason said. “My best guess, Mattern, is that the original bets were made from money you’d embezzled from Tidings and the trust accounts. The audit of Tidings’ books would have left you in quite a spot if it hadn’t been for that ten grand.”

  Mason needed no more than a look at Mattern’s dismayed countenance to serve as confirmation of his charge.

  “All right,” he said. “There you are. You’ve been embezzling money. Tidings called you on Tuesday morning. He had the dope. He was going to send you to jail. You knew that if you could stall things along for a few hours, that Western Prospecting sale would go through, and you’d have money enough to make re
stitution. You figured you could juggle the books so that the original embezzlement could be covered. You got desperate and excited and pulled a gun on Tidings. Tidings came for you, and you pulled the trigger.”

  “That’s a lie,” Mattern shouted.

  “Perhaps it is,” Mason observed, “but you’d never make a jury believe it.”

  “No jury could ever find me guilty of murder. There isn’t a shred of evidence.”

  Mason smiled. “Thanks a lot, Mattern. You’ve given me a perfect out. I don’t need to worry about my client. You’re the fall guy. Good night.”

  Once more Mason arose from his chair.

  “Listen,” Mattern said desperately. “I’ll give you the real low-down, Mr. Mason. I’ll tell you how it was. Honestly, I didn’t kill him. He’d been dead for a long time when I saw him.”

  “When was that?”

  “About eight-thirty Tuesday morning.”

  “Where?”

  “Right where he was lying. Right on the bed where the body was found.”

  “What happened?” Mason asked.

  Mattern said, “Tidings was trying to get something on his wife. He told me that she was mixed up with some man who had to keep in the background because of what might happen in a divorce action. Tidings said he’d found out about this man and that he was going out to see his wife and call for a showdown. There were some important papers he had to go over, and he promised to be at the office at seven-thirty Tuesday morning to sign them.

  “When he hadn’t shown up at the office at eight o’clock, I put the papers in a brief case, and drove out to his wife’s house. I thought that perhaps they’d effected a reconciliation. He really was crazy about her. The door was unlocked. I went in. There were bloodstains on the floor. I followed the bloodstains to the bedroom. . . . You know what I found.”

  “What did you do?” Mason asked.

  “I beat it,” Mattern said. “I was scared stiff. I figured that with his death, his books would be gone over, my embezzlement discovered, and that I’d go to jail. I was good and sore. If he’d only lived a few hours more, I’d have been in the clear. . . . So then I figured that it might be a long while before anyone would find the body, and I might be able to stall things along so I could get that Western Prospecting deal through. I knew that the cashier’s check was all made out payable to the brokers. . . . Well, you know the rest”