Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Sleepwalker's Niece

“Come in,” he invited.

She entered the room, smiled sweetly at him, placed herself in a chair so that her blonde hair showed to advantage against the black leather. “Working hard?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry I interrupted you, but I thought you might be interested.”

“You have a lawyer?”

“Not me. Not now.”

“Well?” he asked.

She extended a glove forefinger and traced little curving lines along the skirt where it was stretched tightly over her leg. Her eyes followed the moving tip of her forefinger. While she spoke she did not once glance at him. “I’ve been thinking things over. I’m willing to admit I started that Santa Barbara action because I knew Pete was going to get married again, and I didn’t see any reason why I should let him dissipate his property on some golddigger. I understand the woman is a nurse. Think of it, Peter Kent marrying a nurse!”

“What’s wrong with a nurse?” Mason asked.

“Everything,” she replied, “so far as Peter Kent is concerned. She has to work for a living.”

“And a mighty fine thing,” Mason said. “I like women who work for a living.”

“It isn’t that. It’s not that I’m snobbish. It’s the fact that she’s after Peter Kent’s money.”

“I don’t agree with you.”

“We don’t need to discuss it, do we?”

“You brought it up.”

“Well, I was just trying to explain to you why I had a change of heart.”

“Do I understand you’re trying to tell me you’ve experienced a change of heart?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I suddenly decided that, even if Peter is a little off mentally, and wants to squander his money, I shouldn’t stop him. If that’s what it takes to make him happy, I want him to be happy.”

“So what?” Mason asked skeptically.

“I knew you wouldn’t believe me,” she said wearily, “you think I’m coldblooded and mercenary. I do wish I could do something to convince you I wasn’t. I value your good opinion very much indeed, Mr. Mason; more, perhaps, than you realize. I have met lots of attorneys, but I have never met anyone who seemed to be as straightforward, as vigorous, and as… as ruggedly honest as you are. And I could see you didn’t like me. Men usually like me. I want very much to have you like me.”

Mason opened his cigarette case, extended it to her. She took a cigarette, suddenly lifted her eyes to his, smiled and said, “Say ‘thank you.’“

“Thank you,” Mason said, tonelessly. He gave her a light, then transferred the flaming match to the tip of his own cigarette and regarded her quizzically through a cloud of cigarette smoke. “Well?”

“The district attorney wants to put me on the witness stand.”

“To prove what?”

“To prove that Peter tried to kill me with a carving knife.”

“Does he think he can use your testimony?”

“He said, to use his exact words, ‘Somewhere along the line Mason will open the door so I can use you on rebuttal.’“

“Anything else?”

“You’re not making it particularly easy for me.”

“If I knew just what you had in mind,” he told her, “I might make it easier.”

“I want to let Peter have his divorce.”

“Why?”

“Because I think that’s the best thing for him.”

“And just how do you propose to go about it?” he asked.

“I want to dismiss all of my actions. That would clear everything up. The final decree has already been granted, and, if I dismiss everything, that would give Peter a clean slate, wouldn’t it?”

Mason didn’t answer her question directly but said, “Just how much did you expect in return?”

“What made you think I expected anything?”

“Don’t you?”

“I’m not mercenary. I don’t want any of Peter’s money, but I’m untrained, I haven’t any profession, I haven’t any skill nor any calling. I can’t even run a typewriter or take shorthand.”

“How much?” he asked.

Some swift emotion flamed in her eyes, then died. “How much would you suggest?” she asked demurely.

“I couldn’t make any suggestion.”

“You could suggest what Peter would be willing to pay, couldn’t you?”

“No.”

“I’d take two hundred thousand dollars in cash. That would enable me to keep on living in the style to which Peter accustomed me.”

“Don’t do it,” Mason told her; “it isn’t worth it.”

“Isn’t worth what?”

“Going on living at that price.”

“You’re trying to tell me how I should live?” she flared.

He shook his head and said, “No, I’m trying to tell you what you can’t get.”

“What can’t I get?”

“Two hundred thousand dollars.”

“I don’t see,” she told him, her finger now making rapid excursions over the dress material, “how I could get along on any less.”

“Oh, well,” Mason said, “you’re getting fifteen hundred a month. Suppose you go ahead and keep on taking that. That would be a lot better than a lump sum. You’ll have a fixed monthly income and, if anything should happen, you’d be taken care of.”

“How long would that continue?”

“Indefinitely,” he told her, “unless, of course, you got married.”

“No,” she said, “I don’t want to be a drain on Peter that way. I would prefer just taking some little settlement and getting out.”

“What do you mean by a little settlement?”

“Two hundred thousand dollars.”

Mason shook his head gravely. “No, I wouldn’t suggest that my client pay you a lump sum. You’ve been so fair all the way through that I really think you’d better keep that fifteen hundred a month. I’d say that, in the long run, you’d be a lot better off than if you had a large sum of money.”

“Suppose I came down?”

“How much?”

“Suppose I told you exactly what my lowest price is, Mr. Mason? One hundred thousand dollars.” Mason yawned, covered the yawn with polite fingers, shook his head. “You’re very difficult to deal with.”

“Oh, well,” Mason told her, “go ahead and get an attorney, if you feel that way about it, and I’ll deal through him.”

“I don’t want to split with any lawyer.” Mason shrugged his shoulders. She suddenly dashed her cigarette to the floor, jumped to her feet and said, “Well, make me an offer! Don’t sit there like a bump on a log. I’ve got things to do.”

“What?” he asked her, raising his eyebrows.

“None of your damn business. Make me an offer.”

“For what?”

“For a complete cleanup all the way along the line.”

“You’ll get out?”

“I’ll say I’ll get out.”

“Without bothering Peter Kent or seeing him again?”

“If I never see him again, that’s six months too soon.”

Mason shook his head and said slowly, “No, I think my client has changed his mind about getting married. Only yesterday he mentioned how beautiful you were. Frankly, I think it might be possible to effect a reconciliation.”

“I don’t want a reconciliation.” Mason shrugged his shoulders. “Look here,” she said, still standing, her eyes glittering, cheeks flushed, “I read the newspaper accounts of the trial today.”

“Well?” he asked.

“Well, Maddox was asked about a telephone call.”

“Well?”

“Suppose you could prove he was lying?”

“That,” Mason said, “would be most advantageous.”

“Well, suppose I got on the witness stand and admitted receiving a telephone call from him. What would that be worth to you?”

“Not a damn cent,” Mason said. “We’re not going to buy perjured testimony from anyone.”

“But suppose it was the truth?”