Erle Gardner - The Case of the Runaway

“Exactly,” Mason said. “Therefore when you ask me about a question of title I have to be very careful with my answer. Don’t you think so?”

“ I’m not in a position to advise you ,” Halder said.

“Exactly,” Mason conceded. “I appreciate your frankness, Counselor. And since you’re not in a position to advise me I have to advise myself. Now then, you’ve raised a very interesting question. I don’t know, under the circumstances, if I am at liberty to comment on any matter of title. However, go right ahead with your interrogation and I’ll see what can be done.”

Halder looked back at his paper. “While you were in that house,” he said, “the house belonging to Ed Davenport at Paradise, didn’t you pick the lock on a desk, open a lockbox, and remove an envelope on which there was written in Davenport’s handwriting ‘To be delivered to the authorities in the event of my death’?”

Mason paused thoughtfully.

“Can’t you answer that question?” Halder asked.

Mason pursed his lips. “There are a good many factors involved in that question. I am trying to divide them in my own mind.”

“Such as what?”

“In the first place,” Mason said, “once more you bring in the question of the ownership of the house.”

“Well, we can have it understood,” Halder said, “that whenever I refer to the house as Ed Davenport’s house I am talking about it in the general popular sense of the word and we won’t try to adjudicate the title here and now.”

“Oh no,” Mason said, “that would be an oral stipulation that I was not to be bound by my own statements. That might be all right as between you and me, Counselor, but it might not be all right as between some—well, let us say some cold blooded, calculating, merciless attorney who might be representing some other heir to the estate.”

“What other heir?”

“Well,” Mason said, “I haven’t figured it all out yet, but for instance there’s Sara Ansel. Sara Ansel’s sister married William Delano’s brother. Now let us suppose, for the sake of the argument, that the Delano estate could not come to Myrna Davenport.”

“Why not?”

“Oh because of various legal reasons, such, for instance. as the question—and, mind you, this is only a hypothetical question—that Myrna Davenport should be accused of the murder of William Delano.”

“She can’t be,” Halder said. “She’s accused of the murder of Hortense Paxton, but Delano wasn’t murdered. He was dying.”

“Then I have your assurance that she is not to be charged with the murder of William Delano? And I have your assurance William Delano was not murdered?”

“I’m not in a position to assure you of anything.”

“There we are,” Mason said. “Right back to where we started. I find myself in a very peculiar position, Counselor. I am exceedingly anxious to co-operate with you but—”

“What are you getting at? That Sara Ansel might be an heir to the estate?”

“Well,” Mason said, “suppose that Myrna was incapable of inheriting from William Delano under the will Delano left because of the fact that she was accused of murdering him. That would leave Mrs. Ansel perhaps in a position to inherit property which came to the dead brother of Delano—or would it? I’m frank to admit, Counselor, I haven’t looked up the law of succession.”

“Neither have I,” Halder said.

“Well, perhaps we’d better look it up now,” Mason said.

“No, no,” Halder said. “We’re getting this thing in an interminable mess. I want to keep my questions simple and I’d like to have simple, definite answers.”

“I’m certainly anxious to do it that way,” Mason said, “but the fact that this has become a formal hearing complicates the situation enormously.”

“I’m trying to make it informal.”

“But you said it was formal.”

“Well, that depends on what you call formal.”

“Reading from a written list.”

“Well, I tried to coordinate my thoughts in advance.”

Mason looked at him reproachfully. “And that was the only reason for preparing the list, Counselor? The only reason?”

“Well, of course,” Halder said, suddenly embarrassed, “I had conferred with other officials who suggested specific questions they wanted, answered.”

“And because you adopted their suggestions as to the questions that were to be answered you wrote them down?”

“In a way.”

“There you are,” Mason said. “This question that you have now asked me may have been thought up by the district attorney of Los Angeles County purely in an attempt to elaborate on some theory of the case that he has. And he may construe my answer in the most technical manner possible.”

“But your client isn’t charged with the murder of William Delano, her uncle. She’s charged with the murder of Hortense Paxton.”

“And that alleged murder enabled her to get most of the estate of William Delano?”

“That’s my understanding of the situation.”

“And the body of William Delano hasn’t been exhumed?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because his was a natural death.”

“How do you know?”

“The man was dying. He had been dying for months.”

“Is a dying man immune to poison?”

“Are you trying to insinuate that your client poisoned William Delano?”

“Good heavens, no,” Mason said. “ I know she didn’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know she didn’t poison anyone.”

“She poisoned Hortense Paxton,” Halder said, “and she may have poisoned Edward Davenport.”

“Oh, come, come,” Mason said. “You’re making a flat accusation.”

“Well, I have information, Mr. Mason, which supports that accusation.”

“Information which I don’t have?”

“Certainly.”

Mason said, “That, of course, complicates the situation again.”

Halder said with exasperation, “I’m asking you simple questions and you go playing ring-around-a-rosy.”

“It’s not ring-around-a-rosy,” Mason said. “I’m asking you to put yourself in my place. Would you answer questions involving the title to property?”

“I can’t put myself in your place. I can’t advise you. I have my own problems to worry about.”

“Exactly,” Mason said. “So, since I can’t rely on your advice, since you’re afraid to take the responsibility—”

“Who’s afraid?” Halder demanded.

“Why, you are,” Mason said.

“I’m not afraid of anything,” Halder said, his face flushing, “and I’m not certain I like your attitude.”

“Come, come,” Mason said affably. “Let’s not let the difference in our official positions enter into our personal relations, Counselor. I merely commented that you in your position were afraid to take the responsibility of advising me—”

“I’m not afraid to take the responsibility.”

“Are you willing to advise me, then?”

“Certainly not. It’s not my place to advise you. I’m representing the people of the State of California. I’m representing this county. You’re representing a client. You’ll have to decide what your own responsibilities are.”

Mason said, “Of course, Counselor, it seems to me that by that answer you’re evading the question.”

“ I’m evading the question?” Halder shouted.

“Precisely,” Mason said. “You won’t answer definitely whether or not in my position as an attorney representing Myrna Davenport I should answer your questions.”

“I’m not in a position to advise you on anything.”

“Well,” Mason said, his face suddenly breaking into a smile as though he had a complete solution, “will you then assure me that if I go ahead and discuss questions of title with you my answers will not at any time be binding upon my client in regard to such matters?”