Erie Gardner: The Case of the Lazy Lover

“Well,” Mason asked, “what are you trying to do? Did you come to tell me that you weren’t going to honor the check?”

“No, no, not at all.”

“Well, what?”

“However,” Canby said, “under the circumstances, I thought that you should know, and perhaps you might care to withdraw that check until such time as you can satisfy yourself.”

“I’m satisfied now,” Mason said. “The cashier says it’s a good check. Your handwriting expert says it’s a good check.”

“But the check which was deposited with it was quite evidently a forgery, a very clever forgery.”

“Well?”

“That, of course, would make the check drawn on us a subject for careful scrutiny.”

“Hang it,” Mason said, “give it careful scrutiny. That’s what I’ve wanted all along. That’s what I told you to do.”

“I’d like to know something more about the circumstances under which those checks were received, Mr. Mason. And I hope you’ll agree with me that the safe thing to do, under the circumstances, is to hold up payment until we can contact Mrs. Allred.”

“Isn’t the check good?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why not notify the police?”

“That, of course, might prove very embarrassing,” Canby said, shifting his position uneasily. “The family is quite wealthy, Mr. Mason.”

Mason said, “Look, you have a lawyer. I’m not your lawyer. Why not ask him what to do about it? You’re holding a check which may be forged. If it is forged, you want to apprehend the forger.”

“Of course,” Canby murmured, “our handwriting expert has been unable as yet to discover anything significant. It may take several days for him to get his records established. Even then he may run into some complicating circumstance. Generally, Mr. Mason, the bank is liable for payment of the forged check, whereas payment of a raised check depends on a question of negligence.”

Mason grinned at him and said, “You’ll pardon me, Canby. It’s your baby.”

“But it’s your check — the one that’s forged.”

“So it is,” Mason said.

“And we can’t pass it for payment.”

“That’s your problem, Canby.”

Gertie, the receptionist, appeared in the door with a telegram.

Mason nodded to Della Street. “See what it is, Della.”

Della Street opened the telegram, looked at Mason rather quizzically, then glanced at Canby.

“Go ahead,” Mason said. “Read it.”

Della Street took it over and handed it to the lawyer.

Mason looked at it, said, “Humph,” then read the wire aloud:

MAILED YOU CHECK FOR TWENTY-FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS PROTECT MY DAUGHTER PATRICIA IN CASE SHE NEEDS HELP BUT DON’T QUESTION HER ABOUT ANYTHING

“This wire,” Mason said, “was sent from Springfield,” and handed the message to the banker.

Canby studied it, said, “It’s a day letter sent at nine o’clock this morning from Springfield. She refers to a twenty-five hundred dollar retainer, but, as I understand it, you received two twenty-five hundred dollar checks.”

“That’s right,” Mason said. “One of them is apparently a forgery.”

“Yes, yes, so it is.”

“The other check apparently isn’t. Mrs. Allred wants me to do something for her daughter. If you hold up payment on that check, it’s your responsibility.”

“Well,” Canby said, “this wire is all our bank needs. The twenty-five hundred dollar check drawn on us will be put through to your account, Mr. Mason.”

“I take it,” Mason said quite casually, “there are ample funds in Mrs. Allred’s account to cover the check.”

The banker smiled. “Her account is very substantial, Mr. Mason.”

“Just idle money?”

“She likes to have large cash balances, I believe.”

“Do you know anything about this account at Las Olitas?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Well, thanks for calling,” Mason said somewhat abruptly and Canby, recognizing that the interview was over, shook hands and departed, a quiet shadowy man, obviously dissatisfied with his interview.

As soon as the door closed, Mason said to Della Street, “That’s a typical banker for you, Della. His handwriting expert can’t find anything wrong with that first check, yet the bank is so cautious, it won’t pay. Then along comes a telegram which has only a typewritten signature, but is on a sheet of perfectly genuine Western Union yellow paper, and the bank falls all over itself being co-operative.

“Anyone can send any telegram he wants and sign any name to it he feels like — but bankers swallow anything which seems ‘in due course’ and choke to death over the unusual. The ideal way to approach a banker is with a rubber stamp.

“Go down the hall, Della; get Paul Drake of the Drake Detective Agency to come in here. I want to find out who actually sent that wire.”

Paul Drake draped his loose-jointed length over the big client’s chair, twisting around until he had a comfortable position. Then after a moment, he squirmed about until his legs were hanging over the overstuffed arm of the chair.

Paul Drake carefully cultivated a nondescript appearance and a lugubrious countenance. There was, to him, no romance in connection with the operation of a detective agency. He looked upon his profession with an air of pessimistic detachment, did his work competently and deprecatingly.

“Know anything about Bertrand C. Allred, Paul?” Mason asked.

“Very little. He’s a big shot in the mining business. Wait a minute, I do know something too. I heard something just the other day. He’s mixed up in a suit for fraud.”

“His wife has skipped out,” Mason said.

“Okay, where do I come in?”

Mason handed Paul Drake the telegram he had received, said, “I want to talk with Mrs. Allred. Here’s a telegram that was sent earlier this morning from Springfield. I want you to find her.”

“Got a description?” Drake asked.

Mason shook his head, said, “That’s up to you, Paul. You’ll have to work fast. She has a daughter, Patricia Faxon, the one mentioned in the wire. Mrs. Allred’s supposed to be running away with a man, Robert Fleetwood. That is highly confidential. The family doesn’t want it to get out.”

“When did she leave?”

“Saturday night on a guess. She sent me a check drawn on a local bank here for twenty-five hundred dollars. At any rate, the check seems to have been signed by her. That check was mailed Saturday night. This morning I received another check, drawn on the First National Bank of Las Olitas, also for twenty-five hundred dollars and also purporting to be signed by her.”

“In the telegram,” Drake pointed out, “she only refers to one check.”

“That’s right. One check for twenty-five hundred. That’s the only one the bank says is good.”

“What about the other one?”

“Handwriting experts say it’s forged. The signature was transferred and re-traced.”

“How about the checks, other than the signature?”

“In typewriting,” Mason said. “Both checks are the same on that score, and the interesting thing is that as nearly as I can tell from an examination of the envelopes, they were both typed on the same typewriter.”

“Okay,” Drake said. “Give.”

Mason gave him the two envelopes in which the checks had been received.

“Where are the checks?”

“One of them has been cleared,” Mason said, grinning, “and the other is in the hands of the bank. The bank may be contemplating turning it over to the police.”

“The bank hasn’t asked for the envelopes in which the checks came?”

“Not yet. It will. Have those envelopes photographed. Then have some enlargements made so we can check that typewriting. Get an expert to tell the make and model of typewriter on which they were written.”