Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Dubious Bridegroom

“All right, did he retain you to come here?”

“Not specifically.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because I’m representing his interests.”

“And what do you want?”

“Primarily,” Mason said, “I want to know what you want.” She said, “As it happens, Mr. Mason, I see no reason why I shouldn’t answer that question.”

“That’s fine.”

She indicated a carved wooden cigarette case. “Care to smoke, Mr. Mason?”

“Thank you.”

The lawyer took the cover from the cigarette case, extended it to her. She took one and leaned forward for Mason’s match. Her eyes glanced up at him with steady appraisal while he was holding the light to her cigarette. Mason lit a cigarette of his own, resumed his chair, thrust his long legs out in front of him, crossed his ankles and said, “Well?” She said, “Mr. Mason, let’s be frank with each other. I think you’re going to prove rather a dangerous antagonist.”

“Thank you.”

“How did you find out about me?”

“I told you, I hired a detective.”

“How did you find out about the proxies?”

“That,” Mason said, “is another matter.”

She tapped the toe of her foot on the carpet, then, with a graceful, feline shrug of her shoulders, squirmed herself into a comfortable position on the davenport, adjusted a cushion to suit herself, and, with a flash of stocking, elevated her legs so that she was half reclining. She took a deep drag of the cigarette, blew a long stream of blue cigarette smoke toward the ceiling. “Interesting, isn’t it?”

“Very,” Mason said.

“My darling husband,” she said, “has accumulated himself another woman. Fie wanted to trade me in on the new model but something happened and he got all mixed up with the pink slip. I’m afraid I’m still his and the defect in title may be with the new model.”

“And so?” Mason asked.

“And so,” she said, “Mr. Mason, I intend to show my claws — just a little bit.”

“And, specifically, what do you want?”

“I want him.”

“You mean you would like to hold him legally, whether he wants to be held or not?”

She half closed her eyes and studied him thoughtfully, then she said, “I’m going to tell you something, Mr. Mason.”

“Go ahead.”

“Perhaps,” she said, “because I rather like your face; perhaps because I happen to feel philosophical. Are you married?”

“No.”

“When a man possesses a woman,” Mrs. Garvin said, “he has acquired a very peculiar possession. It is, in a way, an emotional mirror, a sounding board, an animated echo of his emotions. Fie gets back exactly what he gives.

“During the honeymoon, while he looks upon her as an angel, she looks upon him as a god. There is a period of mutual, worshipful admiration. Then, as the glamour wears off and the man realizes that he has acquired a working partner, he gets in return a working partner.”

“Go on,” Mason said.

Her eyes glittered slightly under the half-closed lids.

“Then,” she said, “a man sometimes begins to fret. He begins to chafe at restraint. He begins to be a little restless, because he has lost his freedom. He then does either one of two things. He begins to cheat a little bit, in a quiet, awkward manner, or he begins to nag. In any event, he shows that his wife has become something less than his most prized possession.”

“And then what?” Mason asked.

“Then,” she said, “he gets paid back in exactly his own coin. If a man is wise, he’ll take as much freedom as he feels that he needs; if a wife is wise, she’ll give a man as much freedom as he needs to keep him happy. Then the home life will be happy. The man may lie to his wife; he may cheat a little, but he’ll always value her as a prized possession. But when he starts regarding her as a ball and chain, she can slam the door of the prison very, very tight, Mr. Mason, lock the door and throw away the key.”

“Which is what you have done?”

“What I am going to do, Mr. Mason.”

“And just how do you propose to do it?”

She said, “You’re a lawyer. You’ve found out about my little trick with the stock proxies, haven’t you, Mr. Mason?”

“Yes.”

“Just what do you contemplate doing?”

“On behalf of your husband, I intend to see that any proxies that were fraudulently signed are held to be invalid.”

“So that my husband will then be here and assume control of the stockholders’ meeting, as usual?”

“Yes.”

“I think you are very clever, Mr. Mason. I think that perhaps you know your way around the law. I think perhaps you can do that. However, if you do it, I am going to do something that will enable me to achieve my goal by a different method.”

“What?” Mason asked.

“Perhaps,” she said, “you would care to listen.”

She was careless of her legs as she changed position on the davenport, drew the telephone to her, said to the switchboard operator downstairs, “Will you please get me the district attorney’s office?”

After a moment she said, “I want the complaint division, please.”

After another moment she said, “This is Mrs. Ethel Garvin talking. I am the wife of Edward Charles Garvin, who has gone through a bigamous marriage ceremony and is now living with another woman. He has deserted me and is openly cohabiting with this woman as his wife. He did, I believe, go through the formality of an invalid, fraudulent and entirely spurious Mexican divorce. I desire to swear to a complaint against him, charging him with bigamy. Could you give me an appointment for some time tomorrow morning?”

There was a moment’s silence, then she smiled and said, “I am aware that you would prefer not to stir up the question of these Mexican divorces, but, as it happens, I am the one who is stirring it up. I insist upon swearing to a complaint charging my husband with bigamy. What time may I have an appointment, please?”

Again she listened, then smiled and said, “Ten-fifteen. Thank you very much. And for whom shall I ask?... Yes, Mr. Stockton, yes. The deputy in the complaint department, yes. Thank you very much. At ten-fifteen promptly I’ll be there.”

She hung up the telephone, turned to Mason. “Does that answer your question?”

Mason smiled. “Do you think it will answer yours?”

She regarded him frankly for a moment, then said quietly, “I’ll be damned if I know, Mr. Mason, but when I get in a fight I keep moving. You’ve called my hand and now I’m going to lead my trumps. How many tricks I can take I don’t know, but I certainly intend to find out.”

“And you really intend to file a complaint against your husband, charging him with bigamy?”

“Mr. Mason, if it’s the last thing on earth that I ever do, I intend to charge my husband with bigamy. I’m going to prosecute him to the limit.”

“Once you start something like that it’s hard to quit.”

“Who wants to quit?” she asked, her eyes flaming. “Mr. Mason, will you kindly tell my husband what I said about a man finding in a woman a reflection of his own thoughts? Mr. Mason, my claws are going to be very, very sharp.”

Mason said, “Didn’t you lead your husband to believe that you had secured a divorce?”

“I am not responsible for what he believed.”

“But you told him you were getting a divorce, didn’t you?”

“Mr. Mason, a woman quite frequently tells a man a lot of things when she is trying to renew his passion, his love, his regard for her. For instance, she may tell him that she’s about to commit suicide; she may make all sorts of threats, all sorts of statements, all sorts of promises.”

Mason said, “Under the circumstances, I’m afraid you’re going to cost your husband some money.”