Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Dubious Bridegroom

“Damn him, he could have told me he was planning that,” Mason said. “Well, get the secretary and treasurer of the company. Tell him to come down here. I want to see him. Tell him that we’re representing Mr. Garvin and I want him down here on a matter of the greatest importance.”

“They already know you’re representing Garvin,” Della Street said. “His secretary put through the check for a thousand dollars.”

“All right,” Mason told her, “get the secretary and treasurer of the corporation, whoever he may be, to come on down here, and tell him to make it snappy.”

A few minutes later Della Street took a phone call from the outer office and said to Mason, “Mr. George L. Denby is in the office, chief.”

“Who’s Denby?”

“He’s the secretary and treasurer of the company upstairs.”

“Show him in,” Mason said.

Denby, a thin, formal individual, with glasses, gray hair, a loosely fitting suit and cold hands, introduced himself to Perry Mason, shook hands and sat down. He hitched up the knees of his trousers before crossing his legs as he settled down facing the attorney.

Mason said, “I’m representing Garvin.”

“I understand so. May I ask if you’re representing him as an individual, or did he retain you to look after the interests of the corporation?”

“I’m representing Garvin,” Mason said. “I take it he has a diversity of interests?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Some of which are in the corporation?”

“Yes.”

“Does that answer your question, then?” Mason asked with a smile.

Denby’s ice-cold eyes peered out from behind his spectacles. “No,” he said.

Mason threw back his head and laughed.

Denby didn’t even smile.

Mason said, “All right, I’m representing him as an individual, put it that way. Now then, a certain matter has come to my attention which bothers me.”

“What is it, Mr. Mason?”

“Who holds Certificate Number 123 in the corporation?”

“I’m sure I couldn’t tell you, offhand, Mr. Mason.”

“When’s your stockholders’ meeting?”

“Day after tomorrow.”

“What time?”

“Two o’clock.”

“It’s a regular annual meeting?”

“Oh, yes.”

“What are the provisions in the bylaws about proxy voting, if any?”

“Really, Mr. Mason, I can’t answer that offhand. I believe the provisions conform to the state law.”

“Garvin holds a lot of proxies?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“How many?”

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss the affairs of the corporation, Mr. Mason — under the circumstances.”

“I see,” Mason said. “Go up to your office and check through your files. See how many proxies have been sent in for E. C. Garvin to vote.”

“Yes, of course, Mr. Mason, I’ll be very glad to check on that.”

“And then let me know.”

“That, unfortunately, Mr. Mason, is an entirely different matter. It’s a matter which concerns the corporation, as well as Mr. Garvin. I would require specific authorization from some officer of the company.”

“Get that authorization, then.”

“That might not be easy.”

“I didn’t ask you whether it would be easy — I told you to get it. It’s in the best interests of the corporation.”

“Of course, it calls for confidential information. Even Mr. Garvin — well, Mr. Garvin, Mr. Mason, is not an officer of the company.”

“Who’s the president?”

“Frank C. Livesey.”

“Is he up in the office now?”

“No. He was in earlier in the day, but he left.”

“Get him on the phone,” Mason said. “Tell him what’s cooking. Suggest to him that he’d better get in touch with me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“He’s listed in the telephone book?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“See what you can do,” Mason said.

“Very well.” Denby arose, said, “I trust you will appreciate my position, Mr. Mason. Of course, I understand that...”

“That’s all right,” Mason told him. “Go right ahead. Let me have what information you can.”

As soon as Denby had left the office Mason nodded to Della Street. “Look through the telephone directory for Frank C. Livesey and...”

Della Street smiled. “I have already done that. As soon as he mentioned the name I started looking.”

“Got the number?”

“Yes.”

“See if you can get him on the phone,” Mason said.

Della Street whirled the dial of the telephone, her fingers flying over the numbers, said, “Hello... hello. Is this Mr. Frank C. Livesey? Just a moment, Mr. Livesey, Mr. Mason wants to talk with you — Mr. Perry Mason, the lawyer. Just hold the phone a moment, please.”

Mason picked up the telephone and said, “Hello. Mr. Livesey?”

A cautious voice over the wire said, “This is Mr. Frank C. Livesey.”

“You’re president of the Garvin Mining, Exploration and Development Company?”

“Yes, Mr. Mason. May I ask the reason for your inquiry?”

“Something is going on which I think may affect the corporation. I’m representing Mr. Garvin. I’ve run into a snag when it came to getting information out of Denby, the secretary-treasurer.”

Livesey laughed and said, “You would.”

“Meaning he’s hostile to Garvin?” Mason asked bluntly.

“Meaning that he’s a stickler for formality and red tape,” Livesey said. “What’s the trouble, Mr. Mason?”

“I don’t like to tell you over the phone.”

“All right, I’ll come to your office at once.”

“Do that,” Mason said, and hung up.

Frank C. Livesey was a pudgy, jovial individual, with a stubby red mustache, popeyes and a partially bald bullet head. The tightness of his clothes indicated that he had put on weight since buying his suit. His figure indicated that this process had been going on for years, but had not affected the optimism which always possessed him when buying new clothes.

He was around forty, and his eyes lit with the appreciation of a connoisseur as he glanced at Della Street.

“Well, well, Mr. Mason, how are you?” he said, with genial cordiality, but his eyes dwelt on Della Street.

He advanced across Mason’s office, hand pushed out in front of him, grabbed the lawyer’s hand and wrung it heartily.

“Sorry to have kept you waiting, Mason. I’m very sorry indeed. But I wanted to check up on a couple of things before I came down to talk with you. Frankly, Mason, the situation is incredible.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Mason asked.

“It’s incredible, absolutely incredible. Things are in a hell of a shape.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Well, now, the setup of the Garvin Mining, Exploration and Development Company is a little peculiar, Mason. I can’t go into details but Garvin, of course, is the big shot. For legal purposes he likes to keep in the background. On the advice of counsel, he’s kept off the board of directors and doesn’t hold any elective office. Because of certain deals with a partnership his interests in that are perfectly all right as long as he’s only a stockholder, but might be questioned if he were a director.”

Mason nodded.

“But, of course,” Livesey went on, “you understand the situation, Mason. We’re all of us Garvin’s men. In fact, we’re — well, I may say we’re dummies for Garvin... Now, I shouldn’t put it that way. That sort of slipped out. But, after all, Mason, you’re Garvin’s lawyer and you’re nobody’s fool.”

“And, I take it,” Mason said, “after I telephoned you, you delayed coming to see me until you could have a talk with Mr. Denby?”

“Exactly,” Livesey said, “After all, you’re a busy man. There’s no use taking up your time talking about something unless I know what I’m talking about. I wanted to find out.”