Erle Gardner - The Case of the Postponed Murder

Drake resumed his gum chewing. He slowly nodded. “Well,” he said, “she’s in a jam.”

“How much of a jam?” Mason asked.

“A forged cheque for eight hundred and fifty smackers for one thing,” Drake said.

“Who cashed the cheque, Paul?”

“Stylefirst Department Store.”

“Some cash and some credit?” Mason asked.

“Credit on a nine hundred and fifty dollar balance,” Drake said. “The department store received the cheque in the mail, put it through without paying very much attention to it, had it returned marked as a forgery, and got peeved about it. In the meantime, Mae Farr had evidently got wind of what had happened and skipped out.”

Mason pushed his chair away from the desk, got to his feet, and started walking the floor, his eyes staring in frowning concentration at the carpet as he walked. “Paul,” he flung over his shoulder, “I’m going to ask you a question. I hope the answer to the question is ‘no.’ I’m afraid it’s going to be ‘yes.’ Was that forged cheque signed by a man named Wentworth?”

“That’s right,” Drake said. “Penn Wentworth, and it was a lousy forgery.”

Mason whirled to stare steadily at the detective. “It was what? ” he asked.

“A lousy forgery,” Drake repeated.

Mason once more made that characteristic tossing gesture with his right hand. “There you are, Paul,” he said. “Another figure in the column which throws the account out of balance. That girl wouldn’t have committed a poor forgery. Notice her hands and fingers — long, slender, tapering, artistic, swift and sure about everything they did.

“When she was in here, she was nervous as the devil, but she opened her purse, took out a fresh pack of cigarettes, tore off a corner of the package, took out a cigarette and put it in her mouth, all with smooth, swift grace. That girl can play a piano, can probably paint, and would never, never be guilty of committing a crude forgery.”

“Well, she’s done it this time,” Drake said. “I saw the cheque. It was payable to Mae Farr in an amount of eight hundred and fifty dollars and was endorsed on the back, ‘Pay to the order of Stylefirst Department Store, Mae Farr.’”

“How about her signature on the endorsement?” Mason asked.

“What about it?”

“Did it look all right?”

Drake raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Why the devil wouldn’t it look all right?” he asked. “Cripes, Perry, no one is going to forge an eight hundred and fifty dollar cheque just to show a department store a good time.”

“What,” Mason asked, “does Wentworth say?”

“Apparently, Wentworth is very much concerned,” Drake said. “Now, here’s a funny thing. When that charge account was originally opened, Wentworth guaranteed it.”

“So he’d be stuck on the account anyway?” Mason asked.

“Yep.”

“Then the forgery wouldn’t have actually injured him,” Mason said. “He was obligated to pay anyway.”

“No,” Drake said, “if the girl had paid, he wouldn’t have had to. His okay was as a guarantor.”

“And he’s burnt up about the forgery?”

“I’ll say. Says that the girl is a base ingrate and that he’s going to put her behind bars regardless of what comes of it.”

Perry Mason heaved a deep sigh. “Paul,” he said, “the whole business is screwy.”

Drake glanced across at Della Street. “How’s he doing, Della?” he asked. “He’s got me interested now. But what about Perry?”

Della smiled. “He’s been interested all along,” she said, “only he hasn’t admitted it to himself until just now.”

Mason said, “By gosh, Della, I think you’re right.” He turned to Drake and said, “Okay, Paul, tell her I’ll handle her case. When she comes in, tell her this forgery is a serious business and we should do something to protect her sister. Don’t let on that you know the sister business is a stall. I want to spring that on her after she figures she’s got away with something — when it’ll come out of a clear sky.”

“Okay, Perry,” Drake said.

“And one more thing,” Mason went on. “How about a photostatic copy of that forged cheque? Do you think you could get me one?”

“Nothing to it,” Drake said. “The bank had it photographed. Whenever they turn down payment of a cheque on the ground that it’s forged, they protect themselves by having photostatic copies made. I managed to get one.”

“Okay, Paul. Wire the Motor Vehicle Department for a photostatic copy of Mae Farr’s driving licence. That’ll have her signature, among other things. When you get her signature, I’m going to send the photostatic copy of the cheque and her signature over to a handwriting expert.”

“But, my gosh, Perry,” Drake protested, “you don’t need a handwriting expert to tell that cheque is a forgery. It’s a tracing, and you can see it’s a tracing. All the little tremors of the hand which are characteristic of that type of forgery show up plain as day.”

Mason said, “I don’t want to get an opinion on Wentworth’s signature. I want an opinion on the signature of Mae Farr on the endorsement.”

The detective’s forehead knitted into a perplexed frown.

“Get the picture?” Mason asked. “A department store has a bill of nine hundred odd dollars against a Mae Farr with a Penn Wentworth as guarantor. They get a cheque, apparently drawn by Wentworth, payable to Mae Farr, and endorsed over to the department store. They shoot it through in the ordinary course of business. The cheque is a forgery. It comes back to the department store on the first bounce. They notify Wentworth, and Wentworth goes straight up in the air. Naturally, everyone supposes Mae Farr forged the cheque because apparently she’s the one who stands to profit by the forgery.”

“Well?” Drake asked. “You can’t get away from that reasoning.”

Mason grinned. “Suppose,” he observed, “that Mae Farr’s signature is also a forgery.”

“I don’t get you,” Drake said.

Mason’s grin broadened. “Think it over for a while, Paul. The situation has possibilities.”

Mason nodded to Della Street. “Take a letter, Della,” he said.

She whipped a shorthand book from the desk drawer and held a fountain pen poised in readiness.

Mason dictated, “To Mr. Penn Wentworth. Drake will give you his address. ‘Dear Sir: Miss Sylvia Farr of North Mesa, California, has retained me to locate her sister, Mae Farr, who formerly lived at the Pixley Court Apartments in this city, and to act as her legal representative in any difficulties in which she may be involved.’ Paragraph. ‘From information contained in some of Mae Farr’s letters to her sister, it occurs to me that you may be in a position to give me some information as to the present whereabouts of the party in question. In the event you should, by any chance, be in direct communication with her, please assure her that her sister has made all necessary arrangements for this office to represent her to the extent of its ability.’ Paragraph. ‘Thanking you in advance for any information you may be able to give, I am very truly yours.’”

As Mason finished dictating, he glanced across at Paul Drake. “Unless I miss my guess,” he said, “that letter will get us plenty of action.”

Della Street, entering Perry Mason’s office with the morning mail, said, “Your bread on the waters seems to have returned in the form of cake.”

“What bread?” Mason asked.

“The letter you sent yesterday to Penn Wentworth.”

“Oh, that,” Mason said, and grinned. “I’m afraid I’ll have to send you to cooking school, Della.”

“Why?”

“That bread on the waters,” Mason remarked, “isn’t going to return in the form of cake. It’s going to return in the form of dough.”