Erle Gardner: The Case of the Borrowed Brunette

“The prints appear to be identical,” Mason said.

“They are identical.”

“I notice that the address here is the address of the apartment we’re talking about. But perhaps you have still other proof?”

“Certainly,” she replied calmly. “I understood that you would want plenty. I have here a series of rent receipts signed by the manager of the premises. You will notice that they are for consecutive months for the past six months.”

“You have a Social Security number?” Mason asked.

“No.” There was contempt in the monosyllable.

“You have other means of identification than the driving license?”

“Certainly. I have credit cards, golf-club membership cards, and various other things, but I see no reason to produce them. Certainly this driver’s license vouches for my identity — it’s dated six months ago.”

“Better let me see some of those other cards,” Mason said.

This time she was, for a moment, definitely angry. But she wordlessly produced some half-dozen cards and passed them across for inspection.

Mason pulled pencil and paper toward him and started making a list of the cards with dates and numbers.

“Really, Mr. Mason, is that necessary?”

“I think it is.”

“Very well,” she said in tight-lipped anger.

When Mason had finished with them, he handed them back to her.

She had waited for that moment when his hand was extended toward hers. Now she brushed his hand with the tips of her fingers as she took the cards, suddenly favoring him with a dazzling smile. “And now that we’ve completed the nasty part, Mr. Mason, can’t we be friends?”

Mason grinned. “But we haven’t completed the nasty part, yet. You own the apartment — that is, you rent it. So what?”

“My friend, Mr. Hines, is in complete charge of my affairs so far as they concern that apartment.”

“And its contents?” Mason asked.

“Its contents, too.”

“All of them?”

“Everything.”

Mason turned to Della Street. “Take this down, will you, Della?

“To whom it may concern:

This is to certify that the undersigned, Helen Reedley, is, and for some six months past has been, the tenant of an apartment in that certain apartment house known as the Siglet Manor situate on Eighth Street, and specifically, the number of the apartment so rented by the undersigned being designated as number 326 in said apartment house. I represent, warrant, and state that I am the sole owner of all property in said apartment; that one Robert Dover Hines is my agent and attorney in fact for the purpose of dealing with said apartment and with all of the contents thereof; that he may, at his discretion, permit any person or persons to enter into said apartment, to remain there as long as the said Hines desires, and on such terms as he may care to make; that such person or persons, with the consent of the said Robert Dover Hines, may use, take, convert, transport, or otherwise dispose of any or all of the contents of said apartment including my own personal wearing apparel, toilet articles, and accessories, or any other thing of any sort, nature, or description which may be situate in said apartment. I hereby ratify everything the said Robert Dover Hines has done in connection with such matters and agree to abide by any agreement he may make in connection with such apartment.”

“Put a blank for a signature on that, Della, and then bring your notarial seal. You can put an acknowledgment on it.”

“I say,” Helen Reedley protested, “isn’t that going rather strong?”

Mason met her eyes, smiled, and said, “Yes.”

As Della Street withdrew to type the document, Mason lit a cigarette and settled back in the chair. “Now the ‘nasty part’ is over, and we can be friends.”

Her eyes were blazing with anger. “But now I don’t want to be friends!”

Mason smiled. “You know, of course, what Hines is doing?”

“Certainly.”

“And what,” Mason asked, “is the reason for all this?”

“That’s purely personal.”

“I’ll have to know.”

“That document I’m going to sign protects you.”

“It affords us adequate protection provided I know the reason for what is going on.”

“I see no reason to tell you.”

“In the event you don’t,” Mason said, “it’s going to be necessary to strengthen that document.”

“If you can find any way of strengthening that, I’ll eat it!”

Mason pushed the button on his desk. When Della Street appeared from the adjoining office he said, “Get your book, Della. I’m going to put some additional stuff in that release.”

Helen Reedley sat in tight-lipped angry silence.

Della Street returned with her notebook, settled herself in the secretarial chair by Mason’s desk, and held her pencil poised. Mason began to dictate...

“I further understand that the said Robert Dover Hines has installed certain parties in the said apartment, one of whom has been instructed by the said Hines to use the name of Helen Reedley. I hereby consent to the use of my name, the signing of my said name, or the impersonation of me by such person at such times and in such manner and for such purposes as my agent, the said Robert Dover Hines, may instruct, and I hereby waive any claim of any sort, nature, or description against said person, because, or by reason of, her use of my said name, and agree to hold her harmless for any damages which may be suffered because of so impersonating me and fully indemnify her against any financial loss of any sort, nature, or description incurred through following the instructions of my said agent, Robert Dover Hines.”

There was a sudden crash as Helen Reedley jumped indignantly to her feet; her purse slipped from her lap and fell to the floor, spilling some of its contents over the office carpet. “Do you think I’ll sign any such thing as that?” she blazed. “That’s absolutely beyond all reason. It’s impertinent, it’s... it’s... suicidal! ”

Suavely Mason broke in on her sputtering indignation. “I suggested to you, Miss Reedley, that it might be much better to confide in me fully and tell me the purpose back of all this. I told you that if you didn’t I’d strengthen that document.”

“But that’s absurd — absolutely ridiculous! Why, under that document the girl could go to my bank and sign my name to a check for five thousand dollars and calmly walk off thumbing her nose at me.”

“She certainly could,” Mason said, “ provided, of course, that your agent, Mr. Hines, told her she could do so.”

“Well, Hines isn’t my agent to that extent.”

“Then you’d better tell me a little more about Mr. Hines and the extent to which he is your agent.”

“I’ve told you everything I intend to.”

“I’m sorry,” Mason said. “Either I get that information, or I get a signature to that document. Go ahead and type it up, Della.

“You’d better pick up your things there on the floor, Miss Reedley. And incidentally, if you’re carrying a gun in that purse, you should have a permit.”

“How do you know I haven’t one?” she flared.

“I don’t,” Mason said. “But if you do have, by all means let me see it because that in itself will be a means of identification.”

She bent angrily over her purse, pushed the things back into it, snapped the purse shut, and got to her feet. “God, how I hate men like you!” she exclaimed.

“The men you like are the ones you can twist around your thumb. I’m not exactly immune, Miss Reedley, but I’ve always made it a rule never to let an attractive woman influence me in my protection of my clients’ interests.”

“I’ll say you haven’t!” she blazed.