Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Reluctant Model

Gilbert turned and surveyed her from head to foot. His face showed approval. “For you, baby, yes, I’d answer one question for you.”

“Were you paid for that picture in hundred-dollar bills?” Della Street asked.

Gilbert hesitated a moment, then said, “I wish you hadn’t asked me that question, but I told you I’d answer your question and I’ll answer it. Yes, I was paid in hundred-dollar bills and since you I like I’ll tell you the rest of it. It was an even two thousand and I had it in twenty one-hundred-dollar bills, and it has nothing to do with what you’re after.”

“Two weeks ago?” Mason asked.

“About that, when I got paid. About ten days.”

“How did you get the painting back?” Mason asked.

“No one ever took it. It was left here.”

“Any marking on that picture so you can identify it in case the question should arise as to whether this is the copy or the original?”

“I can tell,” Gilbert said, “and I’ll bet nobody else can.”

“Are you certain this is the copy?”

“It’s the copy.”

Mason said, “What will you take for it?”

“You mean you want to buy it?”

“I might.”

Gilbert said, “Don’t crowd me. I’ll think it over and let you know.”

“When?”

“When I make up my mind.”

Mason said, “Here’s one of my cards. I’m Perry Mason, the lawyer.”

“Hell, I know,” Gilbert said. “I recognized your face when I saw you standing there. You’ve been photographed too much... Who’s the chick?”

“Della Street, my secretary,” Mason said.

Gilbert’s eyes went over her again. “Crazy,” he said.

“Thanks,” Della Street said.

“What are you doing now?” Gilbert asked. “Business or pleasure?”

“Business.”

“When do you get off?”

Della Street surveyed him. “Any time.”

“Want to ditch these squares and come on down to a party — nice people, no hypocrisy, no detours, no yakkity-yak; talk straight from the shoulder?”

“Some other time, maybe,” Della Street said. “Do you have the right to sell this painting?”

“How should I know?” Gilbert asked. “If I sold it to a lawyer, he could worry about the title.”

Mason said, “It may be very important to make certain that nothing happens to that picture. Just how much money would you want for it right now so I could take it out of here with me?”

Gilbert said, “Money, money, money! I get so damned tired of square talk about money, I could scream!

“You know something? That’s my trouble. I’ve got talent that people want to buy for money, and I’m so damned screwy that I take the money. Now, I’m going to tell you something, Mr. Perry Mason. I don’t want money. I’ve got money. I’ve got enough to pay the rent on this pad, I’ve got enough to buy food, I’ve got enough to buy juice. Everything else I get for nothing.

“You know something? I was just on the point of giving that painting to your secretary just so she would have something to remember me by, but now I think I’ll hang onto it for a while.

“I’ll tell you something else. Don’t ever come down here and start offering me money. I’m finished with money. I am getting so I’m becoming a square myself. Money can’t live your life for you. Money can only give you a lot of false objectives. You can’t buy your way to happiness. You can only live your way to happiness.

“I think your chick’s all right, but you two are in a rut. The sad part of it is you have brains enough to break away from the routine if you’d just give yourselves a break, but you don’t have guts enough to do it; you’re all wrapped up in the conventions. To hell with it! I’m going back to my party and people who talk my language. Good night to all of you. Come on, I’m closing up the joint.”

“I want to be sure that nothing happens to that painting,” Mason repeated. “It may be important.”

“Your needle’s stuck,” Gilbert said. “You’ve been all over that before. You’re wearing out the record.”

“I just wanted to be sure I was registering on your wave length,” Mason told him.

“You’re coming in loud and clear. I heard you the first time and the second time. Now, don’t waste any more of my time and don’t offer me money. I’m sick of money.”

He looked Della over again. “Come back anytime, Sugar.” Then to Mason and Paul Drake, “Okay. I’m going back to the party. Come on, you guys are out.”

They walked out into the hall. Gilbert pulled the door shut. The spring lock clicked into place.

“Have fun,” Della Street said.

He turned, looked her over, then said, “ We do. You could.”

He stood with them for a half moment at the elevator, then barefooted his way on down the corridor.

“There’s a man who has talent, remarkable talent,” Mason said. Then he turned to Della Street. “How did you know Durant paid for the duplicate painting in hundred-dollar bills?”

“I didn’t,” she said. “I just made a shot in the dark.”

“You hit quite a bull’s-eye,” Mason said.

“Do you suppose they arranged things so that duplicate picture was actually hung in the salon in the yacht?” Drake asked.

“No,” Mason said. “They weren’t ready to switch paintings until after Olney had taken the bait. They needled Olney and Rankin, knowing someone would fall for it and walk into the trap. After Olney had filed his suit and had his experts all ready to go on the stand and swear that the picture was genuine, if he could have arranged it, Durant would have had the duplicate substituted, so that it was the duplicate that was brought into court.

“The experts, having seen and appraised the original, would be lulled into a false security, would get up on the stand and swear that this was an original Feteet. Then Durant’s attorney would have asked them to take a closer look and started cross-examining them. Suddenly the experts would have become just a little dubious and started looking for telltale marks of identification and perhaps not find them. They might have either continued to swear that it was an original or they might have backed up on their opinion and become more or less panic-stricken. Durant would have won out in either event.”

“But could he have proven that it was a copy?” Drake asked.

“They’ve got some secret mark on it, something that would have enabled him to prove it was a copy; that is, there’s some way of proving it was painted years after Feteet’s death.”

“Then, if he’d lived, Durant would have been able to have taken Olney for quite a ride.”

“If he’d lived,” Mason said dryly.

“So now?” Drake asked.

“Now,” Mason said, “you’d better keep your men working but go get yourself a night’s sleep, Paul. You look tired.”

“The reason I look tired,” Drake said, “is because I am tired. For your information, I’m going to stumble into a Turkish bath and sweat a lot of fatigue poisons out of me. Then I’m going to hit the hay and it’s going to be someplace where you can’t reach me on a telephone. Tomorrow morning I’ll be back on the job. Tonight I’m bushed, finished, all in, down and out, and I’m not going to get back on the job no matter what happens.”

“Tomorrow,” Mason said, “You’ll be like a new man.”

“Tomorrow is a long way off,” Drake told him.

“And tomorrow you’ll cover the banks?”

“What about the banks?”

“Where,” Mason asked, “does a man get hundred-dollar bills?”

“I don’t know,” Drake said. “I wish I did. I could use some.”

“From banks,” Mason told him. “You don’t go into a store and say, ‘May I cash a check and would you give it to me in hundreds, please?’ You don’t go to a motion picture theater and slide a thousand-dollar bill under the wicket and say, ‘Please give me the change in hundreds.’ ”