Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Reluctant Model

She nodded.

“Therefore,” Mason said, “I like to have an affidavit from a person who is going to be a key witness. That affidavit is a statement under oath. If you should subsequently repudiate your story, you would then be guilty of perjury, just the same as if you had sworn falsely on the witness stand.”

Her face showed relief. “Oh,” she said, “if that’s all, I’ll be glad to give you the affidavit.”

Mason nodded to Della Street, said, “Write out the affidavit, Della. Get her to sign it and be sure she raises her right hand and swears.”

Maxine Lindsay said, “I won’t let you down, Mr. Mason, if that’s all that’s worrying you. I don’t like to get mixed into it but if I have to, I have to... I won’t let you down. I’ve never let anyone down. I don’t do things that way.”

“I’m satisfied you don’t,” Mason said, taking the outstretched hand. “Now you go with Miss Street and she’ll get the affidavit and have you sign it.”

She hesitated a moment. “If anything should come up in connection with this, can I reach you on the phone?”

“By calling Miss Street,” Mason said. “Do you anticipate something will come up?”

“It might.”

“Then just call this office and ask for Della Street.”

“And if it should be an emergency, and after office hours or on a weekend?”

Mason regarded her thoughtfully. “You can call the Drake Detective Agency. Their offices are on this floor. They are open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. They can usually reach me.”

“Thank you,” she said, and turned to Della Street.

Mason watched them as they left the office. His forehead was creased in a frown.

Abruptly he picked up his phone, said to the switchboard operator, “Get me Paul Drake, Gertie, please.”

A moment later when Mason had the private detective on the line he said, “A former artist’s model by the name of Maxine Lindsay, Paul. She’s now doing some portrait work of her own. She became a little too busty for the sort of modeling she likes to do. Lattimer Rankin, the art dealer, has been sponsoring her, but I don’t want him to have any idea an investigation is being made. I want her general background, Paul.”

“How old?” Drake asked.

“Late twenties, blonde, blue-eyed, well built, frank, poised.”

“I’ll get right on it,” Drake promised.

“I was quite certain you would,” Mason said dryly. “If she should try to reach me through you after hours, find out what she wants and if it sounds important relay the information.”

“Okay, will do. That all?”

“That,” Mason said, “is all,” and hung up.

Shortly after four o’clock Della Street said, “Mr. Olney’s lawyer is on the line, Chief. He wants to talk with you.”

Mason nodded, picked up the telephone, said, “Perry Mason speaking.”

“This is Roy Hollister, Mason, of Warton, Warton, Cosgrove and Hollister. We’re attorneys for Otto Olney.

“It seems that a client of yours has advised Mr. Olney that an art dealer by the name of Durant has made a public statement to the effect that Mr. Olney’s favorite painting is a forgery. Do you know anything about it?”

“I know a great deal about it,” Mason said. “I have an affidavit from a witness who is willing to go on the stand and swear that Durant told her a painting purportedly by Phellipe Feteet, and which I believe was sold Otto Olney by Lattimer Rankin, who is a client of mine, is a fake.”

“Doesn’t that give Rankin a cause of action against Durant?” Hollister asked.

“I would think so,” Mason said. “I would certainly think he could sue Durant for slander.”

“Well?” Hollister asked.

Mason said, “Such an action would be for damage to his professional reputation and would put in issue not only whether the painting is genuine but Rankin’s professional reputation. It also would necessitate showing that Durant was actuated by malice in making his statement and that it was not an honest mistake of opinion.

“If you’ve ever tried a slander case you’ll know some of the legal pitfalls — and the public would always remember Lattimer Rankin as the art dealer whose integrity was questioned by another art dealer... I don’t intend to have my client walk into that trap.”

“What do you intend to do?”

“Nothing,” Mason said.

“Apparently Rankin thinks that Otto Olney should sue Durant.”

“Doubtless he does.”

“Well, we feel Rankin should wash his own dirty linen,” Hollister snapped. “We don’t want our client to be a cat’s-paw for Rankin or for anyone else.”

“Neither do I,” Mason told him, his voice almost casual. “However if Olney wants to shut Durant up, all he has to do is to file suit to prove that the picture is genuine. The picture itself is all that would be in issue in that suit.”

“I don’t know that he cares to go to those lengths to protect Rankin’s reputation,” Hollister said.

“I certainly wouldn’t think that he should,” Mason said. “If he were my client I would advise him not to.”

“Well then, what’s all the shooting about?” Hollister asked.

“But if he were my client,” Mason went on, “I would advise him that unless somebody stopped Durant from making those statements he was going to have his painting branded as a fraud, he was going to have himself labeled, at least in the popular mind, as a prime sucker. I don’t know enough about your client’s business position to know whether such a reputation would damage him or not. I have an idea it would.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Well?” Mason asked.

“I’m thinking it over,” Hollister said.

“Take all the time you want,” Mason told him.

“You’re not planning to have Lattimer Rankin file suit?”

“As long as he’s my client he isn’t going to file suit. He could put himself right out on the end of the limb very easily. Do you want me to send you a copy of an affidavit executed by Maxine Lindsay?”

“Who’s she?”

“The person to whom Durant made the statement about the painting.”

“I’d like very much to have a copy of that affidavit,” Hollister said, “and then I think I’d like to sleep on it. I’ll call you first thing in the morning.”

“Okay,” Mason said, “we’ll send the affidavit right over.”

He looked up from the phone to make sure Della Street was listening on her extension and taking notes.

“My secretary will take care of it immediately,” Mason said, and hung up.

Della Street smiled. “Well, he certainly executed an about-face,” she said. “He called you up to tell you you couldn’t use him or his client as cat’s-paws.”

Mason grinned.

“Tell me, Chief,” she asked, “could you get hurt in a suit of this kind?”

“My client could,” Mason said.

“So your strategy begins to unfold.” Della Street smiled. “How about Olney? Could he get hurt?”

Mason laughed. “A wealthy contractor who has a lawyer retained by the month — how could he?”

“And Durant gets called to account in a case where he hasn’t a legal leg to stand on except the painting itself, and it doesn’t cost Rankin anything except the retainer he paid. That seems to me to be a pretty good deal — for Rankin.”

“Well,” Mason said, grinning, “that’s what he wanted to pay me for, wasn’t it? And remember, Olney has his own very competent lawyers.”

Ten-thirty Tuesday morning Hollister was again on the line with Mason. “I am inviting you,” he said, “to a press conference aboard the yacht of Otto Olney. It is taking place at two o’clock this afternoon at the Penguin Yacht Club. You are invited to be present and to stay for cocktails — two to five.”