Erle Gardner: The Case of the Half-Wakened Wife

“Certainly not.”

“You mean that Mrs. Lacey is willing to accept a settlement of two hundred and fifty dollars?”

“She hasn’t said so, but I think she would say so if I advised her to.”

“And you would so advise her?”

“Is there any reason why I shouldn’t?”

“The best reason I can think of,” Mason said, “is that I’m not going to pay her two hundred and fifty dollars. I’m not going to pay her a damn cent.”

“Why, that’s absurd!” Attica exclaimed. “I was being nice to you. The nuisance value of the case alone is far greater than two hundred and fifty dollars. Think of it, Mr. Mason, that would only be a hundred and twenty-five from you and a hundred and twenty-five from Mr. Drake.”

Mason yawned, looked at his watch, said, “It’s approximately ten o’clock. Is your client going to be here?”

“There won’t be any need to go ahead with the deposition if the case is settled.”

Mason said doggedly, “The case isn’t going to be settled, not as far as I’m concerned.”

“Why Mr. Mason, you absolutely astound me! Mr. Drake let me understand over the telephone last night that he personally would be willing to settle for somewhere in the vicinity of a thousand dollars.”

“Let him settle if he wants to,” Mason said.

“Suppose he should pay the entire financial consideration?”

Mason said, “The plaintiff can always dismiss the action if she wants to but, as far as I’m concerned, I’m not going to pay a cent, and I’m going to have it definitely understood that I didn’t pay a cent. I can’t make any statement to the press about what Marion Shelby did or did not tell me without betraying the confidence of a client. But I certainly can tell the truth about this case. It’s ten o’clock, bring in your client.”

“But Mr. Mason, surely you can’t be bullheaded enough...”

“It’s ten o’clock,” Mason said. “Bring in your client.”

Attica got to his feet, his face flushed. “All right, if you want it that way, that’s the way it’ll be. You’ll find out that we don’t have to cooperate with you, Mr. Perry Mason. As a matter of fact, it won’t take but just a little gossip to tarnish your prestige very greatly over this case. There are many people even now who are thinking that the defense of Marion Shelby was badly botched — under the circumstances.”

“Let them think,” Mason said. “It’s ten o’clock, bring in your client.”

Attica turned to the door with dignity. “Where do you wish to take the deposition?”

“In the law library,” Mason said.

“Very well, my client will be there.”

Della Street glided from the room, returned in a few minutes and nodded to Mason. “Everything’s all set.”

“Drake there?”

“Not yet.”

“Attica’s client?”

“He’s waiting for her. He expects her any minute. He told her to be here at ten o’clock.”

“It’s ten minutes past now.”

“Yes I know. I don’t think Attica expected there would be any necessity for her to be here.”

“It isn’t what he thinks that counts,” Mason said, “it’s what happens. Let me know as soon as she comes in and let me know as soon as Drake comes in.”

Della Street nodded, stepped back into the law library and Mason could hear the sound of chairs being dragged over the floor as last minute preparations were made for the deposition.

It was ten-seventeen when Drake arrived with “two friends” who were not introduced but who unobtrusively sat back in a corner.

At ten-twenty Della Street entered Mason’s office, said, “You don’t suppose she’s standing you up, do you?”

“There was a stipulation that she’d be here at ten o’clock,” Mason said. “In the event she doesn’t show up, I’m going to put it up to Attica to get her here no matter where she is.”

“He’s telephoning now... What happened, Chief? You seem all perked up. Have you found out something?”

Mason opened the morning newspaper, pointed to the half page photograph in the pictorial section. “Seen that?” he asked. “It’s a new one.”

“Yes.”

“Nice stuff,” Mason said. “I’ve been asleep at the switch. Listen to this. Here’s the caption. ‘PHOTOGRAPH OF PICNIC TAKEN WITH KODAK SELF-TIMER WHICH WILL FIGURE IN QUARTER MILLION DOLLAR SLANDER SUIT — THIS SHOWS ELLEN CUSHING, NOW MRS. ARTHUR LACEY, AND HER HUSBAND ON THE FAMOUS PICNIC WHICH IS INVOLVED IN A TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY THOUSAND DOLLAR SUIT FOR DEFAMATION OF CHARACTER, MR. PERRY MASON, THE NOTED ATTORNEY, AND PAUL DRAKE, THE DETECTIVE, BEING DEFENDANTS.’ ”

“What about it?” Della Street asked.

“Nice picture,” Mason said. “Nice composition. The man standing on the raft. The girl opening various boxes, spreading out plates on the ground, and above all a piece of ice reposing on the blanket.”

“What about it, Chief?”

“Beautiful cloud effect,” Mason said. “Just notice those beautiful billowy clouds. Lights and shadows. A darn fine picture. It might have been used for an advertisement for a film company. Clear, full of tone value.”

“Chief, what are you getting at?”

Mason grinned and said, “Every cloud, Della, has a silver lining.”

“I don’t get you...”

The door opened. Gertie leaned forward with the door, holding the knob of the open door with one hand, the jam with the other. She said, “Mrs. Lacey’s here. Attica wanted me to tell you. He says if you want to see him first...”

Mason folded the newspaper, opened his knife, slit out the printed copy of the photograph, folded it and put it in his pocket.

“Tell Attica I definitely don’t care to see him. Come on, Della, let’s go.”

Mason entered the law library. Ellen Cushing Lacey, wearing dark glasses, a dark hat, a trim dark blue suit, blue gloves and blue shoes, regarded the lawyer coldly. The white rims of the dark glasses gave her face a weird, owl-like look.

Attica said, “All right, all right. Let’s get going. This is the time heretofore fixed by stipulation for the deposition of Ellen Cushing Lacey in the case of Cushing vs. Perry Mason and Paul Drake.”

Mason said, “That’s right. This deposition is being taken pursuant to the provisions of the Code of Civil Procedure by which I have the right to take the deposition of an adverse party and to cross-examine a party of record on the other side without being bound by the answers.”

“Very well,” Attica snapped. “Go ahead with your questions.”

Mason drew up a chair and sat down, said, “Let the witness be sworn.”

The notary public swore the witness, then quietly left the office. “I’ll return whenever the deposition is concluded,” she said.

Mason glanced over at Paul Drake, at the faces of the two newspapermen who were making themselves as inconspicuous as possible.

Mason said, “Miss Cushing, you’re suing Mr. Drake and myself for damages because of defamation of character.”

“That’s right.”

“Growing out of the fact that you claim we told the officers something about the wet blanket and the pair of wet shoes?”

“That and the fact that you told them I was harboring Scott Shelby, that he wasn’t dead at all, and that I had participated in a frame-up in order to make it look as though he had died, that I had had a man in my bedroom all night.”

“Now you explained that wet blanket by saying that you used it to carry ice in.”

“Yes. Do I have to go through that all over again?”

“Not necessarily, if you’ll refer to the testimony which you gave in court yesterday and say that it is substantially correct.”

“It is.”

“I hand you herewith a newspaper clipping setting forth that story. I’ll ask you to glance through it and see if it conforms to the facts of the case.”