Erle Gardner: The Case of the Half-Wakened Wife

Mason said, “The theory on which you want to work is always the theory on which the other man doesn’t want to work. How long will it be before you can give these women an opinion, Jackson?”

“Well, I’m hoping to have something by day after tomorrow, if it isn’t too complicated, and I have luck.”

Mason went back to perch on the edge of the table. He kept his right foot on the floor, swung his left foot in lazy swings. “Suppose that may be too late, Jackson?”

“I can’t help it. It’s the best I can do.”

“As I understand it, there’s a deal in escrow.”

“That’s right.”

Mason said, “A lot depends on how anxious Parker Benton is for this property.”

“Well, he certainly doesn’t want to buy a lawsuit,” Jackson said. “And yet, I don’t see any other way out. There certainly is a clause in that oil lease which gives the lessee a leg to stand on, for a prima-facie case and there’s nothing to prevent him filing suit.”

“Is the document recorded?”

“No, apparently it contained a provision to the effect that drilling operations had to start immediately if the document was recorded. That was by way of insurance that the lessor wouldn’t have his title all clouded up.”

Mason said, “I don’t think I’d go about it this way, Jackson.”

“How else can you go about it?”

“Who’s the man who has the oil lease?”

“A Scott Shelby.”

“In the telephone book?”

“I haven’t looked.”

Mason said to Della Street, “Take a look, Della.”

Della Street ran through the pages of the telephone book.

Mason said, almost musingly, “With a certain class of people, you have to be rough, Jackson.”

“Yes, I suppose so. However, the law is a very exact science. There is always a remedy, if one knows where to hunt for it.”

“And is smart enough to find it,” Mason supplemented. “And isn’t in a hurry. For my part, I have a different way of handling a chiseler.”

“What’s that?” Jackson asked.

“I kick his teeth in.”

Jackson winced. “That expression always makes me shiver,” he said. “I detest violence — of all forms.”

Mason said, “I love it.”

Della Street looked up, caught Mason’s eye, nodded.

Mason gave her a signal and Della Street’s nimble fingers whirred the dial of the telephone.

After a moment, she said into the telephone, “Mr. Scott Shelby, please, Mr. Mason’s office is calling.”

She held the line for a moment then looked up and nodded to Mason.

Mason came over to stand beside her, waited while she said, “Is this Mr. Shelby?... Just a moment Mr. Shelby. This is Mr. Mason’s office. Mr. Mason wants to talk with you.”

She handed the telephone to Mason and moved to one side.

Mason said, “Hello, Mr. Shelby.”

The voice which came over the wire was appraising, “Is this Mr. Perry Mason ?”

“That’s right.”

“Was there something you wished?”

“Got a lawyer?” Mason asked.

“No. Why?”

“You’re going to need one.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I do.”

“May I ask why?”

Mason said, “I have something to say. It’s going to hurt. I’d prefer to deal with your lawyers.”

“If it involves oil matters,” Shelby said positively, “I don’t need any lawyer. I know more about oil leases than any lawyer I’ve ever talked with yet. What’s on your mind?”

“The Jane Keller lease.”

“What about it?”

“Suppose you tell me .”

Shelby said, “There’s nothing much to it, Mr. Mason. The lease is very simple and very plain. One of those straightforward documents that is put in ordinary business language and says what it means.”

“In fine print,” Mason commented.

“Well of course, it’s printed. It makes it a lot easier that way.”

“Sure it does — for you.”

“Now in this lease,” Shelby went on, “I was to pay a hundred dollars a month until I started drilling. Any time I didn’t pay, they could consider the lease at an end. That’s fair enough, isn’t it?”

“It would seem so.”

“But,” Shelby went on, “there was also a provision that if they didn’t terminate by notice, I could come back at any time within six months and reinstate myself. Apparently they overlooked that.”

“That your private joker, or did you borrow it?” Mason asked.

Shelby said suavely, “There’s no use you and me arguing over the telephone, Mr. Mason. I understand there’s a sale on. I don’t want to be shortchanged. I won’t have that property sold out from under me; but on the other hand, I don’t want to interfere with a good sale. Look here, Mr. Mason, why don’t you run over and have a chat with me?”

“Come on over here,” Mason invited. “I’ll wait.”

“No, I’d prefer to talk in my office if we’re going to talk. You know how those things are... Now in this case, I understand the deal is just about ready to go through escrow. I don’t want to do anything to rock the boat unless I have to. Why don’t you come over...”

“I’ll be over,” Mason said.

“How soon?”

“Ten minutes.”

“That’ll be fine.”

Mason hung up the telephone, said “Close up your law books and go home, Jackson.”

Jackson was watching Mason with shocked eyes. “Good heavens, Mr. Mason! You’re seeing this man, and you don’t even know what’s in the lease yet.”

“I’ll damn soon find out,” Mason said. “Come on, Della. I’ll want a witness.”

“Can I be of help in that respect?” Jackson asked dubiously.

“Hell no,” Mason told him cheerfully. “This guy’s a chiseler. The party’s going to be rough. You’d have a nervous breakdown. Let’s go, Della.”

“Coming,” she said.

Jackson’s strickened, pale eyes rebuked them out of the office.

The door of Scott Shelby’s office was locked. Mason knocked. Almost immediately they could hear the sound of steps. A chunky man with pale complexion, slightly stooped shoulders and a high forehead opened the door and regarded his visitors with dark, restless eyes. Those eyes seemed hot with emotion. The face itself was that of a man who is cool, collected and thoroughly master of himself. Only his eyes belied the placid features.

“Mr. Mason?”

Mason nodded, said, “Shelby, I presume?”

The two men shook hands.

“Miss Street, my secretary.”

“Come in,” Shelby invited.

Shelby escorted them through an outer office into his private office, said “I want you folks to meet Miss Ellen Cushing. She has a real estate agency in the building and I knew she’d be working late. I asked her to come in.” He laughed apologetically and then added, “Frankly, I wanted a witness and I see that Mr. Mason had the same idea. I had intended to try and palm Miss Cushing off as my secretary and then thought I couldn’t get away with it so I decided to be frank. She’s a witness.”

“All right,” Mason said, “Miss Street is a witness, too. We’re two against two. I guess however, we don’t need to bother about that angle of it.”

“No, I guess not,” Shelby admitted.

Mason said, “All right. What’s your proposition?”

“Well, of course, Mr. Mason, I don’t want to stand in the way and...”

“Never mind the preliminaries,” Mason said. “They don’t mean anything to either of us. We’re businessmen. Why not get down to brass tacks?”

“How high will your client go?” Shelby asked.

“I haven’t the slightest idea.”

“She’d be guided by your recommendations?”

“I don’t know.”