Erle Gardner - The Case of the Half-Wakened Wife

At five minutes before three in the afternoon Jane Keller entered the bank and took her place at the end of the line in front of the window marked PAYING AND RECEIVING J-M.

As though her entrance had been an anticipated signal, the man in the dark blue pin stripe, single breasted suit took from his breast pocket a leather wallet, worn shiny from much use. Slowly he walked toward the line where Jane was standing.

Jane Keller frowned abstractedly at the clock on the far wall. It was easier for her pinched face to adjust itself to an expression of worried futility than into a smile. The line before the teller’s window shuffled slowly forward. Jane Keller kept pace with it, from time to time looking up at the clock in the manner of one who must necessarily devote an increasing amount of mental energy to rearranging the pattern of life, and finds the responsibility too great a strain.

The man in the blue pin stripe moved up.

He was a shrewd-faced chap in the early forties, nervously wide-awake. A keen student of character would have classified the man as a savage, vicious little fighter who would never stand up in an aggressive, toe-to-toe slugging match, but would wait for the opportunity he wanted, then be quick to seize the advantage. If his opponent went down, the man would ruthlessly exterminate him. If he didn’t, the man would run for cover — a crooked little opportunist who gave himself every advantage, specializing in gouging and kicking below the belt.

He moved up to stand beside Jane Keller in the line. The stubby fingers of his left hand suddenly shoved five one-hundred-dollar bills into Jane Keller’s hand. “Here you are, Mrs. Keller.”

Jane Keller’s fingers automatically closed on the money. Then she looked down at it with the bewildered expression of one emerging from a sleep that has been troubled by some annoying dream. She turned her eyes to the face of the man in the dark suit.

The man behind Jane Keller growled, “You can’t double up this way. Get back behind me at the end of the line.”

Jane Keller’s voice had once been well modulated; now it was getting slightly harsh as she found it necessary to cope with more and more annoying factors in life. “What’s this?” she asked. “Who are you?”

The man was obviously reciting by rote. “I’m the agent for Scott Shelby. This is five months’ deferred drilling payments under our oil lease on your property. Sign this receipt. Right here on the dotted line. Here’s a pen.”

He whipped a receipt book from his pocket, snapped back the cover and held the blanks where Jane Keller could see them.

“But... Why!.. Mr. Shelby doesn’t have any interest... He has abandoned the property.”

“He has abandoned the property.”

“Oh, no.”

“He certainly has! He hasn’t done anything with it for months.”

“I’m making the payment covering deferred drilling. A hundred dollars a month. Isn’t that right?”

“Why, yes. That’s the rate. But... he had to pay it every month if he wanted to hold the property.”

“Oh, no.” The man was smiling now and his voice was almost patronizing as he recited glibly, “The lease provided that he must pay at that rate every month to keep his drilling rights. But another paragraph provided that any covenant of any sort in which either party has been in default can be fully performed by the party obligated, at any time within six months, unless in the meantime the lease has been terminated by written notice. You’d better read your lease.”

The line moved forward. Automatically Jane Keller moved forward with it. The man behind Jane Keller said to Jane, “Don’t take it.”

The man in the blue pin stripe suit said, “I want a receipt.”

“But I can’t... I haven’t... I don’t own it any more; I’ve sold it.”

“ Sold it?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Why, the papers were signed two weeks ago.”

“Who bought it?”

“Parker Benton.”

“Well, Mr. Shelby doesn’t know anything about that and he doesn’t care. This is five months’ back rent at one hundred dollars a month-deferred drilling payments. Our lease is with you . You can square things with the other people.”

“I won’t accept it.”

“Why?”

“I’ve told you why. Because I’ve sold the property.”

“Who did you say had bought it?”

“Mr. Parker Benton.”

“What’s his address?”

“The Knickerbocker Building.”

Almost reluctantly the man in the blue pin stripe suit took back the five hundred dollars, said to the man standing in line just behind Jane Keller, “Would you mind giving me your card — I may need a witness.”

The man scowled, said, “It’s none of my business. Quit picking on a woman.”

The line moved up, paused, moved again.

“Just a card,” the man insisted. “All I want is your name and address.”

The last man in the line hesitated a moment then produced a card.

The woman in front of Jane Keller picked up the money which the assistant cashier shoved through the wicket. Jane moved into position before the window. An officer of the bank appeared, summoned by the guard, and, sizing up the faces of the three people who clustered about the window, asked, “What’s the trouble?”

Jane Keller said, “I wanted to make a deposit. This gentleman has just given me five hundred dollars.”

“And you want to deposit it?”

“No, I gave it back to him. I don’t want to deposit that money. This is money of my own.”

“What’s the trouble?”

The man in the blue suit said affably, “No trouble at all. I just want to...”

“Let Mrs. Keller tell it,” the banker said sharply.

Jane Keller cleared her throat nervously. “I sold the island to Mr. Parker Benton and...”

“I know,” the banker said. “The deal went through the bank. What about it?”

“My brother-in-law and I thought the oil lease was all finished.”

“It was.”

“But this gentleman claims it isn’t.”

The cold blue eyes of the banker shifted to the face of the stocky man, a face that was now hiding behind the mask of an affable grin.

“I’m representing Mr. Shelby,” the man said, cheerfully. “I’m supposed to make a payment of five hundred dollars covering five months’ payment for deferred drilling. The lease has a clause that any default doesn’t invalidate the lease provided performance is made within six months, unless the lease has been canceled by written notice in the meantime.”

“Where’s the five hundred dollars?” the banker asked.

“I gave it back to him,” Jane Keller said.

With the manner of one showing a bank’s customer the protection afforded by the institution’s impregnable righteousness, the official said, “Then that seems to terminate the matter. Get out.”

“You know this lady?” the man asked.

“Certainly I know Mrs. Keller.”

“And the gentleman here behind her?”

“Certainly.”

The grin broadened into a smirk. “Thank you. I guess that’s all. Remember about the five hundred bucks — all of you.”

He melted away into the closing-hour crowd of the bank. Jane Keller’s hand was shaking so that the tremor was noticeable as she held her money through the counter. “Oh dear, I’m so nervous.”

“You needn’t be,” the banker smiled at her. “Those oil people are always trying to pull fast ones.”

“But do you suppose there is such a clause in the lease?” The smile was reassuring. “I wouldn’t pay too much attention to it but if you’re worried, you might consult an attorney... The bank can recommend one in case you’d like a lawyer... Let’s see, this deposit is three hundred and ninety-six dollars and fifty cents.” He pushed it through the wicket to the teller. “There you are, Mrs. Keller. Thank you ever so much. Do you want us to see about a lawyer?”