Erle Gardner - Case of the Silent Partner

She read it, glanced swiftly at Mason, then averted her eyes.

Peavis said, “I’m sorry, Mason, but I can’t leave yet because I’m not finished.”

“Why not?”

“I’m waiting for some more papers. Here they come now.”

The door of the flower shop swung open. Lieutenant Tragg, accompanied by a woman in the middle forties, entered.

“No,” Peavis said, “my mistake. I’m waiting for a messenger.”

“What are those other papers?” Mason asked.

Peavis smiled and shook his head.

Della Street, moving closer to Mason, squeezed his arm — hard. Mason, feeling the force of those digging fingers, flashed her a smiling reassuring glance. At what he saw on her face, he turned quickly to study the woman who was being escorted into the shop by Lieutenant Tragg.

She had high cheekbones, stiff, lackluster, black hair, and a rather wide mouth with thin lips. Her eyes looked out through large-lensed spectacles with calm competence.

“The cashier?” Mason mumbled.

“Yes.”

“Any other door out of here?” Mason asked, moving casually so that he interposed his shoulders between Della and the door.

Mildreth Faulkner shook her head.

Peavis studied Mason curiously.

The office was in the back of the store. Two of its sides were the side and back walls of the flower shop. The other two sides were of wood to a height of about three feet from the floor the rest being composed of glass windows divided into panes of about ten inches by twelve.

Tragg’s progress down the long aisle of the store was utterly devoid of haste, nor did he seem to pay the slightest attention to the group that was gathered in the office. There was, in the very calmness of his unhurried approach, the element of remorseless pursuit. Nothing Tragg could have done could have been more calculated to upset the nerves of anyone who had a guilty conscience than the even-paced, ominous rhythm of his march.

He reached the door of the office, held it open for the woman. She entered.

Tragg said, “Hello, you seem to have a little gathering here.”

No one said anything.

Tragg said, “I had a matter I wanted to take up with Perry Mason, and I...”

“That’s the woman!”

The startled voice of the cashier, raised in high-pitched accusation, showed that Lieutenant Tragg had not advised her of what he expected to find.

Mason slipped his arm protectingly around Della Street’s shoulders, held her to silence by the pressure of his hand on her arm. “Meaning the woman who tried to cash the travelers’ check?” he asked conversationally.

“Let’s let Miss Street tell about that,” Tragg said.

Mason shook his head. “There’s no need for that.”

Tragg’s face showed his irritation.

“That is she,” the cashier said in a lower voice this time, but with the ring of conviction.

“Of course it is,” Mason remarked casually.

“I’m afraid,” Tragg said, “that unless Miss Street can explain matters, I’ll have to arrest her.”

“On what ground?”

“Intent to defraud and forgery.”

Mason said, “You’d better read up on your law before you get your fingers burnt, Lieutenant.”

Tragg was unable to keep some of the irritation out of his voice. It was plain that he had hoped to get some admission directly from Della Street. “You’re a pretty good lawyer, Mason,” he said. “I don’t know much law. I’m just a dumb cop. I suppose that there’s a section in some law some place providing that your secretary can walk into a store, say she’s Carlotta Lawley, and forge Carlotta Lawley’s name to a check on which she gets money without violating any law in the world.”

Mason said calmly, “In the first place, Della didn’t get any money. In the second place, she didn’t say she was Carlotta Lawley. She said she had a travelers’ check she wanted to cash. Get this, Tragg. A travelers’ check is different from any other check. There isn’t any such thing as a valid travelers’ check issued without any funds. The checks are paid for when they’re purchased, and the money remains on deposit.”

“And I suppose it’s quite all right for her to go around signing Carlotta Lawley’s name,” Tragg said.

Mason casually took the folded paper, which Carlotta Lawley had signed, from his pocket. He handed it to Tragg.

Tragg read it, and for a moment, there was a grim tightening of the line of his lips. Then an expression of triumph glittered in his eyes. He folded the document and pushed it down into his pocket. “All right, Mason,” he said, “the swap is satisfactory.”

“What swap?”

“You’ve got Della Street out of it at the expense of getting yourself in.”

“In what way?”

“This document shows on its face that it’s either a forgery or else you had a contact with Carlotta Lawley this morning.”

“I had that contact,” Mason said. “The document was signed then.”

“You realize what that means?”

“What?”

“You’ve been aiding and abetting in the commission of a felony.”

“I don’t think she committed any felony.”

“Well, she’s a fugitive from justice.”

“I wasn’t so advised.”

Tragg strove to keep his temper. “Well, you’re advised of it now. I want her.”

“For what?”

“ I think she’s committed a felony.”

“What?”

“Murder.”

“That,” Mason said, “is different.”

“All right. Now, I’m going to ask you where she is.”

Mason said, quite calmly, “I don’t think she’s guilty, but, in view of your statement, I have no recourse except to tell you that last night while you were talking with Mildreth Faulkner, I heard a car drive up. I went out to the curb. It was Carlotta Lawley. I realized that the condition of her health made it imperative that she get immediate rest, that the strain of a long questioning might prove fatal. I instructed her to go to the Clearmount Hotel, register as Mrs. Charles X. Dunkurk of San Diego and wait for me, getting as much rest as she could in the meantime.”

Lieutenant Tragg’s eyes showed surprised incredulity which gave place to hot anger. “Dammit, Mason,” he said, “is this a story you’re making up out of whole cloth in order to put me off on a false trail? If it is, I’ll swear out a warrant for you myself and drag you down to headquarters.”

“You won’t drag me anywhere,” Mason said ominously.

“Where is she now?” Tragg asked. “Still at the hotel?”

Mason shrugged his shoulders and said, “I’ve told you all I know. When I entered this office, so far as I knew, Mrs. Dunkurk was still in the Clearmount Hotel.”

A uniformed figure came hurrying through the door of the flower shop. A messenger boy walked rapidly to the office, jerked the door open, and said, “Is Mr. Peavis here?”

“Here,” Peavis said with a grin.

The boy handed him some folded documents which Peavis in turn handed to the process server. The process server said, “Mr. Mason, I hand you herewith a subpoena duces tecum ordering you to appear in court at the time set for the restraining order, and order to show cause in the case of Peavis versus Faulkner Flower Shops, Inc. You’ll note that by this subpoena you are ordered to bring into court any stock certificate in your possession or under your control, covering stock in the defendant corporation issued to one Carlotta Faulkner who subsequently became Mrs. Robert Lawley.”

The anger left Tragg’s face. He smiled, and the smile broadened into a grin. He looked across at Peavis approvingly, then at Mason. “And what a sweet fix that leaves you in, Counselor!”

He strode over to the telephone, dialed a number, and said, “This is Lieutenant Tragg of Homicide. I want some action. Get through to Sergeant Mahoney. Tell him to sew up the Clearmount Hotel. Do it fast. Get a couple of radio cars on the job first. There’s a Mrs. Dunkurk of San Diego registered there. I want her, and want her bad.”