Erle Gardner - The Case of the Baited Hook

“Why give the banker a cut?” Mason asked.

“Some banker that Tidings had asked for a report on the stock developed an itching palm. Anyhow, that’s what Bolus said.”

“All right,” Mason said. “Go ahead. Tell me how you knew Tidings was dead?”

“I tell you I didn’t know it.”

“Bunk,” Mason said.

“Honestly, Mr. Mason, everything else is just as I told you.”

Mason said, “Mattern, I’m getting damn tired of your lies… Know what I think I’ll do? I think I’ll go down to the D.A. and give him a tip on you.”

“You’ve got nothing on me,” Mattern said.

“No?” Mason asked with a cold smile.

“Absolutely not.”

“In the first place,” Mason said, “you needed that ten grand because you’d made a mistake in picking ponies. Is that right?”

“Yes. What of it? Lots of people play the races.”

“Uh huh,” Mason said. “But you need money in order to play the races.”

“Well, I got the money, didn’t I?”

“After you’d incurred the losses,” Mason said. “My best guess, Mattern, is that the original bets were made from money you’d embezzled from Tidings and the trust accounts. The audit of Tidings’ books would have left you in quite a spot if it hadn’t been for that ten grand.”

Mason needed no more than a look at Mattern’s dismayed countenance to serve as confirmation of his charge.

“All right,” he said. “There you are. You’ve been embezzling money. Tidings called you on Tuesday morning. He had the dope. He was going to send you to jail. You knew that if you could stall things along for a few hours, that Western Prospecting sale would go through, and you’d have money enough to make restitution. You figured you could juggle the books so that the original embezzlement could be covered. You got desperate and excited and pulled a gun on Tidings. Tidings came for you, and you pulled the trigger.”

“That’s a lie,” Mattern shouted.

“Perhaps it is,” Mason observed, “but you’d never make a jury believe it.”

“No jury could ever find me guilty of murder. There isn’t a shred of evidence.”

Mason smiled. “Thanks a lot, Mattern. You’ve given me a perfect out. I don’t need to worry about my client. You’re the fall guy. Good night.”

Once more Mason arose from his chair.

“Listen,” Mattern said desperately. “I’ll give you the real low-down, Mr. Mason. I’ll tell you how it was. Honestly, I didn’t kill him. He’d been dead for a long time when I saw him.”

“When was that?”

“About eight-thirty Tuesday morning.”

“Where?”

“Right where he was lying. Right on the bed where the body was found.”

“What happened?” Mason asked.

Mattern said, “Tidings was trying to get something on his wife. He told me that she was mixed up with some man who had to keep in the background because of what might happen in a divorce action. Tidings said he’d found out about this man and that he was going out to see his wife and call for a showdown. There were some important papers he had to go over, and he promised to be at the office at seven-thirty Tuesday morning to sign them.

“When he hadn’t shown up at the office at eight o’clock, I put the papers in a brief case, and drove out to his wife’s house. I thought that perhaps they’d effected a reconciliation. He really was crazy about her. The door was unlocked. I went in. There were bloodstains on the floor. I followed the bloodstains to the bedroom… You know what I found.”

“What did you do?” Mason asked.

“I beat it,” Mattern said. “I was scared stiff. I figured that with his death, his books would be gone over, my embezzlement discovered, and that I’d go to jail. I was good and sore. If he’d only lived a few hours more, I’d have been in the clear… So then I figured that it might be a long while before anyone would find the body, and I might be able to stall things along so I could get that Western Prospecting deal through. I knew that the cashier’s check was all made out payable to the brokers… Well, you know the rest.”

“And that was you who talked with me over the telephone that morning?”

“Yes. When you rang up and wanted to talk with Tidings, I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to say he wasn’t in the office… And then I got the idea that saved me from making any admissions. I knew you hadn’t heard Tidings’ voice. I have a little ability when it comes to controlling my voice. I’ve done a bit of work in amateur theatricals.”

Mason said, “Well, Mattern, you know where this leaves you.”

“Where does it leave me?”

Mason said, “You’re a pushover for the DA.”

“But I’m innocent. Surely you must believe me.”

Mason studied him thoughtfully. “Better start helping me look for the real murderer, Mattern. That’s your only out.”

Mattern impulsively shot out his hand. “You’re a square shooter,” he said. “I’ll do that, Mr. Mason. You can count on me for anything.”

The two men shook hands.

A telegram was lying on Mason’s desk when he entered the office Friday morning, and Della Street informed him that Mrs. Tump was impatiently awaiting his arrival in the outer office.

Mason opened the telegram. It was signed Adelle Hastings, and read:

HAVE CONTACTED PARTY REFERRED TO. NO CAUSE FOR CONCERN OVER ANY DEVELOPMENTS TO DATE. GO RIGHT AHEAD. EVERYTHING OKAY.

Mason thrust the telegram in his pocket, and said to Della Street, “All right. Let’s see what Mrs. Tump wants, and get her out of the way.”

Della Street ushered Mrs. Tump into the inner office. The woman’s grayish-green eyes glittered as she came sailing across the office. Only her lips were smiling.

“Good morning, Mr. Mason,” she said.

“How are you this morning, Mrs. Tump?”

“Very well, thank you. What have you found out?”

“Not a great deal,” Mason admitted, “but I’m making progress.”

“What about that fifty-thousand-dollar stock sale, Mr. Mason?”

Mason said, “I’m going to set that aside.”

“Is the stock worth anything?”

Mason indicated a chair, gave Mrs. Tump a cigarette, took one himself, lit up, and said, “That stock which was delivered to Loftus & Cale represented the private holdings of the president of the company. That should answer your question. I’m going to set the transaction aside on the ground that Tidings was dead before the check was delivered for the stock.”

She studied him with her glittering, hard eyes. “You can do that?”

“Yes.”

“How are you going to prove it?”

“For one thing,” Mason said, “I can prove it by the testimony of the autopsy surgeon — I hope.”

Mrs. Tump said, “Mr. Mason, I want to talk with you frankly.”

“Go ahead.”

“I’m not one to mince words.”

“Let’s have them unminced then,” Mason said with a smile.

She said, “Very well, Mr. Mason. When I wanted you to handle Byrl’s case, you began stalling for time.”

Mason raised his eyebrows in silent interrogation.

“Now, of course, Mr. Mason, when we first came to you, you had no way of knowing that Mr. Tidings was dead.”

“Correct,” Mason said.

“Now, as I understand it, if you can prove that Mr. Tidings died somewhere before eleven o’clock on Tuesday morning, it will enable Byrl to get fifty thousand dollars back into the trust fund.”

“Correct.”

“Who will pay that fifty thousand?”

“We’ll proceed against Loftus & Cale,” Mason said. “They’ll have to try and get the money back from Bolus. Because I warned them of what they could expect, they’re taking steps to impound the money.”