Erle Gardner - The Case of the Baited Hook

“I swear that’s not true. I swear by all…”

“Save it,” Mason said. “You don’t have to convince me.”

“But I want to convince you.”

“It won’t do any good,” Mason told him. “I bought this package. Whatever’s in it is mine. I hope Nadine Tidings isn’t guilty, but I’m going to represent her whether she’s guilty or innocent. It’s a bargain I’ve made, and I keep my bargains… But after this, if anyone ever gets me to go groping around in the dark, you can have me committed to an insane asylum. You baited a trap with a ten-thousand-dollar bill. You probably didn’t know it was a trap at the time, and I didn’t. But the trap has sprung. I’m caught, and you’re caught. Nadine Tidings is caught… We’ve got to get out. The first thing is to let the district attorney believe that you’re dead — and let the murderer of Albert Tidings believe that you’re dead.”

“Why?”

“Can’t you see?”

“No.”

“All right,” Mason said. “You don’t have to see. I’ve got you dead, and all I want you to do is to stay dead.”

Mason turned to Della Street. “Della,” he said, “this man is dead. Take him out and bury him where I’ll know where he is.”

“Where,” she asked, “do you want him taken — and when?”

Mason said, “You’ve got to get him out of this office building. Once out, you can use your ingenuity. You…”

The telephone on Mason’s desk rang. Mason frowned irritably at the interruption, but Della Street picked the receiver off the hook, and said, “Don’t ring us, Gertie, unless it’s something… Oh, it is?”

She looked up at Mason. “Paul Drake on the line,” she said. “He says it’s important.”

Mason picked up the receiver.

Drake said, “I haven’t time to talk, Perry. This is a hot-tip. You’re getting the double cross.”

“How do you mean?”

“Your own clients,” Drake said, “are giving you the double cross. They’re going to drag all of us up to the D.A.’s office. They… Here they come now, Perry.”

Mason heard the receiver slam up at the other end on the line.

Mason whirled to Della Street. “They’re in the building. You’ll have to sneak Peltham out of this office while they’re getting me… You and Peltham stand by that door to the corridor. When you hear the officers coming in, you slip out into the corridor. I’ll hold them here. Let’s hope they’re not watching the entrance to the building. They…”

Mason heard a commotion in the outer office, heard Gertie’s voice raised in shrill protest. “You can’t go in there. Mr. Mason can’t be disturbed. You…”

Mason nodded to Della Street. She grabbed Peltham’s arm, rushed him to the door of the corridor, and held it open.

The door leading to the outer office opened an inch and then was slammed closed. From the other side of the panels came the noise of a struggle.

Mason nodded to Della Street. “Now,” he said.

She and Peltham slipped out into the corridor. Della Street closed the door silently behind her.

The door from the reception room jerked open. Sergeant Holcomb said, “You little hell-cat, get away from there,” and wrestled Gertie’s ample figure away from the door. A plain-clothes man grabbed her shoulders, spun her around, and the two men pushed their way into the office.

Mason, sitting at his desk, apparently engrossed in studying a law book, looked up, frowning at the interruption. “What the devil’s the meaning of this?” he asked.

Sergeant Holcomb said triumphantly, “It means that you’ve skated on thin ice once too often. Now, you’ve broken through.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I have my instructions, Mason. You can either come with me to the district attorney’s office to answer questions now, or you can go to jail.”

“What sort of blackmail is that?” Mason asked, indignantly pushing back his chair and getting to his feet.

“There’s no blackmail about it,” Holcomb said. “As far as I’m concerned, I’m hoping you say ‘no.’ I want to arrest you and throw you into the can right now. The D.A. has you dead to rights, but just because you’re a lawyer, he says you’re going to have a chance to explain — if you want it.”

Mason paused, frowning at Sergeant Holcomb, making a mental calculation of the time it would take Della Street to get Robert Peltham down in the elevator and out through the back entrance to the alley.

“Have you,” he asked, “got a warrant?”

There was no mistaking the triumph on Sergeant Holcomb’s face. “That,” he said, “was exactly what I was hoping you’d say… No, Mr. Mason, I haven’t a warrant, but I’m going to get one in just ten seconds. The skids are all greased.”

He strode across to the telephone, picked up the receiver, and said, “Get me the D.A.’s office.”

Mason shrugged his shoulders. “All right,” he said. “I’ll go with you to the district attorney’s office.”

“It’s too late for that now,” Sergeant Holcomb said.

Mason’s voice was cold. “I think not,” he said. “I have never refused to accompany you. I simply asked you if you had a warrant for my arrest.”

Sergeant Holcomb dropped the receiver. “All right, Mason,” he said. “Let’s get started.”

Mason delayed as long as he dared getting his hat and coat. Then he said, “I’ll have to call my receptionist and tell her I’m going to be out.”

Sergeant Holcomb said, “Make it snappy.”

Mason called Gertie to the private office. She was still panting from her struggles, and she glared with hostility at the officers.

“Gertie, I’m being taken to the office of the district attorney for questioning. I want you to make some notes on things that are to be done in cases that are pending.”

“Make it snappy,” Sergeant Holcomb said.

Mason said, “In the case of Smith versus Smith, arrange for the taking of a deposition.”

For a moment there was a frown of perplexity on Gertie’s forehead; then with the realization that Della Street was not in the office and the knowledge that the files held no case of Smith versus Smith, she said, with a flash of comprehension, “Yes, Mr. Mason. Is there anything else?”

“Yes. In the case of Jones versus Raglund, my time is up for the filing of an answer and cross-complaint tomorrow. In the event I don’t return and am unable to file the answer and cross-complaint, arrange to get a stipulation extending my time.”

“Yes, Mr. Mason. And suppose I can’t get a stipulation?”

“Then you’ll have to get a court order,” Mason said.

“Just how will I go about doing that?”

Sergeant Holcomb said, “Come on. You’ll have a chance to telephone her after the D.A. gets done with you.”

“This is an important matter,” Mason said. “I can’t let the case go by default.”

“Well, you can telephone her. Come on. We haven’t got all day. The D.A. is waiting.”

Mason said to Gertie, “Simply explain the circumstances to the presiding judge. Now in the case of Hortense versus Wiltfong, you’ll have to give back the retainer. Explain to Mr. Hortense that I’m going to be unable to handle his case. That’s not to be done unless I fail to return by five o’clock, or…”

Sergeant Holcomb moved toward Mason. “My God, you don’t have to dictate memoranda covering your whole practice… Say, what are you doing, sparring for time?”

Mason said, “That’s all, Gertie… Come on, gentlemen.”

Perry Mason followed Sergeant Holcomb into the district attorney’s outer office. The plain-clothes officer brought up the rear.

Mason saw Paul Drake seated beside a man who was obviously a police detective.