Erle Gardner: The Case Of The Dangerous Dowager

"Meaning IOU's?" Mason asked.

"Meaning IOU's," Grieb said, regarding the lawyer with steady eyes.

"I'm commencing to be interested," Mason said.

"I thought you would," Grieb told him. "Over here in these plush-lined receptacles, we keep the wheels, where no one can tamper with them. You see, we're out beyond the twelve-mile limit and that puts us beyond police protection. We're on the high seas."

"You must keep quite a bit of cash on hand, then."

"We do."

"What's to keep a mob from boarding the ship, taking possession of it and cleaning you out?"

"That'd be piracy," Grieb said.

"So what?" Mason asked, laughing.

Grieb said, "We've figured all that out, Mr. Mason."

"How?"

"Well, in the first place, it's impossible to get into these offices except by coming down that corridor with the right-angle turn in it. When a man comes down that corridor, he has to walk over a wired section of flooring. His weight causes a contact and rings a buzzer here in the office. The door to this office is always kept locked. It's covered with wood on both sides, but the center is steel. It would take a long while to smash that door down. There are signals planted all over the office. I can sound an alarm from any part of the office, and without moving my hands.

"Moreover, there's an armed guard who's always somewhere around. He's as handy with his fists as he is with the .45 automatic he carries."

Mason nodded. "I saw him when we came in. I notice he has a badge which reads SPECIAL OFFICER. What does that mean? If you're out beyond the twelve-mile limit he can't be a deputy sheriff."

Grieb laughed. "The badge," he said, "is just for its psychological effect. The blue uniform the same way. The real authority comes from the gun. Remember, you're on the high seas now and I'm in supreme command."

"Suppose a mob dropped in some foggy night?" Mason asked.

"They wouldn't get anywhere."

"Your guard wouldn't last long."

"You think he wouldn't."

"You admit you keep a lot of cash here," Mason said.

"Sure."

"Banks keep cash. Banks have guards, and banks get stuck up regularly."

Grieb said, "Well, we don't get stuck up. It's not generally known, but in case you're interested, there's a balcony in back of that gambling casino. The front wall is of bullet-proof steel. There's an inch-and-a-half slit in the wall, and two guards are on duty up there. They have machine guns and tear gas bombs."

"That," Mason admitted, "is different."

"Don't ever worry about us," Grieb said. "We..."

He broke off as the electric buzzer sounded its warning.

"Someone's coming," he said. "It's probably Charlie. Let's go back into the office."

He led the way through the steel door of the vault, into the private office, walked to the communicating door and slid back the panel. As he did so, a speed launch pulled away from the side of the ship on its return trip to the shore, and the roar of its exhaust, sounding through the open portholes back of Grieb's desk, completely drowned out all other sounds, including a swift exchange of words between Grieb and the man on the other side of the door.

Grieb jerked back the lever which freed the bars from their sockets, twisted the knob of the spring lock, and opened the door as the roar of the speed boat died to a throbbing undertone of pulsating power. A bald-headed man of forty-five, with perpetual smile-wrinkles about his eyes, and calipers stretching between nose and mouth, stood on the threshold. He was wearing a gray-checkered suit, and his lips, twisting back in an affable smile, showed three gleaming gold teeth.

Grieb said, "Gentlemen, shake hands with my partner, Charlie Duncan. Duncan, this is Perry Mason, the lawyer. And the other man..."

"If it's all the same to you," Mason said, extending his hand, "the other gentleman will be nameless."

Duncan, pushing forward his right hand, suddenly froze into immobility. The gold teeth vanished as his lips came together. His eyes shifted for a quick moment to his partner and he said, "What is this, Sam?"

"It's okay, Charlie," Grieb said hastily.

Duncan's hands gripped Mason's. "Glad to know you, Mr. Mason," he said. His eyes shifted to study Paul Drake in cold appraisal.

"Come on over and sit down, Charlie," Grieb invited. "We're going to talk some business. I wanted you to be here."

"We're not doing any talking," Mason said.

"No," Grieb told him, speaking with nervous haste. "No one's asking you to. You can listen."

"All right," Mason agreed. "We'll listen."

They seated themselves, and Grieb turned to Duncan. "Charlie," he said, "this guy" - indicating Drake with a nod of his head - "started bucking the game. He was playing easy at first. Then he got hot and started raking 'em in. When things didn't go so well, he started plunging. When he went broke, he wanted to cash a check. Jimmy brought the check in and I took a look at the signature. That check was signed 'Frank Oxman.'"

"That doesn't mean anything," Mason interrupted. "I wish you boys would forget about that check."

"I'm just telling my partner what happened," Grieb said. "You don't have to say anything if you don't want to."

"All right," Mason told him, "I don't want to."

Duncan's face was completely without expression. "Go on, Sammy. Tell me the rest of it."

"I told Jimmy to bring him in. When he came in, Mason came with him. Mason did a little talking, then reached over, grabbed the check, and gave it to his friend to tear up."

Duncan's eyes partially closed. "Like that, eh?" he asked. "I don't think we're going to like that, Sammy."

Grieb said hastily, "Now, don't get this wrong, Charlie. I'm just telling you, see? Naturally, at first I was a little peeved. But then, I got the sketch. Mason didn't want me to know Oxman was aboard the ship. He didn't want anyone to know Oxman had been gambling out here. He didn't want us to have one of Oxman's checks. Get the sketch?"

"I think what I said was," Mason observed, "that my client had changed his mind about requiring any money. I think I also told you that if you should say Frank Oxman had been out here gambling you might put yourself in rather an embarrassing position. I pointed out very clearly to you, Grieb, that my client didn't come out here for the purpose of gambling."

"Sure, sure, I know," Grieb said affably. "We understand your position perfectly, Mason."

Duncan settled back in his chair. The gold teeth gradually came into evidence as his lips relaxed into his habitual smile.

"Talk any business, Sammy?" he asked.

"Not yet," Grieb said. "I was waiting for you to come aboard."

Duncan fished a cigar from his pocket, clipped off the end with a penknife, scraped a match across his shoe and said, "Okay, Sammy, I'm here."

"You want to do the talking?" Grieb asked.

"No, Sammy, you do it."

Grieb faced Mason. "Sylvia Oxman's been giving us quite a play lately. We looked her up and found her husband's name was Frank Oxman. A little bird told us Frank Oxman was maybe going to file a divorce action and would like to get some evidence that his wife had been squandering her time and money gambling, and therefore wasn't a fit person to have the custody of their child and couldn't be trusted with money in a guardianship proceeding. Would you know anything about that?"

Mason said cautiously, "No, I wouldn't know anything about that."

"Well, your client would."

"Let's leave my client out of it, please."

"Well," Grieb said, "we always like to co-operate. Now, you came out here looking for evidence. Perhaps we could help you out a little bit."

"In what way?" Mason asked.

"By giving you some evidence."

"On what terms?"

"Well," Grieb said, flashing a swift glance at his partner, "we'd have to discuss the terms."