“You don’t?”
“No, of course not. But I can’t get the damn stuff out of my mind. You know how it is yourself. Perhaps you’re walking along a sidewalk and see a ladder. If you don’t walk under it, you hate yourself for being a coward. If you do, you start wondering if it’ll really bring you bad luck. It gets on your nerves. You keep thinking about it.”
Mason grinned, and said, “Walking under ladders doesn’t bother me. I’m in hot water all the time.”
“Well,” Kent rushed on, “when my niece said my horoscope showed I should consult some attorney whose last name had five letters in it, I told her it was all bosh and nonsense. Then, damned if I didn’t start thinking over the names of lawyers that had five letters in them. She looked up some more planets and said the name should stand for something that had to do with rocks and did I know an attorney by the name of STONE; i didn’t. then your name popped into my mind. I told Edna and she got all excited, said you were the one. All bosh and nonsense! And here I am.”
Mason glanced at his secretary. “What are your troubles?” he asked.
“My wife’s getting a divorce in Santa Barbara. Now she’s going to back up, dismiss the divorce case and claim I’m crazy.”
“How far has she gone with the divorce case?”
“She’s had an interlocutory decree entered.”
“Under the law of this state,” Mason said, “after an interlocutory decree’s once entered the case can’t be dismissed.”
“That shows you don’t know Doris,” Kent said, twisting long fingers nervously as he talked. “Legislators cater to the women voters. Doris gets by because of those laws. Marriage is a racket with her, and she knows all the tricks. There’s some new law that a court can’t grant a final decree where the parties have become reconciled. Doris is going to file an affidavit we’ve become reconciled.”
“Have you?”
“No, but she claims we have. She wrote me a mushy letter. I tried to be polite in answering it. She’s using that as evidence. What’s more, she’s going to claim a lot of stuff about fraud. I don’t know just what. You see, she sued for divorce mainly over some stuff which happened in Chicago, but with a few more things which happened after we got to California thrown in for good measure.”
“She sued in California?”
“Yes, in Santa Barbara.”
“How long had she been living there?”
“When I came from Chicago,” Kent said, “I had two pieces of California property—one of them the Hollywood place, where I’m living now, and the other the Santa Barbara place. She lived with me for a few days in the Hollywood place, then went to Santa Barbara and sued for divorce.”
“How about residence?” Mason asked. “Where was your legal residence?”
“In the Santa Barbara place. I had extensive business interests in Chicago and spent part of my time there, but I voted and kept my legal residence in California. Doris sued for divorce, claimed she didn’t have any money, in spite of the fact she had the plunder of a couple of previous marriages salted away. She got the court to allow her temporary alimony and attorney’s fees. Then she got a divorce and got permanent alimony. She’s been collecting fifteen hundred dollars a month and playing around. Now she’s heard I want to get married again, and she figures I’ll pay a lot of money to get my freedom.”
“What else?” Mason asked casually.
“I’m in love.”
Mason said, “Paying fifteen hundred bucks every thirty days should be good medicine for that.”
Kent said nothing. “Any other troubles?” Mason asked, as a doctor might ask for additional symptoms.
“Lots of them. My partner, for one.”
“Who’s he?”
“Frank B. Maddox.”
“What about him?”
“We’re in partnership—a business in Chicago. I had to leave very suddenly.”
“Why?”
“Private reasons. My health for one thing. I wanted a change.”
“What about your partner?”
Kent was suddenly seized with a fit of twitching. His facial muscles jerked. His hands and legs shook. He raised his shaking hand to his twitching face, took a deep breath, then steadied himself and said, “I’m all right, just a nervous twitching that I get when I’m excited.”
Mason said, watching him with eyes that were hard and unwavering in their scrutiny, “You were telling me about your partner.”
Kent controlled himself by an effort and said, “Yes.”
“What about him?”
“I found Frank B. Maddox, a crackbrained inventor, virtually penniless, in a little woodshed shop in the back of a rickety house in one of the cheapest districts in Chicago. He had a valvegrinding tool that he claimed could be sold to garages. He didn’t even have a patent on it. The only model he had was one which had been made by hand at a prohibitive cost. I backed him and organized the Maddox Manufacturing Company in which I was a silent partner. Business was showing a fine profit when my doctor told me to quit. I left everything in Maddox’s hands and came out here. From time to time, Maddox sent me accounts of what the business was doing. His letters have always been cordial. Then he wrote he had something he wanted to talk over with me and asked if he could come out for a conference. I told him to come ahead. He came out and brought a chap with him by the name of Duncan. At first he said Duncan was a friend. Now it turns out he’s a lawyer, a potbellied, bushybrowed old fogey. He claims Maddox is entitled to draw back salary out of partnership earnings, that I wrote some letter to the owner of a patent on another valvegrinding machine saying our claims wouldn’t interfere with theirs and that this letter detracted from the value of the partnership patent, which is worth a million dollars.”
“In other words,” Mason said, “your partner wants the business now that it’s grown profitable; is that right?”
“Not only wants the business,” Kent exclaimed, “but wants to bleed me for a settlement. It’s the damnedest thing I ever heard of! And what makes me doubly mad is the fact that this treacherous snake came out here under the guise of paying me a friendly visit. After all I’ve done for him, too!” Kent jumped up from his chair, started furiously pacing the office. “Don’t ever wish for money,” he said; “it ruins your faith in human nature. People attach themselves like barnacles fastening to a ship’s hull. You don’t dare accept anyone at face value. You distrust everyone, and distrust breeds distrust.”
“Specifically,” Mason interrupted, “what is it you want me to do?”
Kent came striding toward the desk. “I’m going to dump my troubles right in your lap. You come out to my house, get rid of Maddox and this potbellied lawyer of his, then go to Santa Barbara and buy my wife off.”
“When do you want to get married?” Mason asked.
“As soon as I can.”
“How far shall I go with your wife?”
“Pay her seventyfive thousand dollars in cash.”
“In addition to alimony of fifteen hundred a month?”
“No, that’ll cover everything.”
“Suppose she won’t take it?”
“Then fight… She’s going to claim I’m crazy.”
“What makes you think so?”
“When I left Chicago I was walking in my sleep.”
“That doesn’t mean you’re crazy.”
“I picked up a butcher knife and tried to get into her bedroom.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Over a year.”
“You’re cured now?” Mason asked.
“Yes, all except for this confounded twitching and spells of nervousness.”
“When do you want me at your house?”
“Tonight at eight o’clock. Bring a good doctor with you, so he can say I’m not crazy. My niece says the stars indicate this would be a good move.”
Mason nodded his head slowly. “Your niece,” he said, “seems to have a great deal of influence—with the stars.”
“She just interprets them. She’s very clever.”
“Have you any other relatives?” Mason asked.
“Yes, my halfbrother, Philip Rease, lives with me. Incidentally, I want him to have virtually all of my property.”
“How about your niece?” Mason asked.
“My niece won’t need it. The chap she’s going to marry has plenty of money for both of them. In fact, it was his idea that I should make a new will. You see, Edna’s just a little bit spoiled. Harris, the chap she’s marrying, got the idea he’d stand more chance of having a happy marriage if he controlled the purse strings.”
“Suppose she and Harris shouldn’t get along?” Mason inquired.
“Then I could change my will again.”
“It might be too late,” the lawyer suggested.
Kent frowned, then said, “Oh, I see what you mean. I’ve thought some about that, too. Can’t we make a will leaving my property in trust?”
“Yes, we can do that,” Mason said.
“That’s what we’ll do, then. I want Helen Warrington, my secretary, to have twentyfive thousand dollars. She’s been loyal to me and I don’t want her to have to work after I’m gone. Then we can create a trust, and the income will all be paid to my halfbrother so long as Edna’s married to Gerald Harris. In case of a divorce, she’ll share in the income.”
“Does your halfbrother know you’re going to leave your property to him?”
“Yes.”
“Suppose he’ll be disappointed if you change it into a trust?” Mason asked.
“Oh, no, I wouldn’t leave him anything except income,” Kent said hastily. “He’s not very good at investments.”
“Why? Does he drink?”
“Oh, no, not that. He’s a bit peculiar.”
“You mean mentally?”
“Well, he’s a nervous type, always very much concerned about his health. A doctor told me he was what they called a hypochondriac.”
“Did he ever have money of his own?” Mason inquired.
Kent nodded, and said, “Yes, he had some rather unfortunate financial experiences, and he’s become very bitter—something of a radical, you know. He was unfortunate with his own investments and he’s inclined to resent any success other people have had.”
“He doesn’t resent yours, does he?” Mason asked smilingly.
“Very much,” Kent told him.
“Notwithstanding he’s to benefit by your will?”
“You don’t know him,” Kent said, smiling. “He’s rather a peculiar temperament.”
Mason toyed with a lead pencil, stared thoughtfully at Kent and said, “How about your future wife?”
“She isn’t going to get a cent,” Kent said. “I want you to draw up an agreement to that effect, one for her to sign before she marries me and one for her to sign afterwards. That’s the only way I can be certain she isn’t marrying me for my money. Incidentally, it’s her idea. She says she won’t marry me until I arrange things so she can’t get a cent of my property, either by way of alimony or by inheritance if I die.”
Mason raised his eyebrows, and Kent laughed and said, “Confidentially, Counselor, just between you and me, after she signs the agreements by which she can’t get any money from me legally, I’m going to give her a very substantial cash settlement.”
“I see,” Mason remarked. “Now, about this trust arrangement providing that Edna will have an independent income in the event she divorces Harris. It may accomplish just the result Harris wished to avoid.”
“I see your point,” Kent said, “I guess I’ll have to talk it over again with Harris. Frankly, Edna’s been a problem. She was hounded to death by fortune hunters, but I chased them out as fast as they showed up. Then Harris came along. He told me where he stood right at the start… You’ll meet him tonight. You let the matter of the will go for a few days, Counselor, but draw up those property agreements for my future wife and bring them to me tonight. In other words, that’s something of a test. If she’s willing to waive all of her rights to inherit my property then I’ll know she’s marrying me for love.”
“I see,” Mason said.
“Can you have those agreements with you tonight?”
“I think so.”
Kent whipped a checkbook from his pocket, scribbled a check with the quick nervousness which characterized him, tore it from the book, said, “Better blot it. That’s a retainer.” Without another word, he turned and strode out of the office.
Perry Mason said to Della Street, with a grimace, “That’s what I get for trying to be ethical and prevent a murder—a divorce case, which I don’t like; a conference with a pettifogging lawyer, which is a routine I despise, and an agreement of property settlement, which is a damned chore!”
His secretary, stretching forth a coolly capable hand, picked up the check and said, “I can see a five thousand dollar retainer, which doesn’t grow on bushes.”
Mason grinned and said, “Well, one thing about Kent, he’s a gentleman of discernment. Bank that check before I change my mind and tell him to get another lawyer. Get Dr. Kelton on the line, send Jackson in, and ring Paul Drake at the Drake Detective Agency and tell him I have a job for him.”
“You’re going to use a detective?” she asked.
“On Mrs. Doris Sully Kent,” he said, “and in a big way. When it comes to negotiating alimony settlements with matrimonial racketeers, an ounce of information is worth a pound of conversation.”
Della Street pulled a list of telephone numbers to her, moving with that unhurried efficiency which accomplishes things. Perry Mason strode to the window, stood staring meditatively down into the street below. Suddenly he turned, jerked open a drawer of his desk, and pulled out binoculars. He raised the window with his left hand, held the binoculars to his eyes, and leaned far out over the sill.
Della Street calmly hung up the receiver in the middle of her conversation to hold a pencil poised over her notebook. Mason, eyes glued to the binoculars, called out, “9R8397.” Della Street ’s pencil wrote the number on her notebook. Mason lowered the binoculars, closed the window. “Get it, Della?”
“Yes. What is it?”
“The license number of a green Packard roadster with the top down, driven by a woman in a blue dress, and trailing our client, Peter B. Kent. I couldn’t see her face, but if her legs don’t lie, she’s got a swell figure.”
Chapter 3
perry mason was talking with Dr. Kelton on the telephone when Paul Drake opened the door of his office and said, “Della told me to come on in, you were waiting for me.”
Mason nodded, motioned him to a chair and said into the telephone, “What do you know about sleepwalking, Jim?… Well, I’ve got a case for you. The man doesn’t know he’s sleepwalking. He’s very nervous. Carries a knife and padpads around the house in his bare feet… You’re going out with me tonight and investigate. We don’t have to eat there, which is a blessing. How the hell do I know if he’s going to stick a knife into us? Wear a chainmail nightgown if you want to. I’ll call for you at seventhirty… You’re supposed to be checking up on him because his wife is going to claim he’s crazy… Well, wives do get that way once in a while… Sure there’s a fee in it, but don’t get mercenary until after you’ve seen the niece… I’ll say!.. Okay, I’ll pick you up at the club…” Mason dropped the receiver back on the hook and grinned across at Paul Drake.
The lanky detective slid into the overstuffed black leather chair and sat crosswise, knees elevated over one arm, the other arm supporting the small of his back. “Sleepwalking, eh?” he asked, in a slow drawl.
Mason nodded and said, “Do you walk in your sleep, Paul?”
“Hell, no! You keep me so busy I don’t get any sleep. What do you want this time?”
“I want some good men to look up a Mrs. Doris Sully Kent, living somewhere in Santa Barbara. Don’t shadow her just yet, because she’s smart and I don’t want to tip my hand, but find out all about her past, her friends, finances, morals,
dissipations, residence and future plans. Also get the dope on a Frank B. Maddox, of Chicago, inventor and manufacturer. He’s here in the city at present, so don’t bother about anything except the Chicago angle. Find out who owns a green Packard roadster, license number 9R8397.”
“When do you want all this?”
“As soon as I can get it.”
Drake consulted his watch, said, “Okay. Do I keep the Santa Barbara investigation under cover?”
“Yes. Don’t let her or her friends know she’s being investigated.”
Drake yawned, pulled his tall figure from the chair. “On my way,” he said as he started for the door.
Della Street, hearing the door slam, entered the office.
“Where’s Jackson?” Mason asked.
She smiled and said, “Packing his bag, getting ready to go to Santa Barbara and find out the exact status of the case of Doris Kent versus Peter Kent. I took the liberty of reading your mind, and giving him the order. I’ve telephoned the garage to fill his car with gas, oil and water and deliver it here.”
Mason grinned and said, “Good girl. Some day I’ll decide to raise your salary and find you’ve read my mind and already done it. Telephone the county clerk at Santa Barbara. Arrange with some deputy to stay after hours. Tell Jackson to telephone me and let me know what he finds out.” Mason consulted his wristwatch, said meditatively, “It’s about one hundred miles. Jackson should be there in something less than three hours. Tell him to step on it.”
Chapter 4
Somewhere in the house a clock chimed the hour of nine. Duncan was talking. For more than fifteen minutes he had been outlining the position of his client. Maddox, a stoopshouldered man with high cheek bones and a trick of keeping his eyes focused on the tips of his shoes, sat silent. Kent impatiently twisted his long fingers. On his right, Helen Warrington, his secretary, sat with poised pencil. As the clock ceased chiming the hour, Duncan paused. Mason said to the secretary, “What’s the last paragraph, Miss Warrington?”
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