Perry Mason stared at the morning mail with evident distaste. He raised his eyes to where his secretary was standing at his elbow, and said, “Gosh, Della, can’t you scare me up a good mystery?”
Della Street said, “I’ve handled all the routine mail. This is the important stuff which needs your personal attention.”
Mason pushed the mail to one side. “Shucks, Della, I hate letters. Letters are inanimate. I like people. People are animate. I like to puzzle with human problems.”
Della Street regarded the discarded mail with solicitous eyes, and steeled herself against the magnetism of Mason’s boyish grin. “After all,” she said, “you can’t eat dessert all the time, Chief. You have to have some bread and butter.”
“Not dessert, Della,” Mason said. “I want meat, red meat, and lots of it. Come on, be a good girl, and tell me about the clients.”
Della Street sighed. “A Miss Leeds, a Miss Milicant, and a Mr. Barkler are waiting in the outer office. They’re together, but Miss Leeds wants to talk with you for a few moments before you see the others.”
“What’s it about, Della?”
“A rich man whose relatives want his money.”
“I don’t like rich people,” Mason said, pushing his hands down in his pockets. “I like poor people.”
“Why?” she asked, her voice showing her interest.
“Darned if I know,” Mason said. “Rich people worry too much, and their problems are too damn petty. They stew up a high blood pressure over a one-point drop in the interest rate. Poor people get right down to brass tacks: love, hunger, murder, forgery, embezzlement — things a man can sink his teeth into, things he can sympathize with.”
“I told them I thought you wouldn’t be interested,” Della Street said, “that you specialized in trial work.”
Mason sunk his chin on his chest and frowned thoughtfully. At length, he said, “I’ll see Miss Leeds anyway. She has my curiosity aroused. Three people come together. One person wants to see me before the other two... Send her in, Della”
Della Street looked pointedly at the pile of mail.
“I’ll answer it this afternoon,” he promised. “Let’s see Miss Leeds.”
She slipped through the door to the outer office to return in a few moments with a young woman whose quick, nervous step was indicative of an impatient temperament.
“Phyllis Leeds,” Della Street said.
Miss Leeds crossed rapidly over to Mason’s desk, giving the lawyer an impression of vivid blue eyes which studied him in swift appraisal.
“Thank you so much for seeing me, Mr. Mason,” she said as Della Street withdrew.
Mason bowed. “Sit down,” he said. “Tell me what it’s about.”
She sat down on the extreme edge of the big leather chair across from Mason’s desk, and said, “I can only keep the others waiting a minute or two. I want to give you the sketch.”
Mason opened his office humidor, extended a tray containing four of the better-known brands of cigarettes.
“Smoke?” he asked.
“Thanks,” she said.
As Mason held his match, she took a deep drag, exhaled streaming smoke from her nostrils, then, with a quick, nervous gesture, whipped the cigarette from her lips, and said, “I want to see you about my Uncle Alden — Alden E. Leeds.”
“What about him?” Mason asked.
“I have two cousins and two uncles living. Uncle Alden was the black sheep of the family. He ran away and went to sea when he was only fourteen. No one knows where he went or what he did. He doesn’t like to talk about his adventures, but he’s been all over the world. When I was fifteen, he came back here to settle down. I think the family were inclined to look down their noses at him until they found out that Uncle Alden was exceedingly wealthy.”
“How old is your Uncle Alden?” Mason asked.
“Seventy-two, I believe. He was the oldest of the boys. I’m living in his house, manage most of his financial affairs, and his correspondence.”
“Go on,” Mason said.
Phyllis Leeds said, “I’ll have to hit the high spots. Uncle Alden has never married. Recently he met Emily Milicant... She’s waiting in the outer office. He fell for her hard.
“The relatives are furious. They’re afraid they’ll lose out on the money. They want to have Uncle Alden declared incompetent.”
“And how do you feel about it?”
“I feel that it’s Uncle Alden’s money and he can do with it just as he pleases.”
“You’re friendly with Emily Milicant?”
“Not particularly.”
“But you’d be glad to see them married?”
“No,” she said, “I don’t think I would, but I do want Uncle Alden to be free to do what he wants.”
“And what,” Mason asked, “did you want me to do?”
“Isn’t it the law that a person can manage his own property unless his mind becomes so affected that other people can take advantage of him?”
“Something to that effect,” Mason said.
Phyllis Leeds said, “They’re trying to show that he can be imposed upon, and there are certain things they must never find out.”
“What for instance?”
She said, “That’s what I want Emily Milicant to tell you. But before she told you, I wanted you to — well, get the sketch. I think she wants to marry Uncle Alden. You’ll have to make allowances for that. Ned Barkler is one of Uncle Alden’s closest friends. He knew Uncle up in the Klondike years ago. I asked him to come along.”
“Shall I ask them to come in?” Mason inquired.
“If you will, please.”
Mason picked up the telephone, and said, “Ask Miss Milicant and Mr. Barkler to come in, please.” He dropped the receiver into place and glanced expectantly at the door to the outer office.
Emily Milicant had quite evidently tried to preserve the contours of youth although she was somewhere between forty-five and fifty-five. She had starved her face into submission, but her body was more obstinate. Despite the hollows under her cheekbones and the wide intensity of her staring, black eyes, she retained little rolls of fat just above the hipbones. Dieting had made her face gaunt, her neck almost scrawny, but the fit of her dress across the hips lacked the smooth symmetry which she had so evidently tried to achieve.
Barkler was in the late fifties, weatherbeaten, wiry and hard. He walked with a slight limp. Mason acknowledged introductions, motioned them to chairs, and waited.
Emily Milicant dropped into a chair and immediately seemed to become thin. Her black eyes, staring out from above the hollowing cheeks, conveyed the impression of an emotional intensity which was burning up her mental energy.
Barkler took a pipe from his pocket with the manner of a man who intended that his contribution to the conference was to be an attentive silence.
Emily Milicant’s eyes met those of Mason with the force of physical impact. “I presume,” she said, “that Phyllis has told you all about me. It was delicate and tactful of her, but entirely unnecessary. I could have covered the situation in fewer words. So far as the Leeds family are concerned, Mr. Mason, with the exception of Phyllis here,” — and she indicated Phyllis by rotating her forearm on the elbow and twisting the wrist quickly as though to shake a gesture off her fingertips, — “I’m an adventuress. I have ceased to be known as Emily Milicant. I am referred to as ‘that woman.’”
Mason nodded noncommittally.
“That’s quite all right, Mr. Mason,” she rushed on. “I can take it. But I’m not going to be pushed around.”
“I think,” Mason said, “Miss Leeds has covered the preliminaries. What is the specific point on which you wanted my advice?”
“Mr. Leeds is being blackmailed,” she said.
“How do you know?” Mason asked.
“I was with him day before yesterday,” she said, “when his bank telephoned. Alden — Mr. Leeds — seemed very much disturbed. I heard him say, ‘I don’t care if the check is for a million dollars, go ahead and cash it — and I don’t care if it’s presented by a newsboy or a streetwalker. That endorsement makes the check payable to bearer.’ He was getting ready to slam up the receiver when the man at the other end of the line said something else, and I could hear what it was.”
“What was it?” Mason asked.
She leaned forward impressively. “The cashier at the bank, I suppose it was, said, ‘Mr. Leeds, this young woman is flashily dressed. She’s asking for the twenty thousand dollars in cash.’ ‘That’s the face of the check, isn’t it?’ Leeds asked. The voice said, ‘I beg your pardon, Mr. Leeds. I just wanted to be certain.’ ‘You’re certain now,’ Alden said, and slammed the telephone receiver back into place.
“When he turned away from the telephone, I think he realized for the first time that I had heard his end of the conversation. He seemed to hold his breath for a moment as though thinking rapidly back over what had been said at his end of the line. Then he said to me, ‘Banks are a confounded nuisance. I gave a newsboy a check for twenty dollars last night and put an endorsement on the check that would enable him to cash it without any difficulty. And a bank underling has to start acting officious. You’d think I didn’t know how to run my own business.’”
Phyllis Leeds entered the conversation. “When Emily told me about it,” she said, “I realized right away what a dreadful thing it would be if Uncle Alden had been victimized by swindlers or blackmailers. Uncle Freeman would pounce on it at once as an excuse to show that Uncle Alden couldn’t be trusted to handle his own money.”
“So what did you do?” Mason asked.
“I went to the bank,” she said. “I handle Uncle Alden’s financial matters — keeping his bank account in balance and his correspondence and things like that. I told the bank I was having trouble in my accounts and asked them to give me the amount of Uncle Alden’s balance and the canceled checks. I think the bank cashier knew what I was after, and was really relieved. He got the checks for me at once. The last one was a check for twenty thousand dollars signed by Uncle Alden, and payable to L. C. Conway. It was endorsed on the back, ‘L. C. Conway’ and down below that appeared in Uncle’s handwriting, ‘This endorsement guaranteed. Check to be cashed without identification or further endorsement.”
“The effect,” Mason said, “being virtually to make it a check payable to bearer. Why didn’t he do that in the first place?”
“Because,” she said, “I don’t think he wanted this young woman’s name to appear on the check.”
“It was cashed by the bank without her endorsement?”
“Yes. The bank cashier insisted on her endorsing the check. She refused to do so. Then he rang up Uncle Alden and had the conversation Emily overheard. After that, the cashier told this woman she didn’t need to endorse the check, but that she’d have to leave her name and address and give a receipt before he’d let her have the money.”
“Then what happened?”
“The girl was furious. She wanted to telephone Uncle Alden, but she either didn’t know his number or pretended she didn’t. The cashier wouldn’t give her Uncle Alden’s unlisted number. So finally she wrote her name and address, and gave him a receipt.”
“Fictitious?” Mason asked.
“Apparently, it wasn’t. The cashier made her show her driving license, and an envelope addressed to her at that address.”
Mason said, “Your uncle might not welcome the cashier’s activities.”
“I’m quite certain that he wouldn’t,” she said.
Emily Milicant said, with quick nervousness, “You know blackmailers never quit.”
“You have the check?” Mason asked Phyllis Leeds.
“Yes.” She took the canceled check from her purse, and handed it to Mason.
“What,” Mason asked, “do you want me to do?”
“Find out about the blackmail, and if possible get the money back before the other relatives can find out about it.”
Mason smiled, and said, “That’s rather a large order.”
“It would be for most people. You can take it in your stride.”
“Have you any clues?” Mason asked.
“None, except those I gave you.”
Mason turned his eyes to Barkler who sat smoking placidly. “What’s your idea about this, Barkler?” he asked.
Barkler gave his pipe a couple of puffs, removed it from his mouth, said, “He ain’t being blackmailed,” and resumed his smoking.
Phyllis Leeds laughed nervously.
“Mr. Barkler knew Uncle Alden in the Klondike,” she said. “He claims no man on earth could blackmail him, says Uncle Alden’s too handy with a gun.”
Barkler said, by way of correction and without removing his pipe, “Not the Klondike, the Tanana.”
“It amounts to the same thing,” she said.
Barkler seemed not to have heard her.
“He and Uncle Alden stumbled onto each other a year ago,” Phyllis explained. “They’re great friends — old cronies, you know.”
“Cronies, hell! We’re pards,” Barkler said, “and don’t make no mistake about Alden. He ain’t being blackmailed.”
Phyllis Leeds said quietly to the lawyer, “The check you hold speaks for itself.”
Mason said, “If I take this case, I’ll need money — money for my services, money for investigation. I’ll hire a detective agency and put men to work. It’ll be expensive.”
Barkler took the pipe out of his mouth and said, “Cheap lawyers ain’t no good anyhow. Alden ain’t being blackmailed, Phyllis. He’s in trouble of some kind. Give Mason a check and let him go to work... But it ain’t blackmail. You can lay to that.”
Phyllis Leeds opened her purse and took out a checkbook.
“How much,” she asked Perry Mason, “do you want?”