The Case of the Dubious Bridegroom

Three

It was mid-afternoon when Paul Drake entered Mason’s office, walking with a loose-jointed gait that gave him the appearance of extreme indolence.

“Hi, Perry.”

“How are you, Paul? You certainly don’t look the romantic picture.”

“What do you mean, the romantic picture?”

Mason grinned, “I was thinking of the description I heard a short time ago of the private detective. A young woman was very much thrilled with the glamour of your occupation, but there was a shudder that went along with the thrill.”

“Oh, that,” Paul Drake said in a bored voice as he seated himself in the big client’s chair. “It’s a hell of a job.”

“What have you found out about the Garvin Mining, Exploration and Development Company?” Mason asked.

Drake lit a cigarette, sprawled around in the chair until he had his legs draped over one of the overstuffed arms, the other used as support for the small of his back. “Garvin,” he said, “is an impulsive sort of a guy.”

“In what way?”

“He married his secretary, an Ethel Carter. They got along fine together. Everything was all hunky-dory until the new wore off, and after the new wore off Garvin started looking around.”

“I know,” Mason said, “then he married Lorraine Evans.”

“In between that were two or three other affairs that didn’t terminate in marriage.”

“And what about Ethel Carter Garvin?”

“Now there,” Drake said, “you have a problem. She’s reported to have divorced him in Reno, but there’s no record of the divorce.”

“And what about the company, Paul?”

“It’s a corporation. Sort of a holding company. Garvin is a sharp-shooter. He picks up mines and prospects. When he finds something that looks good, he turns it in to the Edward Charles Garvin Company, which is a partnership consisting of Garvin and a dummy. Then the partnership turns it over to the Garvin Mining, Exploration and Development Company at a fat profit.”

“How come?” Mason asked.

“Just his way of doing business.”

“Income tax?”

“How would I know? You’re the lawyer.”

Mason said, “If he’s on the board of directors of the Garvin Mining, Exploration and Development Company, he’s hardly in a position to make a profit on selling stuff to his own company.”

“That’s where he’s smart,” Drake said. “He isn’t even a member of the board of directors. He’s the guy that tells ’em what to do, but he’s merely the general manager.”

“And owns a majority of the stock?”

“No, apparently he controls the whole thing, however, by keeping the confidence of a widely scattered list of stockholders. You can figure the thing out, Perry. He picks up properties, puts them in his partnership, holds them long enough, until they’re developed to a point where the value is pretty well assured. Then he gives the Garvin Mining, Exploration and Development Company an opportunity to take them off his hands at a profit. He keeps the management in his own hands, pays himself a nice fat salary and a bonus based on profits. Where the guy is smart is in operating the company in such a way that the stockholders make a nice profit. As long as they’re getting a juicy profit, they don’t care very much what happens. Everyone who owns stock in the company thinks Edward Charles Garvin is the last word in acumen as a manager... Now, that’s all I could find out about it, just offhand. There’s no Virginia Colfax in the picture, and I don’t get any trace of a blond-haired gal such as you described.”

“Well,” Mason said, “it was just an exploratory job when I first got in touch with you. Now it’s going to be a real job. Garvin’s first wife is somewhere here in the city. I want to find her and put a shadow on her and know what she’s doing twenty-four hours a day.”

“Okay,” Drake said. “I don’t know just how long it’ll take us to locate her. Depends on whether she’s really trying to keep under cover.”

“When you get her, don’t lose sight of her.”

“I won’t.”

Drake started to get up out of the chair, then, as an afterthought pushed his hand down into his pocket and brought out a folded paper.

“What’s that?” Mason asked.

“Proxy for the next stockholders’ meeting of the Garvin Mining, Exploration and. Development Company,” Drake told him. “I got my information from a stockholder about most of the setup.”

“How in the world did you ever locate a stockholder in the short time you had to work in?” Mason asked.

“Oh,” Drake said, “it’s just one of those things — part of the job.”

“You interest me, Paul. How did you do it?”

“Well, I have a couple of friends who are interested in gold mining. I rang them up and asked them about Garvin’s company. They gave me quite a bit of the background. I asked them if they could put me in touch with a stockholder so I could get the information right from the back door of the stable, so to speak, and one of my friends knew a chap he thought knew Garvin. He rang him up and found that he was a stockholder in the company.”

“You didn’t interview him?” Mason asked.

“Of course not. I had my friend gently pump him. This guy started talking because a funny thing had happened. He had been out of the state for a while and when he got back, found this proxy in his mail for the stockholders’ meeting day after tomorrow. He couldn’t understand it because he’d already sent in another proxy before he left. Proxies have to be on file with the secretary for a period of ten days prior to the stockholders’ meeting.”

Mason held out his hand, took the proxy, opened it, and glanced through it, then frowned and said, “The man said he’d already sent in a proxy?”

“That’s right.”

Mason glanced through the proxy, then dropped it on the desk. “That’s made out in a peculiar way, Paul.”

“How come?”

“This proxy provides that the voting rights are given to E. C. Garvin, holder of Certificate Number 123 of stock in the corporation.”

“Well, what’s wrong with that?”

“I don’t know,” Mason said, “but usually a proxy is made out in favor of a certain individual and it’s not necessary to tack on a lot of descriptive material... And he had already signed one proxy?”

“Yeah. He told this friend of mine he thought they’d sent the second one to him by mistake.”

“Okay,” Mason said. “We’ll let it go at that. Take a look around and see what you can find out about Garvin’s first wife, Paul.”

Drake slid off the chair and said, “I should have a line on her pretty quick. You don’t know whether she’s staying in a hotel, an apartment house, or where?”

“No faintest idea,” Mason said.

“Know anything about who her friends or associates are?” The lawyer shook his head.

“You seem to think a detective can pull a rabbit out of the hat just any old time he reaches in,” Drake complained. “You might at least give a guy something to work on.”

“I can give you a five-hundred-dollar retainer to work on,” Mason said.

“Okay,” Drake grinned, “tell Della to make out a check and send it along.”

Drake crossed the office, opened the door and walked rapidly down the corridor toward his own office.

Mason picked up the proxy, studied it.

“Why do you think that’s so important?” Della Street asked.

“Because of a remarkable coincidence,” Mason told her, folding the proxy and putting it in his pocket. “Does it occur to you,” Mason asked, “that the initials of Edward Charles Garvin are exactly the same as those of Ethel Carter Garvin? Now then, note that this proxy is issued to the E. C. Garvin who holds Stock Certificate Number 123 in the corporation and that all prior proxies are hereby revoked.”

“You mean,” Della Street asked, “that...”

“Exactly,” Mason interrupted. “I mean that if it should turn out that the holder of Certificate Number 123 is Ethel Carter Garvin, then every one of the stockholders who has signed one of these second proxies has automatically revoked the proxy that he had previously given to Edward Garvin, and his wife can walk into the stockholders’ meeting with a fistful of proxies, put in her own board of directors, fire Edward as general manager, and run things to suit herself.”

“Oh, oh!” Della exclaimed.

Mason said, “See if you can get hold of Garvin, Della. We’ll find out about this.”

Della Street nodded, and, consulting the memo of telephone numbers Garvin had given her when he had made out his check, sent busy fingers flying around the dial of the telephone while Mason devoted himself to cleaning up some of the mess of lawbooks left on his desk from the research he had conducted the night before.

At the end of ten minutes Della Street made her report. “Mr. Garvin can’t be reached before the stockholders’ meeting. As soon as he left our office, he went off on a trip. He told his secretary he was going to look at some mining properties. My guess is he’s on the second installment of a honeymoon.”

“Damn him, he could have told me he was planning that,” Mason said. “Well, get the secretary and treasurer of the company. Tell him to come down here. I want to see him. Tell him that we’re representing Mr. Garvin and I want him down here on a matter of the greatest importance.”

“They already know you’re representing Garvin,” Della Street said. “His secretary put through the check for a thousand dollars.”

“All right,” Mason told her, “get the secretary and treasurer of the corporation, whoever he may be, to come on down here, and tell him to make it snappy.”

A few minutes later Della Street took a phone call from the outer office and said to Mason, “Mr. George L. Denby is in the office, chief.”

“Who’s Denby?”

“He’s the secretary and treasurer of the company upstairs.”

“Show him in,” Mason said.

Denby, a thin, formal individual, with glasses, gray hair, a loosely fitting suit and cold hands, introduced himself to Perry Mason, shook hands and sat down. He hitched up the knees of his trousers before crossing his legs as he settled down facing the attorney.

Mason said, “I’m representing Garvin.”

“I understand so. May I ask if you’re representing him as an individual, or did he retain you to look after the interests of the corporation?”

“I’m representing Garvin,” Mason said. “I take it he has a diversity of interests?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Some of which are in the corporation?”

“Yes.”

“Does that answer your question, then?” Mason asked with a smile.

Denby’s ice-cold eyes peered out from behind his spectacles. “No,” he said.

Mason threw back his head and laughed.

Denby didn’t even smile.

Mason said, “All right, I’m representing him as an individual, put it that way. Now then, a certain matter has come to my attention which bothers me.”

“What is it, Mr. Mason?”

“Who holds Certificate Number 123 in the corporation?”

“I’m sure I couldn’t tell you, offhand, Mr. Mason.”

“When’s your stockholders’ meeting?”

“Day after tomorrow.”

“What time?”

“Two o’clock.”

“It’s a regular annual meeting?”

“Oh, yes.”

“What are the provisions in the bylaws about proxy voting, if any?”

“Really, Mr. Mason, I can’t answer that offhand. I believe the provisions conform to the state law.”

“Garvin holds a lot of proxies?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“How many?”

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss the affairs of the corporation, Mr. Mason — under the circumstances.”

“I see,” Mason said. “Go up to your office and check through your files. See how many proxies have been sent in for E. C. Garvin to vote.”

“Yes, of course, Mr. Mason, I’ll be very glad to check on that.”

“And then let me know.”

“That, unfortunately, Mr. Mason, is an entirely different matter. It’s a matter which concerns the corporation, as well as Mr. Garvin. I would require specific authorization from some officer of the company.”

“Get that authorization, then.”

“That might not be easy.”

“I didn’t ask you whether it would be easy — I told you to get it. It’s in the best interests of the corporation.”

“Of course, it calls for confidential information. Even Mr. Garvin — well, Mr. Garvin, Mr. Mason, is not an officer of the company.”

“Who’s the president?”

“Frank C. Livesey.”

“Is he up in the office now?”

“No. He was in earlier in the day, but he left.”

“Get him on the phone,” Mason said. “Tell him what’s cooking. Suggest to him that he’d better get in touch with me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“He’s listed in the telephone book?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“See what you can do,” Mason said.

“Very well.” Denby arose, said, “I trust you will appreciate my position, Mr. Mason. Of course, I understand that...”

“That’s all right,” Mason told him. “Go right ahead. Let me have what information you can.”

As soon as Denby had left the office Mason nodded to Della Street. “Look through the telephone directory for Frank C. Livesey and...”

Della Street smiled. “I have already done that. As soon as he mentioned the name I started looking.”

“Got the number?”

“Yes.”

“See if you can get him on the phone,” Mason said.

Della Street whirled the dial of the telephone, her fingers flying over the numbers, said, “Hello... hello. Is this Mr. Frank C. Livesey? Just a moment, Mr. Livesey, Mr. Mason wants to talk with you — Mr. Perry Mason, the lawyer. Just hold the phone a moment, please.”

Mason picked up the telephone and said, “Hello. Mr. Livesey?”

A cautious voice over the wire said, “This is Mr. Frank C. Livesey.”

“You’re president of the Garvin Mining, Exploration and Development Company?”

“Yes, Mr. Mason. May I ask the reason for your inquiry?”

“Something is going on which I think may affect the corporation. I’m representing Mr. Garvin. I’ve run into a snag when it came to getting information out of Denby, the secretary-treasurer.”

Livesey laughed and said, “You would.”

“Meaning he’s hostile to Garvin?” Mason asked bluntly.

“Meaning that he’s a stickler for formality and red tape,” Livesey said. “What’s the trouble, Mr. Mason?”

“I don’t like to tell you over the phone.”

“All right, I’ll come to your office at once.”

“Do that,” Mason said, and hung up.