The Case of the Fan-Dancer's Horse

Chapter number 6

It was nine-thirty in the morning when Mason unlatched the door of his private office.

Della Street had the mail opened and sorted in three x neat stacks on Mason’s desk: the important pile, which Mason must answer immediately; the less important pile on which action could be deferred, and the third and larger pile which could be handled by secretarial answers.

Mason frowned at the desk. “Gosh, how I love to read letters. Mail is a wonderful thing, Della. Every morning it brings us a cross section of people’s thoughts. People who have mysteries they’d like to have me solve gratuitously; people who have an ax to grind; people who want to borrow money; people who make suggestions about cases I’ve tried. They all follow a certain general pattern, and yet they have that peculiar something which springs from individuality. Those letters help me to understand people — and if you don’t understand people you can’t ever expect to make a successful jury lawyer — but they don’t make me want to answer ’em... Heard anything from Paul Drake, Della?”

“He wants you to give him a ring when you come in. Says it’s nothing important, just a routine report, and Arthur Sheldon is waiting in the outer office, nervous as a cat.”

Mason’s eyes narrowed. “Seems to have something on his mind?”

“So Gertie says. She says he’s driving her crazy, walking the floor and biting away at his fingernails.”

“All right. Let’s have a look at Sheldon, Della, and see what’s bothering him.”

Della Street picked up the telephone, instructed Gertie to send Sheldon in, and then met him at the door of the private office.

Sheldon walked directly toward Mason. His hands were fumbling at the inside pocket of his coat as he crossed the office. Mason said, “Sit down.”

Sheldon, like one in a daze, continued to walk over toward Mason, and by the time he had reached the corner of the desk had extracted a thick wallet from his inside breast pocket.

“Mr. Mason,” he said nervously, the words all running together in his haste and anxiety, “I want to retain you. I want to get your representation. A general representation, a blanket representation — for Lois Fenton. I want you to protect her interests.”

“In what?”

“In everything.”

“Well,” Mason said, “when she comes in at ten-thirty we’ll...”

“No, no. Whether she comes in or not I want this to cover everything. I have some money.”

Sheldon opened the wallet and began pulling out money. There were five-dollar bills, one-dollar bills a few twenty-dollar bills, one fifty-dollar bill.

Mason watched him gravely. “How much money do you have there, Sheldon?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t counted it. I’ve been busy, raising what I could.”

Mason nodded to Della Street.

Della Street’s nimble fingers ran through the pile of bills. “Nine hundred and eighty-nine dollars,” she said.

Mason’s long, strong fingers began to drum silently on the edge of the desk. “Give him back half of it,” he said. “Make him a receipt for the other half, Della. Have it appear as a retainer for Lois Fenton and for no other person.”

Della Street gave Sheldon half of the money back, moved over to her typewriter.

“Date it the sixteenth,” Mason said.

Della looked up at him in surprise, then motioned toward the daily calendar on the wall which exhibited a sign saying “Today is the seventeenth.”

“The sixteenth,” Mason repeated firmly.

Della Street dated the receipt the sixteenth, and handed it to Mason. Mason signed it, gave it to Sheldon, said to Della Street, “Run down the corridor to Paul Drake’s office, Della. Tell him I want complete coverage on this case.”

“Complete?” Della Street asked.

Mason nodded.

She said, “I’ll be right back,” and vanished through the exit door into the corridor.

Sheldon said, “This is a load off my mind, Mr. Mason. You understand how I... well, perhaps I hadn’t better say anything more. I’ll be running along.”

“Sit down,” Mason said.

Sheldon became afflicted with the restlessness of great urgency. “Mr. Mason, you’re a busy man and I’ve got things to do. I’ll run along. You’re going to represent Lois now and...”

“Sit down,” Mason interrupted.

Sheldon moved toward the door. Then gripped by the power of the lawyer’s eyes and the authority in his voice slowly walked back to the big, overstuffed client’s chair and sat down on the extreme edge of it.

“You checked out of the Richmell Hotel the way I told you to?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Why right after you left, of course.”

“Have another room?”

“I finally got one, yes.”

“Where?”

“791 East Lagmore.”

“A hotel?”

“A dump.”

“How did you happen to go there? Ever stayed there before?”

“No. I just saw the sign. I drove around in the cheaper districts. I knew I couldn’t get in in the better places — not at that hour.”

“What hour was it?”

“I wouldn’t know. It was right after you left that I checked out. I got this room about half an hour later.”

“You’re certain you checked out right after I left?”

“Yes.”

Mason looked at his watch. Sheldon squirmed uncomfortably. “Why did you give me half of the money back, Mr. Mason?”

“You’re going to need it,” Mason said. “You can go now.”

A look of relief flashed across Sheldon’s face. He started for the door. “Remember,” he said, “you’ll represent Lois.” And then after a moment added, “No matter what happens.”

The door check slowly closed the door behind him.

A few moments later Della Street opened the door of his private office.

“Okay?” Mason asked.

“Okay. You wanted Sheldon shadowed. That was it, wasn’t it?”

“That’s right.”

“That’s what I thought you meant,” Della exclaimed with relief, “when you said you wanted complete coverage. Paul Drake had a man in his office who’ll pick up Sheldon at the elevator. Why aid you want the receipt dated yesterday, Chief?”

Mason said wearily, “I guess you’ll have to call it a hunch, Della — or it may be just the cynicism of a lawyer who has seen too much of the human soul when it’s twisted by the hands of destiny. The police might regard it as evidence if it were dated today.”