The Case of the Grinning Gorilla

Chapter number 2

On Tuesday morning Mason unlocked the door of his private office, took off his hat and held it poised for a moment as he stared speculatively at the bust of Blackstone.

“Have you seen the newspapers?” Della Street asked.

“Just took a look at the headlines. Why?” Mason slowly lowered the hand holding his hat.

“You should see your photographs in the picture section of the Inquirer; and you should see the three dollar bill who’s sitting in the office, looking at his watch every fifteen seconds, waiting for you to come in so he can talk to you about the ‘package in the Helen Cadmus estate.’ ”

“So?” Mason asked, crossing over to the coat closet, and making a more conventional disposal of his hat. “What about the three dollar bill?”

Della Street said, “I mean he’s as phony as a three dollar bill.”

“In what way?”

“His name is Nathan Fallon. He is, and I quote, ‘associated’ with Mr. Benjamin Addicks, and he claims to be a distant relative of Helen Cadmus. He was deeply shocked that her memoirs had been sold at auction. He is unctuous, mealymouthed, refined, smirking, and he’s not accustomed to that sort of an act. He’s more accustomed to sticking out his chin at somebody and saying, ‘All right, do this or else.’ ”

“Well, well, well,” Mason said. “And Jackson’s report on the case of Kempton versus Addicks?”

“Well, you had the general report he made over the telephone yesterday that it was a suit for defamation of character. We now have a copy of the complaint.”

She handed Mason a copy of a complaint which had been filed in the clerk’s office, and Mason skimmed through it, nodding his head and smiling as he read. “The plot thickens,” he observed. “Apparently Mrs. Josephine Kempton was discharged under circumstances which she found highly unsatisfactory. She was unable to secure any explanation from her employer, and, later on, when she tried to get other jobs, she found out that in every instance where the new employer had written Mr. Addicks for reference, letters had been received from Addicks accusing her of theft.”

“What’s the law on that?” Della Street asked. “Is it a privileged communication?”

“You mean Addicks’ letters?”

“Yes.”

Mason grinned. “My dear Della. You are presuming upon the prerogatives of attorneys for the defendant in the case of Kempton versus Addicks. As far as the law of the case is concerned, let them fight it out; but as far as the facts of the case are concerned, I find myself very much interested. I am also interested in knowing why Mr. Fallon should be so concerned about the diaries of Helen Cadmus.”

“Well, of course,” Della Street said, “he doesn’t admit that he’s interested primarily in the diaries. He simply wants any of the personal effects that were left by the, and again I quote, ‘poor unfortunate girl.’ ”

“Tut-tut-tut!” Mason said.

“Are you going to see Mr. Fallon,” she asked, “before he wears out all of the carpet in the reception room pacing the floor?”

“We’re going to see him,” Mason said, “but Mr. Fallon, who apparently is a stuffed shirt as well as a poor actor, should see us as we really are, Della. He probably has been accustomed to the dignified corporation attorneys who handle Mr. Addicks’ affairs and advise him how he can turn income into capital for a smaller tax.

“I think it is time Mr. Fallon realizes he is dealing with an entirely different breed of cat.”

With which Mason crossed over to the coat closet, took out his hat, carried it over to the bust of Blackstone, and deliberately adjusted it at a rakish angle.

“And now, Della,” he said, “you may show in Mr. Nathan Fallon.”

Della Street smiled at Mason’s whimsical gesture and promptly went to the outer office to return with the man she had described as a three dollar bill.

Nathan Fallon had a high, bulging forehead, a short pug nose, thick-lensed rimless spectacles, a big smiling mouth, and an over-all attitude of ingratiating good fellowship.

There was a bald spot at the back of his head, and the hair had grown thin above the high forehead, but he had let the hair of the intermediate fringe grow as long as possible. By winding this hair around and around and plastering it in position with hairdressing, he had managed to take away much of the shine from the bald spot.

“Mr. Mason!” he said. “Mr. Perry Mason! I can’t begin to tell you, sir, the pleasure that I have in meeting you face to face. I have been an admirer of yours for a long time. I have followed the accounts of your courtroom triumphs in the press. I made up my mind early in the game that if I should ever find myself in trouble I would come to your office at once.”

“That’s fine,” Mason said, shaking hands and flashing Della Street a quick wink. “I take it you’re in trouble, then?”

“No, no, no, not at all! No, no, my dear Mr. Mason! Oh, please do not misunderstand me. No trouble.”

“Oh,” Mason said. “I did misunderstand you then. Sit down.”

Mason seated himself behind the big desk. Della Street moved up to her secretarial desk with notebook poised.

“Oh, my dear Mr. Mason, I wouldn’t have conveyed that impression for anything — and your so charming secretary, Miss Street! It is indeed a pleasure to see her in the flesh.”

“Your making her sound naked,” Mason said.

“Oh, no, no! My dear Mr. Mason, please! Please, I beg of you.”

Della Street glanced mischievously up from her notebook.

Fallon hurried on with his explanation. “I meant only that I had read about her, that she had been an intangible. Now she has become very, very definite, very tangible.”

“And,” Mason reminded Fallon, “is waiting to take notes as to the nature of your business so she can make out a proper file and keep the office records straight.”

“Yes, yes! You’ll pardon me, Mr. Mason. I realize, of course, the value of your time. I’m a man who believes in coming right to the point, Mr. Mason.”

“Go ahead.”

“I am an associate of Benjamin Addicks, and, strangely enough, I am also related to Helen Cadmus.”

“Just what’s the nature of the relationship?” Mason asked.

“Oh, rather a distant relative. She always called me Uncle. I was instrumental in getting her position with Benny.”

“Benny?” Mason asked.

“I beg your pardon, Benjamin Addicks. We call him Benny.”

“I see.”

“Poor dear Helen. I can’t imagine what possessed her to do the terrible thing she did, and, above all, in the manner in which she did it. If she had been determined to end it all, an overdose of sleeping pills would have been so much more simple, so... well, if I may express myself frankly, Mr. Mason, so much more considerate.”

“I presume,” Mason said, “that when a girl finds the problems of life too much for her and decides to take her life, she is primarily concerned with her own adventure into eternity.”

“Yes, yes, of course. I understand that. The poor thing. I can understand it personally, and yet, Mr. Mason, it couldn’t have been planned so that it was more... well, shall I say more inopportune.”

“In what way?”

“All of the newspaper notoriety, all of the inconvenience that it caused Benny — Benjamin Addicks, that is. Mr. Addicks was very much attached to her. Just as an employee, you understand, Mr. Mason, just as an employee. He would have done anything possible to alleviate her suffering if he had only known. I think I am in a position to assure you definitely, Mr. Mason, that if the poor girl’s troubles were in any way financial, Mr. Addicks would have done almost anything, made almost any concession...”

“What were her troubles?” Mason asked.

Fallon threw out pudgy palms in a gesture. “Now there, Mr. Mason, I’m up a tree. I can’t tell you. I simply don’t know.”

“She didn’t confide in anyone?”

“Yes, Mr. Mason. Unfortunately she confided in me, and I didn’t believe her. I felt it was only the sort of talk that women sometimes indulge in during periods of despondency. She told me that she felt many times that she couldn’t continue to bear the great measure of responsibilities that she found life was heaping on her and that she was...”

“What sort of responsibilities?”

“She didn’t say, Mr. Mason. I’m sorry to admit that I didn’t encourage the girl. I... but then that’s neither here nor there. The matter is all over and disposed of, and I know how busy you are, Mr. Mason. I was surprised to read in the press this morning that you had purchased Helen’s intimate personal belongings. I had no idea that she had left behind any personal possessions of that nature. As her nearest relative...”

“I thought you said you were a distant relative?”

“Relatively distant, Mr. Mason. Ha-ha-ha! I don’t mean a pun. I mean that I am a distant relative, but because there are no nearer relatives I sometimes refer to myself as a near relative. That sounds a big ambiguous, but I’m quite certain you’ll understand.”

“I don’t share your optimism,” Mason said. “Now just what do you want?”

“Why, naturally, Mr. Mason, I want the personal belongings, the mementos of poor dear Helen. I understand that you made a bid largely for the purpose of accommodating your friend, the public administrator, and purchased articles that have no real intrinsic value. The bid, I believe, was five dollars.”

Mr. Fallon jumped to his feet, extracted a crisp five dollar note from his pocket, and held it tentatively toward Mason. When the lawyer made no move to accept it, he turned somewhat dubiously to Della Street and said, “I suppose you’re the one who has charge of financial transactions, Miss Street.”

Della Street looked up at Mason questioningly.

The lawyer imperceptibly shook his head.

Fallon stood holding the five dollar bill, looking from one to the other, his face showing his perplexity at being rebuffed.

“But I don’t understand,” he said. “Am I perhaps failing to make myself clear?”

Mason said, “I bought the package. It contains some diaries, a photograph album and some other personal belongings. I think I have my five dollars’ worth.”

“Diaries, Mr. Mason?”

“Exactly,” Mason said, his eyes holding those of his visitor. “They are rather complete diaries.”

“But my dear Mr. Mason, they certainly can’t be of any interest to you, and, if you’ll, pardon the expression, I know you don’t want to pry into the secrets of a dead girl.”

“Why not?” Mason asked.

“Why not?” Fallon exclaimed, shocked. “Why, good heavens, Mr. Mason, why... surely you must be joking!”

“Certainly I’m not joking,” Mason said. “I make my living by knowing something about law and something about human nature. I stand up in front of juries. I cross-examine witnesses. I have to know a lot more about human nature than the average man.”

“Yes, yes, yes. I understand, Mr. Mason. That part, of course, is quite clear.”

“You don’t get to understand human nature,” Mason said, “by listening to what people tell you when they’re talking to you.”

“You don’t?” Fallon asked, surprised.

Mason shook his head. “That’s when you see them with their make-up on, with their best foot forward. You learn about human nature by watching people when they don’t know they’re being watched, by listening to conversations that they don’t know are being overheard, by prying into their thoughts whenever you can find what their true thoughts are. You learn about people when you see their souls stripped naked by suffering.”

“Really, Mr. Mason, you amaze me.”

“For instance, in your case,” Mason said, “one doesn’t find out all about you, about your motivations, about your ideas and about what you really want by listening to what you say.”

“I... Mr. Mason, are you accusing me of hypocrisy?”

“I’ll ask you,” Mason said. “Are you telling me the entire truth?”

“Why, certainly! Yes, of course, of course!”

“And you want these diaries only for sentimental reasons?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Then,” Mason said, “I’ll tell you I want them for a business reason. They help me to understand human nature. So that will terminate the interview, Mr. Fallon, and there’re no hard feelings on either side.”

“But I don’t understand, Mr. Mason.”

“I’ve tried to tell you.”

“Do you perchance mean that these things have a substantial monetary value to you?”

“That’s right.”

“Oh,” Fallon said, beaming, “in that case, Mr. Mason, I am fully prepared to meet you on your own ground. I had assumed, as one gentleman to another, the five dollar reimbursement would be all that was required, but it it’s a matter of financial bargaining...”

“It isn’t,” Mason said. “I simply happen to desire to retain the property which I purchased.”

“Oh, but on a purely financial basis, on a concrete basis, Mr. Mason, I am prepared to approach the subject from an entirely different viewpoint.”

“Go ahead and approach it then.”

“Well, Mr. Mason, on a basis of money, on a basis of a transaction which means something to you from a monetary standpoint — let me put it this way, you paid five dollars for this property and you expect to receive at least five dollars’ worth of benefit from it. Is that right?”

“That’s right.”

“I may say more than five dollars.”

“That’s right, a great deal more.”

The ingratiating smile abruptly left Fallon’s face. He plunged his stubby hand into his inside coat pocket, pulled out a pigskin wallet, opened it, counted out five one-hundred dollar bills and tossed them on Mason’s desk.

“All right, Mason,” he said, “let’s understand each other. There’s a profit.”

Mason shook his head.

Fallon raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“I’m sorry,” Mason said. “That isn’t the sort of compensation I’m looking for.”

Fallon’s stubby fingers moved once more into the pigskin billfold. He tossed out five more one-hundred dollar bills.

“All right, Mason,” he said coldly, “there’s a thousand. Now let’s end this damned farce.”

There was no hint of geniality in the man’s face now. He was like a poker player pushing chips into the center of the table, watching his antagonist across the table, trying to determine what he was going to do, what cards he held in his hand.

“The diaries are not for sale,” Mason said.

“But, Mr. Mason, this is an absurd situation.”

“It doesn’t seem absurd to me,” Mason said. “I bought something because I wanted it. I continue to want it.”

“Mr. Mason,” Fallon said, “let’s understand each other. Let’s be definite. I am not prepared to go higher than one thousand dollars. That is, my instructions were to stop there. I feel, however, that— Mr. Mason, would you care to talk with Benjamin Addicks?”

“What about?”

“About the documents that you have.”

Mason shook his head. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“I think there is, Mr. Mason. I think that if you would see Mr. Addicks personally you’d realize... well, after all, Mr. Mason, let’s quit sparring around and get down to cold, hard business.”

“It’s your party,” Mason told him. “Go ahead and serve the refreshments. I thought you wanted to get the package merely for sentimental reasons and because you were a relative of Helen Cadmus.”

“Did you really think that?”

“That’s what you told me.”

“Good heavens, Mr. Mason, I had to tell you something! You’re a lawyer. Surely you recognize an approach that would enable us both to save face?”

“I’m not certain my face is worth saving,” Mason said.

“No, no, please don’t joke, Mr. Mason! Let’s be frank with each other.”

“I’ve been frank with you.”

“All right, I’ll be frank with you. The disappearance of Helen Cadmus caused a lot of conjecture. Newspaper writers, who make their living from catering to the demands of an audience which is hungry for sensational slop, fairly eat that stuff up. It was necessary for Mr. Addicks to go into seclusion, to take elaborate precautions from being hounded to death by these sensation-mongers.

“Now then, it appears that Helen kept a diary. I don’t know how it happened that the investigative officers didn’t find out about that.”

“The report is,” Mason said, “that Addicks used every bit of political influence at his command to see that the investigation consisted of nothing more than a big coat of whitewash hastily applied with a big brush. There was no investigation worthy of the name.”

“Oh, I’m sure you can’t say that, Mr. Mason. You can’t really believe that. Mr. Addicks tried to save himself personal inconvenience but that’s all.”

Mason grinned.

“All right,” Fallon said, “let’s be frank. Those diaries turn up. Good Lord, we had no idea they existed at all. Evidently they were found in some box or something that no one knew anything about. The current diary, of course, was...”

“Yes?” Mason asked.

Fallon coughed. “I shouldn’t have used that expression. It was unfortunate.”

“What happened to the current diary?” Mason asked.

Fallon met Mason’s eyes. His own eyes were cold, hard, and hostile. “There was none,” he said. “She evidently stopped keeping a diary with the last volume that you now have in your possession.”

“How much is Addicks willing to pay?” Mason asked.

“I don’t know,” Fallon said. “He told me to go up to a thousand dollars. We had no idea on earth but what we could probably get them as a matter of courtesy by merely reimbursing you for the cost you had incurred, or, if you had an idea of making a profit, that two or three hundred dollars would represent all that we needed to pay. It is a measure of the impression that you have made on me that when I saw you weren’t being fooled by my sentiment act, I went right away to the extreme limit that I was authorized to offer.”

“All right,” Mason said, “so what do you do now?”

Fallon pushed the hundred dollar bills back into his pigskin billfold, carefully folded the five dollar bill, put that in his pocket, smiled at Mason and said, “I go back for further instructions. Thank you. Good morning!”

He turned abruptly on his heel and marched out of the office.

Mason glanced at Della Street in an unspoken question.

“Well,” Della Street said, “I presume that means the end of all office work for today.”

“It means the end of all office work for the day. I’ll take one of the volumes, you take one, give one to Jackson, give one to Gertie. We read through those diaries. We read every single word. Make notes of anything that’s significant and tie the notes in with the page references. Let’s find out what’s bothering Mr. Benjamin Addicks, preferably before we hear from Mr. Addicks again. What’s the last entry in the last volume, Della?”

“I’ve already checked on that, Chief,” she said, “It’s about two weeks before the date of her disappearance.”

“Gosh, how I wish we had volume number five,” Mason said, “but from the inadvertent slip made by Three-Dollar-Bill Fallon, I am certain that Addicks, Fallon, and Company found that diary, put it in a sack, tied a weight on it and dropped it overboard in the deepest part of the channel. All right, Della, let’s find out what we have. Cancel all appointments for today, throw that mail off the desk, and let’s go to work.”