The Case of the Nervous Accomplice

Chapter 2

George C. Lutts was apparently a badly flustered individual. Not only was he curious as to why Perry Mason should be interested in the Sylvan Glade Development Company, but he was anxious to make certain that he receive the excessive price which he had quoted over the telephone. His anxiety was tempered by a very evident fear that some secret development concerning which he knew nothing was making the stock worth far more than he had dared to ask.

Mason put the certified check on Lutts’ desk.

“There you are, Mr. Lutts. A check payable to George C. Lutts, dated today, duly certified, in an amount of thirty-two thousand seven hundred and fifty dollars. You note that I have written on the back of it that this check is payment in full for your two thousand shares of stock in the Sylvan Glade Development Company, that you agree to arrange for me to attend the directors’ meeting this afternoon. You will there announce that you have sold your stock to me, and give me an opportunity to address the meeting.”

George Lutts was a man in his fifties, with heavy, bushy eyebrows under which suspicious grey eyes peered with the intensity of a man trying to look through a thick fog. He pushed his head forward, as if by so doing he could see Perry Mason’s face to better advantage, and he studied the lawyer’s features. Blinking his eyes rapidly, he seemed almost to be sniffing the air.

“You have the stock?” Mason asked impatiently.

“Yes, yes.”

“All endorsed?”

“I’m prepared to endorse it.”

“There are five directors?”

“That’s right.”

“Will you,” Mason asked, “tell me something about the temperaments and personalities of the various directors?”

“The directors are very harmonious, very broadminded, and for the most part, our meetings are entirely without friction,” Lutts said. “I am quite sure, Mr. Mason, that you will find no serious objection on the part of any director to carrying out any legitimate business proposition which is for the best interest of the company.”

Mason looked at him steadily for a few moments, then grinned.

“Well, of course,” Lutts said, hastily averting his eyes, “we occasionally do have differences of opinion, but I think that’s only normal. I think there are always differences of opinion whenever people get together. After all, Mr. Mason, this is a democracy, and we progress through the consideration of different opinions.”

“And who will furnish the difference of opinion this afternoon?” Mason asked.

“Ezekiel Elkins sometimes requires a little more explanation than some of the others. He’s intensely practical.”

“You mean hardheaded?”

“You might call it that.”

“And who is opposed to Elkins?”

“No one. No one at all.”

“But Elkins does occasionally express himself as having what you have just referred to as a difference of opinion?”

“Well... yes.”

“And with whom does he usually differ?”

“Well, of course,” Lutts said, “wherever there are strong personalities there is an inescapable tendency for different viewpoints to clash.”

Mason nodded.

Lutts said, “Cleve Rector is, in many ways, temperamentally opposed to Ezekiel Elkins, and they are the two largest stockholders.”

“Who else is on the board?”

“Herbert Doxey.”

“Who’s he?”

“He’s my son-in-law. His holdings are very small.”

“Who’s the other director?” Mason asked.

“Regerson B. Neffs. Now understand, Mr. Mason, my stock doesn’t represent a controlling interest in the corporation, not by any manner of means. While I am the president, these other people have much larger holdings.”

“I understand,” Mason said. “But isn’t it a fact that if you vote with one of the other large blocks of stock, it does make a controlling interest?”

“Well,” Lutts said, hesitating, “yes and no.”

“What do you mean?” Mason asked.

“Well, it’s rather difficult to work out a combination of that sort because the situation varies from time to time and person to person. Of course, Mr. Mason, there are essentially no differences of opinion except on minor matters. We are engaged in a constructive real estate development, and, quite naturally, everyone is interested in promoting that development so that it will work out to the best interest of all concerned.”

“I just wanted to know,” Mason said cryptically.

“Mr. Mason, you aren’t buying this stock with the idea of making some sort of a combination and getting control, are you?”

“What makes you think that?”

“Well, the questions you are asking and... the fact that there were no bargaining negotiations.”

“What’s the matter?” Mason asked, making his voice sharp with suspicion. “Isn’t the stock worth the money?”

“Oh, yes, of course, Mr. Mason! Of course! It’s well worth the money. In fact, I may say you’re getting a bargain, Mr. Mason.”

“Then why should I have engaged in what you refer to as bargaining negotiations?”

Lutts frowned. “I hadn’t been aware that you were taking an interest in the property owned by the corporation.”

“I don’t usually precede my negotiations for property by a formal announcement that I’m interested,” Mason said.

“No, no, of course not. But you didn’t make any investigation — that is, we weren’t aware of it if you did.”

“Exactly.”

“Exactly what?”

“You weren’t aware of it if I did.”

Lutts cleared his throat and tried another tack.

“This isn’t entirely unexpected, Mr. Mason.”

“No?”

“No. I want to show you an anonymous letter I received this morning.”

“Why should I be interested?”

“Take a look,” Lutts invited, and handed Mason a sheet of typewritten paper which read:

Mason regarded the letter with a skeptical eye. “Anonymous letters aren’t worth their postage.”

“Nevertheless, it is significant that your offer comes right on the heels of this letter.”

Mason yawned.

“You don’t think much of the letter?”

“No.”

“Am I to understand that you’re familiar with the assets of the company?”

“Familiar enough to accept the offer that you made.”

“That was my first offer,” Lutts said speculatively.

“Do you usually make more than one?”

“No, no, no, but... well, it’s rather a peculiar way to do business in a deal of this magnitude. I... I really feel, Mr. Mason, that if I am going to go ahead with this deal, you should tell me exactly what it is you have in mind, exactly why you have become interested in this stock.”

“Why should I?” Mason asked.

“I think it’s only fair.”

Mason studied the man’s face carefully, then pushed back his chair, picked up the certified check and started for the door.

“Wait a minute... wait!” Lutts called in a panic. “What are you doing, Mr. Mason? Where are you going?”

“I thought,” Mason said, “you had changed your mind about selling the stock. You said ‘if’ you were to go ahead with the deal. I had thought the deal was made, and—”

“Now, Mr. Mason, don’t misunderstand me. I was only trying to get matters straight in my own mind.”

Mason stood by the desk. He was still holding the certified check he had picked up.

Lutts hastily opened a drawer and brought out two certificates of stock.

“You will, of course, be in accord with leveling the hilltop property, Mr. Mason?”

“I’m not certain as to my future plans,” Mason announced coldly.

“But that particular property won’t be worth anything unless it is leveled.”

“I am not anxious to buy valueless property. In your opinion, is the stock overpriced at the figure you’ve quoted me, Mr. Lutts?”

“No, no, of course not. Now don’t misunderstand me, Mr. Mason. Don’t misunderstand me. That property, when the Sylvan Glade Development Company purchased it, was just a run-down, second-rate suburban residential district. It had been high class at one time, but the city had moved on and left it high and dry. Then the buildings were filled with little businesses. The carline was abandoned, the rails torn up, and then even the businesses moved away. The property was up on a hill and... well, I’ll be frank, Mr. Mason, we bought it for a song.

“Our preliminary estimate showed that by cutting away the hill we could make a small fortune. It was a splendid business stroke, Mr. Mason. Then we found that the freeway was going to go through. That freeway will be needing dirt for a fill. We’ll be able to level the property, sell the dirt, and—”

“Have any agreements been made to sell the dirt for highway construction?” Mason asked.

“Nothing has been signed, yet. The owner of the adjoining property has sold dirt. She sneaked in on the thing... found out what we were intending to do and leveled off the back end of her property so that she beat us to it. We had to tear down houses, you know. This woman, Mrs. Roxy Claffin, has a smart real estate man, Enright Harlan. Of course, we’re co-operating now, but he certainly beat us to the punch. He knew about the freeway before we did.”

“The houses are now all torn down?”

“Don’t you know?” Lutts asked.

Mason looked at him steadily. “No.”

“All except one,” Lutts said. “A former old mansion that had been taken over by small businesses. Mr. Mason, if you don’t know what houses have been torn down, how can you fix a value on the stock?”

“I didn’t fix it,” Mason said. “You did.”

“I fixed the price. You fixed a value.”

“Was your price excessive?”

“Now wait a minute,” Lutts said in a panic. “I’m not sure of the value. In fact, I’m having an auditor go over my books next week. I’m selling this stock so I can take a capital gains profit. I make no representations as to its value. Perhaps I am selling too cheap. There’s no way of telling until the books are audited.”

Mason said, “I am in a hurry. I have here a certified check for thirty-two thousand seven hundred and fifty dollars as the purchase price of your stock. In precisely fifteen seconds I’m going to walk out of this office. If I should renew my offer tomorrow morning, it will be for twenty thousand. If that is not accepted I will offer you twelve thousand tomorrow afternoon. The day after tomorrow the price will be ten thousand. The following day I won’t want it at any price.”

“But why?” Lutts asked. “What’s going on that I don’t know about?”

Mason indicated the two certificates of stock. “Either use that fountain pen now or I’ll tear up the check. Which do you want?”

“Wait, wait! I’m signing, I’m signing!” George Lutts said. “Give a man time, can’t you? My heavens, don’t be so impatient. I’ve never seen such a man.”

Lutts signed the endorsements on the certificates of stock and pushed them across to Mason.

Mason handed him the check.

“Who is the secretary of the company?” Mason asked.

“Herbert Doxey.”

“Where will I find him?”

“Right in that back office.”

“Is he expecting me?”

“Well... yes and no.”

Mason grinned. “You mean that he felt that at the last minute I’d back out of paying any such price for your two thousand shares of stock?”

“That wasn’t what I said.”

“That’s what you had in mind,” Mason told him. “I’ll step back and meet Mr. Doxey.”

Mason moved around the desk, smiled at the perplexed and exasperated Lutts, walked back to a second office, the door of which was lettered “Herbert Doxey, Secretary” and pushed the door open.

Doxey, attired in shirt sleeves, was pushing papers around with the overhurried activity of an idle man who has slid his racing sheet in the desk drawer promptly upon seeing a shadow fall on the frosted glass of the entrance door.

Mason stood watching him.

Doxey tried the pretense of being so busy that he had neither seen nor heard Mason enter. Under the steady impact of Mason’s eyes be could no longer stand the strain. He glanced up and made a farcical failure of registering surprise.

“My name’s Mason,” the lawyer told him. “I want two thousand shares of stock transferred on the books of the Sylvan Glade Development Company.”

“Yes, yes,” Doxey said. “I understood that you were making a deal with Daddy Lutts.”

Mason extended the shares of stock.

Doxey opened a drawer in the desk, took out a stock book and the seal of the corporation.

“I want these stock certificates turned in,” Mason said, “and new stock certificates issued in my name — Perry Mason.”

“Is there a middle initial?” Doxey asked.

“No.”

Doxey filled out the certificates, then, unable to restrain himself, asked, “Mr. Mason, would you mind telling me just what you think that stock is worth?”

“A very great deal,” Mason said. “Do you expect any trouble at the directors’ meeting this afternoon?”

It was Doxey’s turn to be cryptic. “I don’t. You might.”

“Thank you,” Mason said and walked out.