The Case of the Nervous Accomplice

Chapter 7

Mason looked at his watch. It was several minutes since Mrs. Harlan had called. “I thought we’d hear from Doxey before this. He should be getting worried. I’d like to get some action before dark. I hate to do this to you, Della, but you’re going to have a late dinner. Get Doxey again, will you please?”

Della nodded, put through the call, and said, “Just a moment, Mr. Doxey. Mr. Mason again.”

Mason said, “Hello, Doxey. I’m just leaving the office. Any word from your father-in-law?”

“No,” Doxey said. “I’m worried. We dine at seven o’clock every night. It’s a schedule that is like clockwork, and Daddy Lutts doesn’t let anything interfere with dinner. Once or twice, when he has been in the middle of a big business deal that he couldn’t conclude he’s telephoned to let us know that he couldn’t be here. But tonight we haven’t heard a word. He’s nearly an hour late, now. We went ahead and had dinner.”

“Oh, well, he’ll probably show up all right. I’m—”

“But there’s something wrong, Mr. Mason. He’s been in an automobile accident or something. He would have shown up or telephoned. He’s a stickler for dinner. He wants it on the table right on the dot — that’s been one of the things that has bothered us in connection with our housekeeping help. He doesn’t realize that some of these things can create rather difficult problems.”

“Well,” Mason said, “it’ll probably turn out all right. I wanted to get him to take me out to show me the actual location of that north boundary line on the ground. He promised me he’d co-operate in every way he could. I wanted to get out there before dark.”

“Yes, I’m certain he’ll help you all he can. He appreciated the fact that you didn’t do any haggling and that you were most considerate in your dealings with him.”

Mason said, “I’m very much interested in this thing. I’m going to need certain information tonight. Would it be possible for you to go out there and show me the location of that line? Even with daylight saving time, we haven’t very many minutes of daylight left.”

“Well... you know where the property is, of course.”

“I’ve been there.”

“Well, the line is just to the north of the building. You can see one of the stakes and—”

“I’d like very much to have you show me. It wouldn’t take long. I could drive by and pick you up.”

“Very well,” Doxey said. “It isn’t a long drive from here. We could get there in about seven minutes from my house. Do you know where I live?”

“I have the address from the phone book,” Mason said.

“Well, that’s right. Just drive up and tap on your horn. I’ll be right out. My wife is a little worried.”

“Try calling the police and the hospitals. If he’s been in an accident, there’ll be a record of it.”

“I’ve thought of that. I don’t like to do it, however, because it will worry my wife when she hears me placing the calls.”

“He might be at the office and just not answering the phone.”

“No, I’ve been up to the office. He isn’t there.”

“Well, don’t worry about it,” Mason told him. “He’ll show up all right. I’ll be out in about... well, it’ll take me about fifteen minutes from here, I guess.”

“I’ll be looking for you,” Doxey said.

Mason hung up the telephone and said to Della Street, “Okay, Della, you’ll have to wait, and—”

“I’m going with you. You can’t shake me that easily. You’ll need me to take notes.”

Mason shook his head.

“Yes, Chief, please. You’ll need someone to—”

“You know what’s going to happen,” Mason said.

“I won’t give the show away.”

“All right,” Mason conceded. “Bring along a notebook and some pencils. Sit in the back seat and keep notes on any conversation. Let’s go.”

They drove out to Doxey’s house, which they found without difficulty. It was a large white stucco, red-tile roofed house, a traditional California type of Spanish architecture. There were two palm trees in front of the doorway to the porch, a wide cement walk crossed a velvety, grassy lawn to the sidewalk. Mason tapped the horn button twice, and almost instantly the door opened and Herbert Doxey started out, turned, said something over his shoulder, closed the door and came running down the walk.

“Heard from Lutts?” Mason asked.

“Not a word. We’re really becoming quite apprehensive about him.”

Mason introduced Doxey to Della Street.

“Don’t you want to ride up in front?” Doxey asked. “I’d just as soon—”

“No, she’s fine,” Mason said, “I’d like to talk with you. Sit up here and tell me something about the affairs of the company.”

“I’m afraid there’s not very much I can tell you, Mr. Mason,” Doxey said, getting into the front seat. “I think you’re fully conversant with the plans of the company, that is, the plans the company did have before this afternoon’s meeting.”

“And now what’s happened?” Mason asked.

“Well,” Doxey said, laughing, “there’s been a sharp division of opinion. You’ll appreciate my position. As an officer of the company I want to give you all the information you want, but I have to remain neutral.”

“I understand,” Mason told him, “and I appreciate your courtesy. You mentioned a divided opinion. Just how is the opinion divided?”

“Well, Mr. Mason, a peculiar situation has developed. I... I don’t feel that I can tell you any more until I talk with Daddy Lutts.”

“What’s the book value of the stock?” Mason asked.

“I— Well, there again it’s a matter of opinion.”

“What’s the book value per share with reference to the money the company has invested?”

“Oh, that’s quite low, Mr. Mason, Undoubtedly, very, very much below the market price. You see, the company made a rather speculative buy, and circumstances have developed that have made the original value important only from a bookkeeping standpoint.”

“I see,” Mason said dryly, then asked, “Any recent transfers of stock?”

“Well, I— Your transfer was recent.”

“Been any since then?” Mason asked.

Doxey hesitated.

“After all,” Mason told him, “there’s no use being mysterious with me. I’m a stockholder in the company. I’m entitled to information.”

“Some sales were made late this afternoon,” Doxey said noncommittally.

“Who sold?”

“Some of the others on the board of directors.”

“Who bought?”

“I... I... know certain things in confidence, Mr. Mason. I—”

“You’ll learn them officially as soon as the shares are surrendered for transfer?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“Have they been surrendered for transfer?”

“To what shares are you referring, Mr. Mason?”

Mason said, “I’m referring to any shares that were sold this afternoon. Now don’t get so damned technical; if you’re going to get along with me, don’t start by trying to hold out information.”

“There are others to get along with,” Doxey said. “I’m in the position of being between two fires.”

“Where’s the other fire?”

“I think you can figure that out, Mr. Mason.”

“All right,” Mason said, “let’s get down to brass tacks. How many transfers of stock have you entered this afternoon, after the transfer of my shares this morning?”

“One,” Doxey said.

“Who to?”

“Daddy Lutts bought some shares.”

“Who sold?”

“Regerson B. Neffs.”

“How many shares of stock?”

“The certificates that I entered for transfer on the books of the corporation amounted to three thousand shares of stock.”

“What did Lutts pay for them?” Mason asked.

“The consideration didn’t show on the transfers. It was a private matter.”

“Neffs is sort of a stuffed shirt, isn’t he?” Mason asked.

“I’m sorry,” Doxey said, laughing, “but the corporation doesn’t pay me to discuss members of the board with the stockholders.”

Mason glanced sidelong at Doxey. They were silent for a while; then Doxey shifted his position and said, “I’ve got a sunburned back. You could do me a very great personal favor, Mr. Mason.”

“How?”

“By telling me what you paid for Daddy Lutts’ stock.”

“Why?”

“I might do a little speculating.”

“And you might get your fingers burnt.”

“I’ll take a chance on that. I know that Daddy Lutts is... well, he’s...”

“Exactly,” Mason said. “He’s greedy. He’s decided that something has happened to make the stock worth a lot more money than the directors think it’s worth. He’s out buying more stock. That’s why he forgot all about dinner tonight.”

Doxey said irritably, “Well, at least he could have rung up Georgiana.”

“Georgiana is your wife?”

“That’s right. Daddy Lutts’ daughter. His name is George. He wanted a son, but when it turned out to be a daughter, they called her Georgiana. That was as close as they could come.”

“I see,” Mason said.

“You still haven’t answered my question,” Doxey told him.

“I’ll put it this way,” Mason said. “I paid too damn much for the stock.”

“Yes,” Doxey said sarcastically, “I have a picture of the great Perry Mason going around buying things at too high a price.”

“We might make a trade,” Mason suggested.

“In what way?”

“You may have some information that I want.”

“What?”

“Does Lutts know who my client is?”

Doxey glanced at Mason, hesitated, then said, “I think he does.”

“Do you know?”

“No.”

“How did Lutts find out?”

“I couldn’t tell you that. He might have traced the check that your client gave you. He has a bank teller who’s under obligations to him. That’s all I know. Now, it’s your turn.”

Mason said, “I paid thirty-two thousand seven hundred and fifty dollars for Lutts’ two thousand shares of stock.”

Doxey regarded Mason as one might look at an individual who had just started to put on water wings to jump from the upper deck of the Queen Mary in the middle of the Atlantic. “You paid what?” he asked.

“You heard me.”

“Good heavens, Mr. Mason! That— Why... why if you’d only let me know, I could have bought all the stock you wanted at eight dollars a share. There have been some sales at seven.”

“That’s the point,” Mason said. “I told you I paid too much money for it.”

“Why?”

“Now that,” Mason said, “is something that I can’t discuss. You can, of course, draw your own conclusions.”

“You mean that you wanted... you wanted Daddy Lutts out of the corporation?”

“He bought right back in again, didn’t he?” Mason asked.

“Yes, of course. But during the period when he wasn’t a stockholder he had to resign from the board of directors because he wasn’t properly qualified. Look here, Mr. Mason, you’re playing some sort of a deep game, with the control of this corporation at stake.”

Mason grinned, turned the car into the bumpy, ancient road which led up to the property of the Sylvan Glade Development Company. He made the sharp turn at the foot of the hill. The car crawled up the hill, and then, as they reached the top, Doxey exclaimed excitedly, “Good heavens, Mr. Mason! That’s Daddy Lutts’ car. He’s up here himself.”

“That’s fine,” Mason said. “I want to see him.”

“I simply can’t imagine why he didn’t come home,” Doxey said. “But it’s a relief to me to know that he’s all right. I suppose it’s some new business angle he’s working on. He’s sure a sharpshooter.”

There was envy and a certain sharp-edged jealousy in Doxey’s voice.

Mason parked the car. He and Doxey got out.

“You may as well wait here, Della,” Mason said casually.

“We’ll be right back, Miss Street,” Doxey said reassuringly.

“Can we get into the place?” Mason asked.

“We can if Daddy Lutts is in there. The door is kept locked, but he has the key.”

Doxey tried the door. “It’s unlocked,” he said. “Come on in.”

“What a dirty place,” Mason announced.

“The people who moved out knew it was going to be torn down,” Doxey explained. “They just pulled out and left all of this junk behind them.”

“Better call to Lutts,” Mason said, “and get him to come down.”

“He might not like that. There’s a certain protocol in connection with being a son-in-law.” Doxey said, grinning. “I’ll go up and see what he’s doing.”

“It’s fairly dark in here.” Mason said. “Even with daylight saving time, it’s rather late. Be careful.”

“I can see all right,” Doxey said, and groped his way up the stairs. Suddenly he stopped partway up the second flight.

“What’s the trouble?” Mason asked.

“Come... come up here,” Doxey said in a harsh, rasping voice.

“What’s the trouble?”

“Come up here.”

Mason climbed the stairs. Doxey was bending over Lutts’ body.

“Good heavens!” Mason said. “He’s lying there head down... what is it? A heart attack? How long do you suppose he’s been there?”

Doxey struck a match, shielded his eyes from the flame, said, “Look at that blood — it’s come from that hole in his chest.”

“Try his pulse,” Mason said.

Doxey bent down, then after a moment said, “I think he’s dead. His body’s begun to cool off. It feels sort of... well, you know — dead.”

Mason said, “All right. We’ll notify the police.”

“Shouldn’t we move him and get him around... so his head isn’t—”

“Don’t touch the body,” Mason warned. “Get the police.”

“Oh, good Lord,” Doxey said. “This is one hell of a mess. What am I going to do? How am I going to tell Georgiana? We can take his car. You drive yours and I’ll drive his and—”

“You leave everything exactly as it is,” Mason said. “Don’t touch a single thing. I’ll stay here and see that nothing happens, and you take my car, go down the hill and call the police.”

“I’ll stay, and you can go—”

“Not me,” Mason said. “The police don’t like it when I report that I’ve discovered a corpse.”

“Well, you were along on this one,” Doxey said. “I want you to remember—”

“Oh, sure,” Mason told him. “I’m going to be right with you in the thing, but you were the one to discover it, and you’ll be the one to report it.”

“You want to wait here?”

“I’ll wait right here. You explain to Miss Street that there’s been an accident.”

“She could sit in his car and—”

Mason shook his head. “The police wouldn’t like that. They’ll want to go over his car, trying to find fingerprints. Go call the police. I’ll wait.”

“All right,” Doxey said. “What department do I call?”

“Just tell whoever answers that you want to report a homicide,” Mason said, “and tell them you’re in a hurry. They’ll put you through.”

“All right,” Doxey said. “I’ll... do you think I’d better tell Georgiana?”

“I wouldn’t quite yet,” Mason told him.

Doxey ran back down the stairs. A few moments later Mason heard the car start, then take off down the hill. Mason walked back to stand in the doorway.

It was nearly ten minutes before Doxey returned, and Mason could hear the sound of the siren as a police car followed him. The lawyer walked out away from the doorway.

Doxey parked Mason’s car off to one side. The police car ground to a stop. One of the radio officers came bustling up to Mason. “Hello, Mr. Mason. How are you mixed up in this thing?”

“I’m not,” Mason said. “I was just standing guard until you arrived.”

“That isn’t what I meant.”

“Well,” Mason told him, “that’s what I meant.”

The officer looked at Mason sharply, then took a flashlight and entered the house. The other officer stood by the door, watching the place.

“It’s a job for homicide, all right,” the first officer called from the interior of the house.

Mason heard the officer in the car making contact on the two-way radiophone.

“You might tell me what you know about it,” the first officer said to Mason, emerging from the building.

“Ask him,” Mason said, jerking his thumb toward Doxey. “He’s related to the man. He found the body.”

“I didn’t touch anything,” Doxey said. “I wanted to straighten him up, but Mr. Mason said to leave him alone.”

“That’s right.”

“How is he related to you?”

“My father-in-law.”

“How old?”

“Around fifty-four or — five.”

“Where was he living?”

“With us.”

“How did you know he was up here?”

“I didn’t. I came up here on another matter and then saw his car.”

The officers continued to question Doxey about various matters until a car from Homicide Squad came laboring up the hill.

“Well, well, well, well,” Sergeant Holcomb said, “look who we’ve got here! Look who’s discovered another body!”

“Not me,” Mason said.

“How’d you happen to come up here?”

“Looking over property.”

“And this was all a big surprise to you,” Sergeant Holcomb said.

“That’s right.”

Holcomb said, “You should have some kind of a rubber stamp or pocket recorder so you could play this same record over and over. It would save wear and tear on your vocal cords.”

Mason said, “You’d better get in there and look around, and you’d better talk with that man over there. He’s the one who discovered the body.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sergeant Holcomb said sneeringly. “You arranged this one a little different.”

Mason walked over, climbed into his car and sat down.

“Want any notes?” Della Street asked.

“No, not yet. Did Doxey call his wife?”

“No. He called the police. They told him to wait right there at the phone booth and they’d have a radio car there within five minutes.”

“Good work,” Mason said.

Sergeant Holcomb and two detectives from Homicide Squad entered the place, leaving one of the radio officers on guard.

After a while, Holcomb came out, talked briefly with the officers, and then came over to Mason.

“What did you find?” Mason asked.

“How did you happen to come up here, Mason?”

“I’m representing a client.”

“Who?”

Mason shrugged his shoulders.

“We’ll find out.”

“Go ahead. That’s your duty and privilege. It’s my duty to protect my client.”

“What did you come up here for?”

“Specifically,” Mason said, “I came up to look at the boundaries of this property. Does that satisfy you?”

Sergeant Holcomb regarded him for a moment, said, “No,” and abruptly turned away.

Mason nodded to Doxey. “Let’s go, Doxey,” he said. “They’ve got everything they need from us.”

“I’m not so sure,” Sergeant Holcomb said, turning around.

“Well, I am,” Mason told him. “There aren’t any other questions you want to ask, are there?”

“They may turn up later on.”

“Then get in touch with me later on,” Mason said. “You coming Doxey?”

Doxey glanced apprehensively at the officers, said, “Yes... I guess so,” and got in Mason’s car.

“I’ll take you home,” Mason said, easing the car into motion, “and you can break the news to your wife personally. That’ll be better than trying to do it over the phone.”

Doxey nodded, presently blew his nose, surreptitiously wiped the corners of his eyes. “I’d be a damned liar if I told you there weren’t times when Daddy Lutts was hard to get along with, but I was very fond of him and — The poor guy.”

“It wasn’t suicide?” Mason asked.

“Heavens, no. At least, I don’t think so. He was in good spirits until after you bought his stock, and then he... and then he thought of a way of getting stock to take the place of the stock he had sold you, and still have some gravy, and that made him feel even better.”

“After he got to thinking it over,” Mason said, “he may have thought it would have been better if he’d left the situation the way it was.”

“Not Daddy Lutts. He worries about something of that sort. He just couldn’t understand why you wanted stock in the company, and the more he thought of it, the more worried he became. He’s a gambler at heart. A situation like this was made to order for him. When I say he was worried, I don’t mean it the way you’d be inclined to take it. I mean that he was afraid there was something going on beneath the surface that he couldn’t get a line on — you know what I mean — that he couldn’t — well, if there were any gravy trains going by, he wanted to get aboard.”

“Nothing in his accounts,” Mason said. “He wouldn’t be short of money or anything?”

“Anything but! Why, the guy’s worth a million. He played the cards close to his chest, but he had lots of chips.”

“Well,” Mason told him, “I extend my sympathies. You’ll have to break it rather gently to your wife. Was she fond of him?”

“In their respective ways, they were very fond of each other. But they were... well, they were a lot alike. Their temperaments would clash, but they loved their little squabbles. She’s going to be terribly broken up.”

“Does she have any stock in this company?” Mason asked.

“No. Daddy Lutts told her she’d have plenty when he died, but while he was alive he was going to hang on to every cent. That’s the way he was — always joking, telling her about the too indulgent and credulous parents who gave it all away and then were thrown out. It’s hard to explain. When I tell it, it doesn’t sound like a joke, but Daddy Lutts and Georgiana always used to kid about it. It was the way they joked back and forth. She’ll miss him terribly.”

“Well, it’s a horrible jolt,” Mason said.

Again Doxey blew his nose, then turned his head, ostensibly interested in the scenery.

Mason paused at the first service station where there was a telephone. “I’ll only be a minute,” he told Doxey. He called Paul Drake’s office. “Paul, do you still have contacts with the newspaper reporters who cover police headquarters?”

“Sure,” Drake said. “Why?”

“Because,” Mason told him, “a man by the name of George C. Lutts was murdered in a deserted house in an outlying real estate development project late this afternoon. I want all of the dope just as fast as it comes into police headquarters. I particularly want to know whether they have recovered the murder weapon, where the man was standing when he was shot, how long he lived after being shot, the direction from which the shot was fired, and whether police feel there was a woman involved in the case.”

“Anything else?” Drake asked sarcastically.

“Certainly,” Mason said. “I want everything else — fast.”

“Okay,” Drake said. “Here’s something else for you, Perry.”

“Hurry up, Paul. I’m in a rush.”

Drake said, “Mrs. Harlan phoned... said she wanted me to give you a message. Said to tell you that everything was working out fine, that the third corner of the triangle already had her husband on the defensive, that Roxy and Mrs. Harlan’s husband had been to see Roxy’s lawyer and that her husband had finally awakened to the fact that it was their fifth wedding anniversary. She said that I was to tell you, quote, ‘He is behaving in a most satisfactory manner and exactly as anticipated.’”

“Well,” Mason said, grinning, “that’s something.”

“I take it it makes sense to you,” Drake said.

“It makes sense to me. How long will it take you to get some of the dope on this Lutts murder case, Paul?”

“About the time Homicide Squad gets back and makes a report. The newspaper boys will pick up everything they’re releasing to the public.”

“You had dinner?” Mason asked.

“Oh, sure,” Drake said sarcastically. “I had two sandwiches and coffee, and now I have just had my dessert of four tablets of bicarbonate of soda. I’m right back in my stride.”

“That’s fine,” Mason told him. “You stay there and get the dope. Della and I are going out to dinner. Mrs. Harlan didn’t leave any more messages for me, did she?”

“Yes,” Drake said. “She said that she didn’t want to be disturbed any more this evening, that she would appreciate anything you could do along those lines.”

“Yes, I take it she would,” Mason said dryly. “Okay, Paul, see what you can find out. We’ll call you later.”

Mason hung up, returned to his car. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Doxey.”

“It’s okay. I’m dreading going home, breaking the news.”

“Would it help any if I went in with you?” Della Street asked. “Or I could phone and tell her that you were on your way in and that you had some disturbing news — sort of break it to her gently.”

“No, thanks. I appreciate your offer, but I’ll have to face the situation, and I think the best way is to tell her all at once, not beat around the bush.”

“You’re the doctor,” Mason told him. “But Miss Street wants you to know that anything we can do, we’ll be glad to do.”

“Thanks. This is one thing I’m going to have to face alone.”