The Case of the Reluctant Model

Chapter Nine

It was nearly ten o’clock that night when Perry Mason sat down opposite Lattimer Rankin in the latter’s house.

Rankin, tall, ungainly, seemed somehow ill at ease.

“I wanted to thank you for giving your consent so readily over the telephone this afternoon,” Mason said, “permitting me to represent Maxine Lindsay.”

“I certainly see no reason why I should stand in the way,” Rankin said, “if you want to represent her. It came as rather a surprise to me, and of course I was completely bowled over with the news of Durant’s death.”

“You seemed to be able to bear up under it,” Mason said dryly.

“Well,” Rankin said, “I’ve been thinking that over and I’m a little ashamed of myself, Mason. I suppose a man shouldn’t speak ill of the dead who can’t defend themselves. However, the man was a terrific bounder.”

“I want to find out what you know about him,” Mason said.

“It isn’t very much. He started buying and selling paintings on some kind of a commission basis and gradually pushed himself forward as an expert on art. I’ll say one thing for the man, he certainly was a worker. He’d study and he’d listen, and he never seemed to forget anything he ever heard. He had the most remarkable memory I have ever encountered.”

“How did he get his clients?” Mason asked.

“I don’t think he had so many clients but he was a sharpshooter. He’d pick up paintings and he seemed to know just who would be interested in any particular painting. He understood his potential customers.”

“He was good at that phase of the business?” Mason asked.

Rankin hesitated for a long moment, then conceded somewhat grudgingly, “Yes, he was good at that particular phase of the business. Very good.”

“And you’re perfectly willing for me to represent Maxine Lindsay in this case?”

“Are they going to charge her with murder?”

“I think so, yes.”

“What evidence do they have?”

“They’re not confiding in me,” Mason said. “I do know they have some evidence that they are not disclosing to the public at the present time and I believe they’ve recovered the murder weapon and traced that to Maxine, that is, proved that she owned it.”

Rankin crossed his long legs and frowned.

“Of course,” Mason went on, “if I’m representing her I have to represent her and her alone. If your general interests, for instance, should come in conflict with hers in this murder case, I’d be loyal to her interests. I’d do absolutely anything that was necessary in order to bring about her acquittal.”

“Certainly,” Rankin said. “I would expect that.”

“For instance,” Mason went on, “if it should turn out that you had murdered Collin Durant, I wouldn’t hesitate a minute. I’d uncover that evidence and brand you as the murderer. I’d have to do that in order to be fair with my client.”

“Go right ahead, Mason,” Rankin invited. “If you can prove I murdered the guy, you’re very welcome to do so.”

He chuckled for a moment, crossed his legs again and interlaced his long, bony fingers.

“I understand,” Mason said, “that the police found a great deal of money on Collin Durant when they found the body. I would like to know, Rankin, if you know anything about that money.”

“I don’t,” Rankin said, “and it bothers me. I happen to know that on the afternoon of the day of his death, Durant was pretty badly strapped. In fact, he rang up a friend of mine and told her he had need of a thousand dollars right then and asked her if she would either loan it to him or advance him the money on a painting he had and to which he said he had a good title.”

“What did this person tell him?” Mason asked.

“She told him no. She let him know quite definitely that she wouldn’t let him have a plugged nickel.”

“Do you know how much he had on him at the time of his death?”

“I understood he had an even ten thousand dollars, all in hundred-dollar bills.”

“Yet a few hours earlier he had been trying to raise a thousand from this friend of yours?”

“Yes.”

“What time was that?”

“About five o’clock in the afternoon.”

“Then, at sometime around eight o’clock he had ten thousand dollars in hundred-dollar bills.”

“That’s right. At least, that’s what I understand the police found on the body, and they fix the time of his death at around eight o’clock.”

“In that event,” Mason said, “Durant had made a raise somewhere. Someone had financed him, and he’d increased his sights so that instead of asking one thousand he was asking ten thousand.”

Rankin nodded.

“No idea where that money came from?”

Rankin shook his head.

“Let’s make mighty certain of one thing, Rankin,” Mason said, “that there’s nothing about this case that you know and are concealing.”

There was a long period of rather uncomfortable silence, then again Rankin slowly shook his head. “Nothing,” he said.

“All right, Rankin,” Mason said. “Now tell me the name of your friend, the one Durant tried to put the bite on.”

“I prefer not to mention her name.”

“It’s important.”

“To whom?”

“To Maxine Lindsay — and to you.”

“Why to me?”

“I want to know how you’re mixed up in it.”

“I’m not mixed up in it.”

“You will be if you don’t tell me the name of this person.”

Rankin thought things over for a while, then said, “I never thought he’d call her on a thing like that. It was Corliss Kenner. He told her he was coming to see her and that he needed a thousand dollars. She called me and told me.”

“What did she tell him?”

“You want to know?”

“Yes.”

“Told him to go to hell.”

Mason frowned, abruptly arose from his chair.

“I’m just running down all the angles,” he said, “and I wanted to be sure that there was no misunderstanding between us.”

“There isn’t,” Rankin told him. “I understand your position and respect it. No matter what happens, don’t pull any punches — don’t pull any punches.”

“I won’t,” Mason assured him. “I’m not much of a punch-puller.”