The Case of the Stepdaughter’s Secret

Chapter One

At approximately ten forty-five, Della Street nervously began looking at her wrist-watch.

Perry Mason interrupted his dictation to smile at her.

“Della, you’re nervous as a cat.”

“I can’t help it,” she said. “To think that Mr Bancroft telephoned for the earliest possible appointment — and the way his voice sounded over the telephone!”

“And you told him that he could have an eleven o’clock appointment if he could get here at that time,” Mason said.

She nodded. “He said that he’d have to stretch the speed limit to get here, but he’d make it if it was humanly possible.”

“Then,” Mason said, “Harlow Bissinger Bancroft will be here at eleven o’clock. His time is valuable. Every minute is metered, and he plans his business along those lines.”

“But what could he possibly want with an attorney who specializes in the defence of criminal cases?” Della asked. “Good heavens, the legal secretaries say that he has more corporations than a dog has fleas. He has a battery of attorneys who do nothing but handle his work. I understand there are seven lawyers alone in the tax division.”

Mason glanced at his watch. “Wait eleven minutes and you’ll find out. Somehow, I—”

The ringing of the telephone interrupted him.

Della Street picked up the telephone, said to the receptionist, “Yes, Gertie... Just a moment,” placed her hand over the mouthpiece, said to Mason, “Mr Bancroft is in the office, saying he managed to get here a little early, that he’ll wait until eleven if he can’t see you before, but that the time element is highly important.”

Mason said, “Evidently it’s more of an emergency than I thought. Bring him in, Della.”

Della Street folded her shorthand book with alacrity, jumped to her feet and hurried into the outer office. A few moments later she was back with a man in his middle fifties, a man whose close-cropped grey moustache emphasized the determination of his mouth. He had steel-grey eyes and a manner of crisp authority.

“Mr Bancroft,” Mason said, rising and extending his hand.

“Mr Mason,” Bancroft said. “Good morning — and thank you for seeing me so promptly.”

He turned and glanced at Della Street.

“Della Street, my confidential secretary,” Mason explained. “I like to have her sit in on all of my interviews and make notes.”

“This is highly confidential,” Bancroft said

“And she is highly competent and accustomed to keeping confidences inviolate,” Mason said, “She knows everything about all of my cases.”

Bancroft sat down. Suddenly, the air of decision and self-assertion vanished. The man seemed to melt down inside his clothes.

“Mr Mason,” he said, “I’m at the end of my rope. Everything that I have worked for in my life, everything I have built up, is tumbling down like a house of cards.”

“Come, now, it can’t be that serious,” Mason told him.

“It is.”

“Suppose you tell me just what’s bothering you,” Mason said, “and we’ll see what we can do about it.”

Almost pathetically, Bancroft extended his two hands. “Do you see these?” he asked.

Mason nodded.

“I have built everything in life with these two hands,” Bancroft said. “They have been my means of support. I have worked as a day labourer. I have fought and struggled to get ahead. I have gone into debt until I felt there was no possible way of paying off the indebtedness and achieving financial stability. I have sat tight when it seemed that my whole empire was about to come crashing down. I have fought through adverse conditions and faced enemies with not a single ace in the hole but an ability to bluff them into submission. I have gambled by staking my fortune to buy when everyone else was in a panic to sell, and now these hands hold my undoing.”

“Why?” Mason asked.

“Because of the fingertips,” Bancroft said.

“Go on,” Mason told him, his eyes narrowing.

“I am a so-called self-made man,” Bancroft said. “I ran away from home when there wasn’t much of a home to keep me. I got tangled up with some rather wild associates, I learned a lot of things that I shouldn’t have known. I learned how to short-cut the ignition wiring on cars, I learned how to make a living in dark alleys, so to speak, by stealing hubcaps, spare tyres and automobiles.

“I was finally caught and sent to the penitentiary, which probably was the best thing that ever happened to me.

“When I went to the penitentiary, I had a resentment against society. I thought that I had been caught simply because I had been imprudent and I resolved to be more cunning when I got out and to continue my nefarious work so that I wouldn’t be caught again.

“There was a chaplain in that prison who took an interest in me. I won’t say that he gave me religion, because, in a way, he didn’t. He simply gave me confidence in myself and my fellow man, and in a divine scheme of the universe.

“He pointed out that life was too complicated to be accidental, that it took a master plan to account for life, as we knew it; that fledglings emerged from the egg, grew feathers and poised on the edge of the nest with the desire to fly because of what we call instinct; that instinct was merely a divine plan and a means by which the architect of that divine plan communicated with the living units.

“He asked me to consult my own instincts, not my selfish inclinations but the feelings that came to me when I could deliberately disregard my environment and put myself in harmony with the universe. He dared me to surrender myself in the solitude of night to the great heart of the universe.”

“And you did?” Mason asked.

“I did it because he told me I was afraid to do it, and I wanted to show him I wasn’t. I wanted to prove he was wrong.”

“And he wasn’t wrong?”

“Something came to me — I don’t know what it was. A feeling of awareness, a desire to make something of myself. I started to read, study and think.”

Mason regarded him curiously. “You have travelled considerably, Mr Bancroft. What do you do about passports?”

“Fortunately,” Bancroft said, “I started out with enough family pride to conceal my real name. The one I used in the penitentiary, the name that I used during all of the period of wildness, was not the name with which I had been christened. I managed to preserve my incognito.”

“But your fingerprints?” Mason asked.

“There’s the rub,” Bancroft said. “If my fingerprints are ever taken and sent to the FBI, within a matter of minutes it will become known that Harlow Bissinger Bancroft, the great philanthropist and financier, is a criminal who served fourteen months in a penitentiary.”

“All right,” Mason said. “Quite evidently, someone has discovered the secret of your past.”

Bancroft nodded.

“And threatens to expose it?” Mason asked. “Are you being asked to pay blackmail?”

By way of answer, Bancroft took a sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it to Mason.

The paper had a typewritten message:

Get fifteen hundred dollars in ten and twenty dollar bills. Put them in a red coffee can, together with ten silver dollars. Put the lid on tight and await telephone instructions as to the time and place of disposal. Put this note in with the money so we’ll know the police won’t try to trace us through the typing. If you follow instructions to the letter, you have nothing to fear, otherwise the family will face the disgrace of knowing whose fingerprints are on file and where.

Mason studied the paper carefully. “And this was sent to you through the mail?”

“Not to me,” Bancroft said, “but to my stepdaughter, Rosena Andrews.”

Mason raised inquiring eyebrows.

“Seven years ago I married,” Bancroft said. “My wife was a widow. She had a daughter, Rosena, who was then sixteen. She is now twenty-three. A very beautiful, intense young woman, who is engaged to be married to Jetson Blair of the socially prominent Blair family.”

Mason’s eyes became thoughtful. “Why would they strike at her instead of at you?”

“Because,” Bancroft said, “they wanted to emphasize the fact that she was the more vulnerable, particularly during this period of her engagement.”

“A wedding date has been set?” Mason asked.

“It has not been formally announced, but they expect to be married in about three months.”

“And how did you get this?” Mason asked.

“I knew that my stepdaughter was tremendously upset over something. She came in the door with an envelope in her hand and her face was as white as a sheet. She had planned to go swimming in the afternoon, but rang up Jetson Blair and cancelled the date, saying she wasn’t feeling well.

“I knew something was wrong.

“Rosena made an excuse to leave and go to the city. I assumed she wanted to see her mother, who was spending the night in our apartment here in the city. She left early this morning. Well, Mr Mason, after she had left I went to her room. I found this letter under the blotter of her desk.”

“Now, let’s get this straight,” Mason said. “You say she came to the city and you assumed she wanted to see her mother.”

“Her mother is in the city, making arrangements for a charity ball. She spent yesterday and last night in our apartment here. I have been staying with Rosena out at the lake. Rosena’s mother is due back at the lake tonight. That’s why I wanted to see you at the earliest possible moment. I want to get back to the lake and put this letter where I found it, before Rosena returns.”

“Did you tell your wife anything about your criminal record?” Mason asked.

“Heaven help me,” Bancroft said, “I did not. I should have. I have cursed myself a thousand times for being too cowardly to do so, but I was very much in love. I knew that, regardless of how much Phyllis loved me, she would never jeopardize the social career of her daughter by marrying a man with a criminal record.

“Now, Mr Mason, you know my secret. You are the only living person who does.”

“Other than the person or persons who sent this letter,” Mason said.

Bancroft nodded.

“Rosena has enough money to fulfil these demands?” Mason asked.

“Certainly,” Bancroft said. “She has an account of several thousand dollars in her own name, and, of course, she can always get any amount of money from me whenever she asks for it.”

“You don’t know whether she intends to ignore this demand or to comply with it.”

“I feel certain she intends to comply with it.”

“That, of course,” Mason said, “will be only the first bite. One never finishes with a blackmailer.”

“I know, I know,” Bancroft said. “But, after all, after three months — that is, after the wedding is over, there won’t be so much pressure.”

“Not on her,” Mason said. “The pressure will then shift to you. You don’t think your stepdaughter knows?”

“Evidently she does,” Bancroft said. “The people who sent this letter must have telephoned her, giving her enough information so she understands what it is she is trying to avoid. I would certainly assume that to be the case.”

“You say you are staying at the lake?”

“At Lake Merticito,” Bancroft said. “We have a summer home there.”

“I understand,” Mason said, “that the lake is highly exclusive, properties run several hundred dollars a front foot.”

“That is true,” Bancroft said, “except for a three-hundred-foot frontage at the southern end of the lake. That is a public beach and occasionally the characters who come there make trouble. There is a launching ramp, a marina where boats can be rented, and... Well, for the most part, the people who come there are orderly. There is, nevertheless, a certain element of undesirables. They occasionally get out in the lake and make trouble for the regular residents.

“Private property, of course, goes to the edge of the lake at low water and we’re able to keep trespassers off the lands that are privately owned. But the lake is ideal for water-skiing, and occasionally some unpleasantness results from this outside element.”

“I take it that it is state owned as a park?” Mason asked.

“No, it is privately owned.”

“Why don’t the owners get together and buy that strip out?” Mason asked.

“Because of a peculiar provision in the title,” Bancroft said. “The property was left to heirs, in trust, with the understanding that for a period of ten years it would be open to the public on charges to be fixed by a board of trustees.

“The owner of the property was a public-spirited citizen who felt that too much waterfront property was being grabbed up by persons of wealth and the public was being excluded.”

“How is the property operated?” Mason asked.

“On a very high-class level, so far. The owners have done all they could to exclude the rowdy element. It is, however, open to the public with all that this means.”

Mason nodded toward the telephone. “You know where your stepdaughter banks,” he said. “She has come to town. It is now after eleven o’clock. Ring up her bank and ask for the person in charge of her account. Say that you want to see that nothing is said about it, but identify yourself and ask them if your daughter has made a withdrawal this morning of fifteen hundred dollars in tens, and twenties.”

Bancroft hesitated a moment, then took the phone that Della Street extended to him, called the manager of the bank, identified himself, said, “I want some highly confidential information. I want nothing to be said about the fact that I have called and I want nothing to be done about it. But I would like to know if my stepdaughter has cashed a cheque this morning on her account... Yes, I’ll hold the phone.”

Bancroft held the phone for some two minutes, then said, “Hello... Yes... I see... Thank you very much... No, say nothing about it... No, don’t let anyone know that I have called, and forget the whole thing.”

Bancroft hung up, turned to Mason and nodded. “She cashed a fifteen-hundred-dollar cheque,” he said, “specifying that the money was to be in ten and twenty-dollar bills. She also asked for ten silver dollars.”

Mason thought for a moment, then said, “I’m going to give you some advice, Bancroft. You probably won’t want to follow it.”

“What is it?”

“This chaplain who helped straighten you out,” Mason asked, “is he still alive?”

“Yes. He now has a rather large church.”

“Make a substantial donation to that church,” Mason said. “At the time you make the donation, state publicly that you are indebted to him, explain that you are a self-made man, that your past contains some mistakes made in your early youth. In other words, beat them to the punch, stand up on your own two feet and be proud of your record.”

Bancroft paled and shook his head. “I simply couldn’t do that, Mr Mason. It would kill my wife. Coming at this time, it would simply kill her. It would put Rosena in an absolutely impossible position.”

“Then,” Mason said, “prepare to pay and pay and pay.”

Bancroft nodded. “I had anticipated that.”

“Unless,” Mason said, “you are willing to let me have a free hand in the matter.”

“I’m perfectly willing to give you a free hand,” Bancroft said. “That’s why I’m here.”

“Sometimes,” Mason said, “blackmailers are vulnerable. They can be jailed upon another charge — and, of course, if you appeal to the police, you will find they’re most co-operative and—”

“No, no, no,” Bancroft said. “We cannot appeal to the police. We cannot let them know... This is too much of a juicy scandal item coming right at this time.”

“All right,” Mason said, “what I’m going to do is going to cost you some money. It’s going to be daring, ingenious, and I hope it will be clever enough to fool the blackmailers.”

“What do you mean? What do you have in mind?” Bancroft asked.

Mason said, “Look at this letter carefully. The money is to be put in a large coffee can and the lid put on tight. Ten silver dollars are to be put in the can. Now, what does all this mean?”

“That’s what I don’t get,” Bancroft said.

“It means one thing to me,” Mason said. “The blackmailers don’t want to show their hand. They don’t want to disclose their identity. It means that the can is going to be put in the water and left floating, and then the blackmailers can pick it up. The ten silver dollars will be ballast to keep the can right side up.”

“Yes, that’s a logical assumption,” Bancroft said after thinking for a moment.

“You are living at the lake. I take it your stepdaughter does a lot of water-skiing and swimming.”

Bancroft nodded.

“All right,” Mason said, “we’re going to take a chance. I’m going to have an expert detective shadow your stepdaughter with binoculars. Whenever this can is dropped in the water, I am going to have someone, who will apparently be boating in the lake or fishing, pick up the can, open it, and turn the whole business over to the police.”

“What!” Bancroft said, jumping to his feet. “Why, that’s exactly the thing that I can’t afford. That’s—”

“Just a minute,” Mason said. “Look the situation over carefully. There is nothing in the letter indicating to whom it was sent. If the person who finds the can with the money in it can pretend to be an innocent fisherman who has found the money and the note and turned it over to the police, the police will publicize the whole thing, the blackmailers will go into a panic and try to figure out some way of beginning all over again. They will be on the defensive and yet they can’t claim that they have been betrayed by their victim. They will simply feel the cards went against them. The money will be safe in the hands of the police. The blackmailers will be running for cover.”

“They’ll strike back,” Bancroft said. “They’ll publicize the information about me—”

“And kill the goose that’s going to lay all their golden eggs?” Mason interposed. “Not a chance.”

Bancroft thought the matter over. “It’s taking a chance,” he said.

“You can’t live without taking chances,” Mason told him. “If you want a lawyer who doesn’t take chances, get someone else. This is a calculated risk. It’s a good gamble.”

Bancroft sighed. “All right. The thing is in your hands.”

“Now then,” Mason went on, “I’m going to do one more thing, with your permission.”

“What?”

“From the wording of the note it would seem there is more than one blackmailer. I’m going to break up the combination if possible.”

“How?” Bancroft said.

“It’s a scheme I’m turning over in my mind. I’ll have to give it further thought,” Mason said. “The trouble with a blackmailer is that he always has you on the defensive. He calls the turns. He tells you what to do, how much he wants, where you make the payment, when you make the payment, how you make the payment. You resent it and you sputter. But, in the long run, you give in.”

Bancroft nodded.

“There are just four ways to deal with a blackmailer,” Mason said, holding up his fingers and counting off the points as he made them.

“First, you pay the blackmailer off, thinking that will get him off your neck. That is like chasing a mirage in the desert. A blackmailer never quits.

“Second, you go to the police. You make a clean breast to the police and you lay a trap for the blackmailer and put him in prison, and the police protect your confidence.”

Bancroft shook his head decisively.

“Third,” Mason said, “you get the blackmailer on the defensive, so that he isn’t in a position to call the shots and tell you what to do and when to do it and how to do it. You get him worried. Now, if I’m going to handle this case and I can’t go to the police, I’m going to try the third way.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Bancroft asked.

“Sure, it’s dangerous,” Mason admitted. “But you don’t get anywhere in a deal of this kind unless you’re willing to take chances.”

“What’s the fourth way?” Bancroft asked.

“The fourth way,” Mason said, smiling wryly, “is to kill the blackmailer — and that has been done from time to time — sometimes with very satisfactory results — though I hardly recommend it.”

Bancroft thought for a moment, then said, “It’s in your hands. You’ll have to try it the third way. But at the start we’ll pay off. That will give us a little time.”

“That’s all you gain by paying off,” Mason said, “time.”

“How much money do you want?” Bancroft asked.

“Right at the start,” Mason said, “I want ten thousand dollars. I’m going to hire the Paul Drake Detective Agency, I’m going to put out a lot of operatives, I’m going to try to find out who these blackmailers are, and when I find out I’m going to keep them so busy with problems of their own that they won’t have any time to be putting you and your daughter on the defensive.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Bancroft said, “if you can do it.”

“I know,” Mason said, “that’s a pretty big if. But that’s the only way I’ll handle it, unless you let me go to the police and tell them the whole story.”

Bancroft vehemently shook his head. “I’m too prominent. It would leak out,” he said.

“Let it leak,” Mason told him. “Proclaim it from the housetops. Go out and stand on your record. Show that rehabilitation is possible.”

“Not now, not now,” Bancroft said. “The results to my stepdaughter would be disastrous. My wife would never forgive me as long as she lived.”

Bancroft took out a chequebook and wrote a cheque for ten thousand dollars.

“I take it,” he said, “this is by way of retainer.”

“And to cover initial expenses,” Mason told him.

Mason opened a desk drawer, took out a small camera, screwed an extension barrel on the lens, put the blackmail letter down on the desk, mounted the camera on a tripod, took three exposures, said, “That should be enough.”

He folded the note and handed it back to Bancroft.

Bancroft said, “You’ll never know how much of a load you’ve taken off my shoulders, Mason.”

“It isn’t off yet,” Mason told him. “And before I get done, you’ll probably be cursing me.”

“Never,” Bancroft said. “I know too much about you, about your reputation for success. Your methods are daring and unconventional, but they pay off.”

“I’ll do my best,” Mason said, “but that’s all I can promise. Now, you’re going to put this note right back where your stepdaughter can find it when she returns with the money.”

“That’s right,” Bancroft said.

“And then what?”

“Then I’m going to leave things entirely up to you.”

“All right,” Mason said. “We’ll try making an end run, and then see if we can’t reverse the field.”