The Case of the Stepdaughter’s Secret

Chapter Eight

Shortly after four o’clock Della picked up the phone in response to a ring from the receptionist and listened with growing consternation depicted on her face.

“What is it?” Mason asked, as Della cupped her hand over the mouthpiece and turned to face him.

“Now,” she said, “we’ve come full circle. Mrs Harlow Bancroft is in the office and insists that she has to see you at once upon a matter of the greatest importance.”

“Have her wait just a minute,” Mason said, “and rush through a call to Harlow Bancroft. Try him at the lake house. If he isn’t there, try his office.”

Della said into the telephone, “She’ll have to wait for just a few minutes, Gertie. It won’t be long. Explain that to her, please, and then give me an outside line.”

Della waited until she was connected with an outside line, then dialled the number of Harlow Bancroft’s lake house. After a moment she said. “May I speak with Mr Bancroft, please? Tell him it is quite important. This is Mr Mason’s secretary... Oh, I see. Do you know where I can reach him? Thank you, I’ll try the office. I have the number. Thank you.”

She hung up, said to Mason, “He’s not there. The person who answered thinks he may be at the office.”

“Try that number,” Mason said.

Again Della dialled and again repeated the message that Mr Mason’s office was calling Mr Bancroft on a matter of the greatest importance.

Again, after a pause, she said, “Thank you. Do you know where we can reach him?... Thank you.”

Della hung up and said, “The lake house thinks he’s at the office, the office thinks we might get him at his lake house.”

Mason sighed. “All right,” he said. “Tell Mrs Bancroft to come in. I’m going to have to play it by ear.”

“What are you going to tell her?”

“Nothing,” Mason said. “I can’t tell her that her husband has consulted me because he hasn’t given me permission to tell her, and at the same time, I’m not going to lie about it.”

Della nodded, went to the outer office and returned with Mrs Harlow Bancroft.

There was an air of regal poise about Mrs Bancroft. She was obviously somewhat younger than her husband and the type who looked younger than her age; a woman who took care of her figure and made it a point of pride to watch the details of her personal appearance.

“Good afternoon, Mr Mason,” she said. “I’ve heard a lot about you. I’ve seen your picture many times and I’m glad to have this opportunity to meet you face to face. You are, I believe, acting as attorney for my husband?”

Mason raised his eyebrows. “You got that information from your husband?” he asked.

“No”

“May I ask where you did get it?”

“From my daughter.”

“I have had a visit from your daughter,” Mason said. “She had assumed certain things to be true and had acted upon that assumption.”

“Very well, Mr Mason, I won’t ask you to commit yourself. We will take it on that basis. I am going to assume certain things to be true, and act upon that assumption.

“I want to state that neither my daughter nor my husband knows that I am here.”

Mason said, “Obviously if I were acting as attorney for your husband I could hardly keep such a visit confidential, and if I am not acting as your husband’s attorney I would definitely not want you to commit yourself by—”

“Oh, stop it,” she interrupted. “I appreciate your position. I’m trying to respect it. Now, if I may, I’ll sit down and tell you a few things in the utmost confidence.”

“You are not asking me to act as your attorney?” Mason asked.

“No, I simply want you to know certain things.”

“Very well. I’m a good listener.”

“And your secretary?”

“Is a very good listener and a very poor talker,” Mason said.

“All right, I’m going to begin at the beginning. My daughter, Rosena, is engaged to Jetson Blair. The Blair family, as you know, is very prominent socially — you might say ‘blue-blooded aristocrats.’ Commercially they’ve failed to distinguish themselves but they maintain a high social status.

“My husband has proven to be a very good businessman.”

“And a good provider?” Mason asked.

“A very good provider.”

“Go on,” Mason said.

She said, “Jetson Blair is twenty-four. He had a brother two years younger, Carleton Rasmus Blair, who was a little wild. In fact, he got into all sorts of trouble and much of it was hushed up. He joined the army, went into aviation and took off on an observation trip from which the plane failed to return.

“He was first reported as missing. It was more than a year before the plane was finally found. It had crashed on a mountainside. Apparently there had been no survivors but they were not able to account for all of the personnel. Some of them had evidently been killed by the crash; some of them had apparently been badly injured. Exposure to weather and the depredations of wild animals had made definite identification virtually impossible.

“Carleton, who had been listed as missing, was subsequently listed as having been killed.”

Mason merely nodded.

“A couple of years ago,” she went on, “a man by the name of Irwin Victor Fordyce was convicted of crime and sent to San Quentin. He was released a few weeks ago. More recently there was a holdup of a service station and, following a usual pattern of procedure, the police gave the victims of the holdup an opportunity to look through what are known in the vernacular as mug shots — the pictures of criminals who have recently been released from custody and the pictures of persons whose modus operandi is such that there would be a definite possibility of involvement.

“One of the victims made a tentative identification of Irwin Fordyce as one of the holdup men.”

Mason’s face showed his keen interest. “Go on,” he said.

At this point Mrs Bancroft weighed her words carefully. “I have been told,” she said, “that because Carleton Blair was officially declared dead, his fingerprints were placed in a closed file. I have also been told that Carleton was not killed, but managed to reach a trapper’s cabin where he found some provisions, nursed himself back to health, and then being fed up with army life and realizing that he had made something of a failure in life, decided to let Carleton R Blair vanish forever. He chose the alias of Irwin Victor Fordyce and eventually made his way back to civilization, where he got in trouble and was sentenced to San Quentin.

“Obviously, Mr Mason, the fact that one of the socially prominent Blairs had served a term in prison and was even now being sought by the police in connection with a service-station holdup would be rather a poor background for a wedding.”

“Your daughter told you this?” Mason asked.

“My daughter did not. The information was given to me by a blackmailer.”

“What did this blackmailer want?” Mason asked.

“What would you presume he wanted? Money, of course.”

Mason’s eyes narrowed. He started to say something, then checked himself.

After a few moments of silence Mrs Bancroft went on, “Naturally, this was at a very crucial period in my daughter’s life.”

“In other words, you paid?” Mason asked.

“I paid.”

“How much?”

“A thousand dollars.”

Mason’s fingertips drummed on the edge of the desk.

“It wasn’t until I read the papers that I realized that a separate and presumably a simultaneous demand had also been made on my daughter — and I wouldn’t be too surprised if a demand hadn’t been made upon my husband.”

“And how about the Blairs?”

“If any demand has been made upon them, nothing has been said about it. The Blairs are not poor people by any means, but on the other hand they are not affluent.”

“They would certainly be able to pay a relatively small amount of blackmail at a time like this,” Mason said.

“I would assume so.”

“Can you,” Mason asked, “give me a description of the blackmailer? Was he a man with penetrating grey eyes, perhaps fifty years old and—”

She shook her head. “No, he was a young man. Not over twenty-five or twenty-six. A rather good looking chap with a crew haircut, dark eyes, broad shoulders, but somewhat coarse features.”

“And you paid him a thousand dollars?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“In a package of tens and twenties.”

“He assured you there would be no further blackmail?”

“He assured me that I had purchased his silence.”

“He must have shown you some proof,” Mason said, “something that—”

“Oh, certainly. He had the police photographs of Irwin Fordyce, his fingerprints and measurements. He had photographs of Carleton Blair taken before he joined the army, and I must admit there was a remarkable resemblance. In addition to which he had a set of fingerprints which he claimed were the fingerprints of Carleton R Blair taken when he joined the army.”

“Did you report any of this to your daughter?”

“Certainly not. This is a period of happiness for my daughter. I don’t want it spoiled.”

“Did you say anything to your husband?”

“Certainly not.”

“Why not?”

“He has enough problems of his own.”

Mason said, “Didn’t it occur to you that the blackmailers would call on your daughter and probably call on your husband?”

“No.”

“Why,” Mason asked, “do you come to me now?”

“Because,” she said, “you’ve entered the picture and have stirred everything up.”

“In what way?”

“You know what you’ve done. Now then, Mr Mason, these blackmailers are trying to get in touch with my daughter so that they can make additional demands upon her.”

“You say they are trying to get in touch with her?”

“I’ll put it this way,” she said. “They have contacted her on the telephone.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I listened in on a telephone extension.”

“And what was the conversation?”

“The man said that she had betrayed them, and my daughter either thought the man who was telephoning was a newspaper reporter or was smart enough to pretend that she did.

“My daughter said that she certainly had no comment to make to the press and that she assumed that the man at the other end of the line was a newspaper reporter who was making it his business to call up every person residing along the lake and run a good bluff, hoping that someone would make some statement which would give the newspapers a clue as to the blackmail victim.

“She said that she thoroughly resented such tactics, that whoever the person was who was being blackmailed it was his or her own business and she thought that the press had sunk to a new low when it tried to ferret out the private affairs of reputable citizens and blazon them all over the front pages of the newspapers; that that was journalism at its lowest and that she just wanted this reporter at the other end of the line to know what she felt about it.”

“And then?” Mason asked.

“Then she slammed the phone down.”

Mason said, “That would be quite a gambit. It would put a blackmailer on the defensive. How did you know that your daughter was being blackmailed? Did she confide in you?”

“She did not, but I knew she had made a short spin in our speedboat. I also learned that she had asked for a red coffee can. Then when I read the newspaper account featuring the money and the blackmail note I realized, of course, what had happened.”

“But you said nothing to her?”

“No.”

“And she has said nothing to you about this?”

“No.”

“But you did listen in on the telephone conversation?” Mason said.

“I thought that the blackmailers might try to get in touch with her and I wanted to see what was happening.”

“Specifically why do you come to me?”

“Because I think my daughter may be in danger; because I feel that my husband has undoubtedly consulted you, and because you are playing with dynamite and I want you to know all of the hidden potentials.”

“And you have had a direct contact with one of the blackmailers.”

“I have had a direct contact with a young man who specifically wanted blackmail in order to keep from broadcasting the information that he had.”

“How was he going to broadcast it?”

“He said one of the scandal magazines would be only too glad to pay him a thousand dollars for the story. That was why he fixed the price at a thousand dollars. He said that he needed the money, that he didn’t want to stoop to making money in that way, but he needed it; that he would much rather receive the same amount for suppressing the information. He sounded very convincing.”

“Do you intend to tell your husband about this?” Mason asked.

“No.”

“Do I have your permission to tell him about it?”

“No. I am simply giving you information which I feel you should have.”

“Has it occurred to you that you may be in some danger yourself?”

“Danger,” she said, “from blackmailers? Pooh! They are cowards, Mr Mason. This man extorted a thousand dollars from me, I assume that he had a confederate who extorted three thousand dollars from my daughter. I think the matter would have stopped there if it hadn’t been for all this spectacular publicity and the fact that the three thousand dollars the blackmailers had counted on getting from my daughter wound up in the hands of the police.

“I assume that you thought you were dealing with one blackmail demand, made upon my daughter. The way you handled it may or may not have been the wisest move to make under the circumstances. But, as you can see, the pattern is much more complex than you realized. I simply wanted you to understand that situation.”

“Why not talk with your husband about this and tell him the whole story?” Mason asked.

“I may,” she said, “later on.”

“Do you know where your husband is now?”

“I think he’s out at the lake but he is to join me here in town later on.”

“And your daughter?”

“I don’t know where she is, but she intends to spend the night at the lake residence. I am going to telephone her with some excuse and ask her to come into town and stay at our apartment here. Since my husband will be with me, I don’t want her staying out there alone.”

Mrs Bancroft looked at her watch, said, “And I have a good many things to do. I’m going to have to hurry. Good afternoon, Mr Mason.”

She rose, very sure of herself, flashed an inclusive smile at both Mason and Della Street, and moved to the exit door.

“Thank you for seeing me,” she said, and went out.

Mason and Della Street exchanged glances.

“So,” Della Street said, “Harlow Bancroft was thinking about the wrong criminal record and the wrong set of fingerprints.”

“Or was he?” Mason said. “Of course, that’s a natural presumption, but we are dealing with a highly complex situation and two blackmailers.”

Mason drummed with his fingertips on the edge of the desk.

The phone rang sharply.

Della Street answered it, said to Mason, “Harlow Bancroft on the line.”

“Returning our call?” Mason asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Gertie says he’s on the line.”

Mason picked up the instrument, said, “Hello, Bancroft. I was trying to get in touch with you.”

“So I understand,” Bancroft said. “I wanted to see you but there isn’t time for me to get in and talk with you.”

“Where are you now?”

“At my summer home on the lake.”

“You’re going to stay there tonight?”

“I don’t know just yet. However, that’s neither here nor there. What I wanted to tell you was that I’ve been a heel. I’ve been selfish and... Well, forget all that I told you. That blackmailing business wasn’t anything like what I thought it was. It’s something else... I will have to explain to you in person, but... We may be all mixed up on this thing. It may be something entirely different from what you think it is.”

“It may be,” Mason said dryly. “What do you want me to do?”

“Do whatever you think is best,” Bancroft said.

“How did you find out about all this?”

“I had a heart-to-heart talk with my stepdaughter.”

“Did you tell her what you told me?” Mason asked.

“I didn’t,” Bancroft said. “She was doing the talking. I... This isn’t the time to tell my family anything, Mason. All I can do is to try and be of help... Now look, you’ve had ideas about playing with blackmailers.

“If the blackmailers were striking at me, the situation would have been different, but as it is it’s... Well, I can’t tell you over the phone, but it’s a collateral matter and I think the best thing to do may be to pay them off and gain time. I think that it is, after all, rather a petty matter — that is, comparatively petty — and... well, I’m afraid your tactics have been... Well, you may have been too rough. You may be rocking the boat.”

“I told you I was going to rock the boat,” Mason said.

“But you’re rocking it pretty violently,” Bancroft said, “and you may have got the wrong boat... I want to see you tomorrow morning.”

“Why not tonight?” Mason said. “If it’s a matter of this importance I’ll wait for you.”

“No, I can’t make it tonight. There are other things... Just sit tight, Mason, and I’ll see you in the morning. Ten o’clock?”

“All right, at ten,” Mason said. “Now, what about that missing gun, Bancroft? Does your stepdaughter have it?”

“She says she doesn’t. She seemed very much surprised when I asked her about it. My stepdaughter is in a very peculiar position. Newspapermen are trying their damnedest to find out all about this blackmail scheme, and some person, probably a newspaper reporter, tried to get Rosena to commit herself over the telephone but she told him off and slammed down the phone. However, it may have been one of the blackmailers... I tell you, Mason, I think the best thing to do is to pay off.

“Now, I appreciate everything you’ve done, and of course I want you to hold what I told you in the strictest confidence, the most complete confidence. But just sit tight for a while and leave matters to us. I think we can handle them all right one way or another.”

“I’ve told you,” Mason said, “there are only four ways to handle a blackmailer.”

“I know, I know, but one of the ways was to pay off and I have a very definite feeling that we’re dealing with rather small potatoes, that there’s no need to bring out our big artillery. I think the passage of time will take care of everything. All we’re doing at the moment is buying time.”

“I think I should see you tonight,” Mason said.

“It’s absolutely impossible. I’ve got other things... But I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“At ten?” Mason asked.

“At ten. In the meantime, don’t stir things up any more. Just take it easy and let the dust settle.”

“Very well,” Mason told him. “I’ll sit tight, although I have several lines out that may hook a fish.”

“No, no, no,” Bancroft said. “We don’t want to hook any fish at this time. We just want to sit tight and forget it. Just let everything go. It’s only a question of money and I’m willing to pay. That’s what I want to do.”

“You’re the doctor,” Mason said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Mason hung up, then called Paul Drake, said, “Paul, I want a bodyguard for Rosena Andrews. I want a man on the job with Eve Amory, just to insure her personal safety. Aside from that, we’re pulling in our horns — at least for tonight.”

“Okay,” Drake said, “I’ve got the men, in case you want any more than that.”

“No, that’s enough,” Mason told him. “And you’re going to have to use the greatest discretion. We don’t want anyone to even suspect a shadowing job, but keep me posted, Paul.”

“Okay,” Drake said cheerfully. “Can do and will do.”