Read Online The Case of the Dangerous Dowager by Erle Stanley Gardner - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Erle Stanley Gardner
Tags: Crime
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attorney in the country. If you're too damned dumb to take good business when it's offered you, there are others who aren't so finicky."
Mason said politely, "How about a stick of gum?"
"No. I don't chew it."
"Of course," Mason said, "now that you've dragged your difficulties into court, you've submitted yourself to the jurisdiction of a court of equity. That throws your assets into court."
"Well, what if it does?"
"Those IOU's," Mason pointed out, "are part of your assets. They were given for a gambling debt. A court of equity wouldn't permit itself to be used as a collection agency for a gambling debt."
"We're on the high seas," Duncan said. "There's no law against gambling here."
"You may be on the high seas," Mason told him, "but your assets are in a court of equity. It's an equitable rule that all gambling contracts are void as being against public policy, whether there's a law against gambling or not. Those IOU's aren't worth the paper they're written on. You've been just a little too smart, Duncan, you've turned seventy-five hundred dollars worth of assets into scrap paper."
"Sylvia would never raise the point," Duncan said.
"I'll raise it," Mason told him.
Duncan studied him with blue, glittering eyes, "So that's why you wouldn't represent me, eh?"
"That's one of the reasons," Mason admitted.
Duncan pulled a leather key container from his pocket, started to fit a key in the lock of the door to the inner office. "If Sam hasn't the door barred from the inside, I'll open it," he said to the man in tweeds, then suddenly turned again to the lawyer. "What's your best offer, Mason?"
"I'll give you the face value of the IOU's."
"How about the thousand-dollar bonus?"
"Nothing doing."
"You made that offer yesterday," Duncan remonstrated.
"That was yesterday," Mason told him. "A lot's happened since yesterday."
Duncan twisted the key, clicked back the spring lock, and flung the door open. "Well," he said, "you sit down and wait a few minutes, and… Good God! What's this!"
He jumped backward, stared at the desk, then whirled to Mason and yelled, "Say, what are you trying to cover up here? Don't tell me you didn't know about this."
Mason pushed forward, saying, "What the hell are you talking about? I told you…" He became abruptly silent.
The man in tweeds said, "Don't touch anything. This is a job for the homicide squad… Gosh, I don't know who is supposed to take charge. Probably the marshal…"
"Listen," Duncan said, speaking rapidly, "we come in and find this guy perched in the outer office, chewing gum and reading a three-months-old magazine. It looks fishy to me. Sam's been shot."
"Suicide, perhaps," Mason suggested.
"We'll take a look around," Duncan said, "and see if it's suicide."
"Don't touch anything," the man in tweeds warned.
"Don't be a sap," Duncan said. "How long have you been here, Mason?"
"Oh, I don't know. Four or five minutes."
"Hear anything suspicious?"
Mason shook his head.
The man in tweeds bent over the desk and said, "There's no sign of a gun. And it's an awkward place for a man to have hit himself with a bullet, if it's suicide."
"Look under the desk," Mason suggested. "The gun might have dropped from his hand."
The man in tweeds kept his attention concentrated on the body. "He'd have had to hold the gun in his left hand to do it himself," he said slowly. "He wasn't left-handed, was he, Duncan?"
Duncan, his blue eyes wide and startled, stood with his back against the vault door, his mouth sagging open. "It's murder!" he said, and gulped. "For God's sake, turn off that desk light! It gives me the willies to see his open eyes staring into that light!"
The man in tweeds said, "No you don't! Don't touch a thing."
Mason, standing in the doorway between the two rooms, taking care not to enter the room which contained the body, said, "Let's make sure there isn't a gun down there on the floor. After all, you know, it's going to make a lot of difference whether this is murder
Mason said politely, "How about a stick of gum?"
"No. I don't chew it."
"Of course," Mason said, "now that you've dragged your difficulties into court, you've submitted yourself to the jurisdiction of a court of equity. That throws your assets into court."
"Well, what if it does?"
"Those IOU's," Mason pointed out, "are part of your assets. They were given for a gambling debt. A court of equity wouldn't permit itself to be used as a collection agency for a gambling debt."
"We're on the high seas," Duncan said. "There's no law against gambling here."
"You may be on the high seas," Mason told him, "but your assets are in a court of equity. It's an equitable rule that all gambling contracts are void as being against public policy, whether there's a law against gambling or not. Those IOU's aren't worth the paper they're written on. You've been just a little too smart, Duncan, you've turned seventy-five hundred dollars worth of assets into scrap paper."
"Sylvia would never raise the point," Duncan said.
"I'll raise it," Mason told him.
Duncan studied him with blue, glittering eyes, "So that's why you wouldn't represent me, eh?"
"That's one of the reasons," Mason admitted.
Duncan pulled a leather key container from his pocket, started to fit a key in the lock of the door to the inner office. "If Sam hasn't the door barred from the inside, I'll open it," he said to the man in tweeds, then suddenly turned again to the lawyer. "What's your best offer, Mason?"
"I'll give you the face value of the IOU's."
"How about the thousand-dollar bonus?"
"Nothing doing."
"You made that offer yesterday," Duncan remonstrated.
"That was yesterday," Mason told him. "A lot's happened since yesterday."
Duncan twisted the key, clicked back the spring lock, and flung the door open. "Well," he said, "you sit down and wait a few minutes, and… Good God! What's this!"
He jumped backward, stared at the desk, then whirled to Mason and yelled, "Say, what are you trying to cover up here? Don't tell me you didn't know about this."
Mason pushed forward, saying, "What the hell are you talking about? I told you…" He became abruptly silent.
The man in tweeds said, "Don't touch anything. This is a job for the homicide squad… Gosh, I don't know who is supposed to take charge. Probably the marshal…"
"Listen," Duncan said, speaking rapidly, "we come in and find this guy perched in the outer office, chewing gum and reading a three-months-old magazine. It looks fishy to me. Sam's been shot."
"Suicide, perhaps," Mason suggested.
"We'll take a look around," Duncan said, "and see if it's suicide."
"Don't touch anything," the man in tweeds warned.
"Don't be a sap," Duncan said. "How long have you been here, Mason?"
"Oh, I don't know. Four or five minutes."
"Hear anything suspicious?"
Mason shook his head.
The man in tweeds bent over the desk and said, "There's no sign of a gun. And it's an awkward place for a man to have hit himself with a bullet, if it's suicide."
"Look under the desk," Mason suggested. "The gun might have dropped from his hand."
The man in tweeds kept his attention concentrated on the body. "He'd have had to hold the gun in his left hand to do it himself," he said slowly. "He wasn't left-handed, was he, Duncan?"
Duncan, his blue eyes wide and startled, stood with his back against the vault door, his mouth sagging open. "It's murder!" he said, and gulped. "For God's sake, turn off that desk light! It gives me the willies to see his open eyes staring into that light!"
The man in tweeds said, "No you don't! Don't touch a thing."
Mason, standing in the doorway between the two rooms, taking care not to enter the room which contained the body, said, "Let's make sure there isn't a gun down there on the floor. After all, you know, it's going to make a lot of difference whether this is murder
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