GERALD SHORE, strangely thoughtful and silent, drove his car up to the big, old-fashioned house which had remained virtually unchanged since the night the president of the Shore National Bank had vanished into thin air.
“Better get out here, Helen,” he said, “and keep an eye on the house. I’ll run Mr. Mason and his secretary out to Hollywood where he left his car.”
“I can go and keep you company on the way back,” Helen Kendal offered.
“I think you’d better be at the house. Someone should be here to take charge of things.”
“When will Aunt Matilda be home?” she asked.
Gerald Shore turned to Mason, silently passing the question on to him.
Mason grinned. “Not until she’s answered every question Lieutenant Tragg wants to ask.”
“But the doctor insisted that the questioning was to be limited to five minutes. He said that Aunt Matilda’s condition wouldn’t stand for more than that.”
“Exactly,” Mason said. “And the doctor is in charge while she’s in the hospital. But Tragg will put a couple of men on guard. He’ll see that she doesn’t leave the hospital until the doctor says she’s entirely cured. When the doctor says she’s completely recovered, Tragg will get the answer to his questions—either there at the hospital or down at headquarters.”
“Lieutenant Tragg seems to be a very clever and a very determined young man,” Gerald Shore said.
“He is,” Mason agreed, “and don’t ever underestimate him. He’s a dangerous antagonist.”
Gerald Shore was looking searchingly at Mason, but there was nothing in Mason’s face which indicated his remark about Tragg had held any hidden significance.
Helen slipped out of the automobile and said, “Well, I’ll stay here, then, and hold the fort.”
“We won’t be long,” her uncle promised.
She shuddered a little. “I wonder what’s going to happen next. I wish I knew where I could get hold of Jerry Templar.”
“Wouldn’t you like me to stay with you?” Della said impulsively.
“I’d love it,” Helen confessed.
“Sorry,” Mason said flatly. “I need Della.”
Helen’s face fell. “Never mind. I’ll be all right—I guess.”
Driving out toward Hollywood, Gerald Shore returned to something that seemed to be worrying him. “You’ve mentioned two or three times, Mason, that Lieutenant Tragg was a dangerous antagonist.”
“Yes.”
“Am I to assume that perhaps there was some particular significance which was attached to your remarks?”
Mason said, “That all depends.”
“Upon what does it depend?” Gerald Shore asked, his manner that of a courteous but insistent cross-examiner.
“Upon what you have to conceal.”
“But suppose I have nothing to conceal?”
“In that case, Lieutenant Tragg would not be a dangerous antagonist because he would not be an antagonist. But Lieutenant Tragg would always be dangerous.”
Shore studied Mason’s profile for a minute, then turned back to keep his eyes on the road.
Mason went on smoothly, “There are several things about this case which are rather significant. In the first place, if you and your brother had parted on the best of terms, there is no good reason why he wouldn’t have called you, rather than have subjected his niece to the shock of hearing his voice and learning that he was alive.
“That, however, is a minor matter. The point is, he particularly and specifically suggested that Helen should consult me and take me with her to call on Mr. Leech, that no other member of the family should be present.”
Gerald Shore said, “You’ve either said too much, Mason—or too little.”
“Yet,” Mason went on calmly, “you insisted upon coming along.”
“I don’t see what you’re getting at, Mr. Mason. It was only natural that I should want to see my brother.”
“Quite right. But it seemed that you deemed it necessary to see him before anyone else talked with him.”
“Can you explain just what you mean by that?”
Mason smiled. “Of course I can. I’m looking at it now from the angle a person of Lieutenant Tragg’s mentality and temperament would take in approaching the problem.”
“Go right ahead.”
“Tragg will eventually find out that while you left the house with us, that while you were with us when we drove up to that reservoir to keep that appointment with Leech, you weren’t with us when we went into Leech’s hotel.”
“My interest was in my brother, not in Leech,” Shore said.
“Exactly. Even Lieutenant Tragg would be willing to concede that, although inasmuch as Leech was the only link with your brother, it would seem that your interest should have been transferred to him. However, Tragg would be quite willing to accept that—if there were no other complicating factors.”
“Such as?” Shore prompted.
“Oh,” Mason said, “let’s suppose that, just to be on the safe side, Tragg would get one of your photographs and take it to the clerk on duty in the Castle Gate Hotel, ask him if you’d been making inquiries about Henry Leech, ask if perhaps you’d ever called to see him—or if they remembered having seen you around the hotel at any time.”
Gerald Shore was silent for a matter of seconds; then he inquired, “What would be the object in that?”
Mason said, “I am hardly in a position to know all of the facts, but—still looking at it from Tragg’s viewpoint—there are things which are most significant. Your brother disappeared abruptly. His disappearance must have been brought about by some rather unusual factors. Immediately prior to his disappearance, he had had an interview with someone who had been either asking for or demanding money. There was some evidence indicating this person was you. There seems to have been some conflict in this evidence. I presume, however, that you were questioned about it, and I presume that the records will show you denied that you had seen your brother the night in question. Now Tragg might reason that it would be rather embarrassing to you if your brother should now appear on the scene and not only tell a story in direct conflict to that, but indicate that what you had been talking about had had something to do with his disappearance.
“Having reasoned that far, Lieutenant Tragg would then doubtless say to himself, Franklin Shore is in existence. For some reason, he doesn’t want to make himself known. He doesn’t care to go directly to his house. He wants to communicate with some of his relatives. He avoids his own brother and communicates instead with his niece, a very attractive young woman to be certain, but a young woman who must have been only thirteen or fourteen years of age when he disappeared. Gerald Shore, whom the brother has ignored upon his return, immediately steps into the picture and insists that he is going to go along with the niece. Henry Leech is the connecting link between Franklin, who is either unable or unwilling to come directly to the house and his relatives. Henry Leech goes to a lonely spot and is killed. There is a typewritten letter indicating that Leech has gone to this place of his own volition, but there is nothing to indicate that Leech himself wrote that letter. In fact, there is every reason to believe that he didn’t write it. Of course, a great deal will depend upon what Lieutenant Tragg finds as to the time of death from a post-mortem examination. However, from certain bits of evidence which I saw when I was at the scene of the crime, I’m inclined to believe the time of death will be fixed perhaps about four hours prior to the time we arrived on the scene.
“Having reasoned that far, if Lieutenant Tragg finds any evidence indicating that you tried to get in touch with Leech earlier in the evening or actually did get in touch with him, it would be only natural for him to consider you as a very logical suspect.”
Mason ceased talking, took a cigarette from his cigarette case, lit it, and settled back in the seat.
Gerald Shore drove silently for some ten blocks, then said, “I guess it’s about time I retained you to act as my attorney.”
Mason took the cigarette from his mouth long enough to observe, quite casually, “Perhaps it is.”
“How about your secretary?” Gerald Shore asked, indicating Della Street who was sitting silently in the back seat.
“The soul of discretion,” Mason assured him. “You may speak freely—and it may be the last opportunity you’ll have to speak freely.”
“You’ll represent me?”
“That will depend,” Mason said.
“Upon what?”
“Upon the circumstances, and upon whether I think you’re innocent.”
“I am innocent,” Shore said with feeling, “entirely innocent. I’m either the victim of the damnedest set of circumstances fortune could conjure up, or of a deliberate conspiracy.”
Mason continued smoking in silence.
Shore slowed the car so driving it would not require quite so much attention on his part, and said, “I was the one who called on my brother the night he disappeared.”
“You denied it afterwards?” Mason inquired.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“For various reasons. One of them was that too much of my conversation had been overheard, and made public. You’ll remember that the person who was with Franklin immediately prior to his disappearance had been heard to ask for money and had intimated that his own financial affairs were in desperate straits.”
Mason nodded.
“I was engaged in carrying out some promotional transactions at the time. These could have shown a very considerable profit if I carried them through to completion, and could have shown a staggering, ruinous loss if I failed. The only thing which was enabling me to keep my head above water was the fact that the other parties in the transaction never for a moment suspected the possibility that I didn’t have ample capital back of me.”
“Your brother?” Mason asked.
“Well, my brother’s connections perhaps had something to do with it. They didn’t think he was directly interested.
They did think that I had plenty of capital, and that if anything happened and I found myself in need of more than I had available, my brother was always ready to stand back of me.”
“So,” Mason said, “you didn’t dare to admit that you had been the one who had been with your brother because so much of that conversation had been published in the newspapers.”
“That’s exactly it.”
“Didn’t your brother’s disappearance have a bad effect upon the transaction?”
“I’ll say it did,” Shore said with feeling, “but I was able to find and interest a man who furnished me the necessary capital—taking, as it happened, the lion’s share of the profits. The fact that the affairs of the Shore National were so promptly investigated, the fact that my brother left so large a cash balance—those all helped.”
“You didn’t confide to Mrs. Shore perhaps that you were the one who had been with Franklin?”
“I didn’t confide in anyone. I didn’t dare to at the time.”
“And after the necessity for the secrecy was removed?” Mason prompted.
“I stuck with my story. Put yourself in my position, and you’ll realize I had to.”
“Go ahead.”
“Tonight when Helen told me that Franklin had telephoned her, I was sick with apprehension. I felt that I had to see Franklin before anyone else did.”
“So while Helen returned to the hospital to see how Amber Eyes was getting along, you were out trying to get in touch with your brother. Is that right?”
“Yes. Helen went to the hospital directly after dinner to pick up the kitten. She then took the kitten down to the place where our gardener maintains a little bachelor shack, and then went up to keep her appointment with you.”
“And during that interval of time, you went to the Castle Gate Hotel?”
“Yes. That was why I didn’t come up with Helen to see you.”
“You were trying to see Leech?”
“Yes.”
“Any success?”
“No. I inquired first over the telephone, and was told that Leech had gone out with a man, but would be back soon. That left me in something of a spot. I thought the man might well have been my brother, Franklin. So I went to the hotel and waited. I didn’t know Leech, but I felt certain he was with Franklin and that he’d be back within an hour.”
“You waited?” Mason asked.
“Yes. I sat there waiting until it came time to go and meet you.”
“He didn’t come in?”
“No. At any rate, I don’t think so. I do know Franklin didn’t come in.”
“And the clerk noticed you?”
“Yes. He spotted me as not being one of the regulars. I sat there by the door, and he kept looking at me. He may have thought I was a detective. As I gather from what Lieutenant Tragg said, the hotel apparently caters to men who have somewhat shady backgrounds, and that must make them suspicious of strangers. At first I intended to park my car near the door and wait in the car; but I couldn’t find a parking place within half a block, so I decided I’d go inside and wait.”
“And the fact that you were afraid the clerk might identify you as being the man who had been waiting around earlier in the evening made it absolutely essential that you shouldn’t be seen in the hotel.”
“Yes—that, of course, is in the strictect professional confidence.”
Mason said, “I think you can rest assured Tragg will reason all this out for himself.”
There was a vacant space at the curb. Shore swung his car to the side of the road, parked it, and shut off the motor. “I can’t keep on driving,” he said. “Give me a cigarette, will you?”
Mason handed him a cigarette. Shore’s hands were shaking so that he could hardly hold the flame from the match to the end of the cigarette.
“Go on,” Mason said.
“That’s all there is to tell you.”
Mason glanced back at Della Street, then said to Gerald Shore, “It’s all right, except the motivation.”
“What is wrong with the motivation?” Shore asked.
“You wouldn’t have done what you did and as you did unless the necessity for seeing your brother before anyone else did had been much greater than would have been the case if you were merely trying to protect yourself against an original discrepancy in your statements.”
Shore turned to Mason. “I see that I’ve got to be frank with you.”
“It’s always an advantage,” Mason observed dryly. “As a practicing attorney, you should realize that.”
Shore said, “I think you’ll realize that no one ever knows exactly how honest he is. He goes through life thinking he’s honest, because he’s never been confronted with a sufficient temptation; then suddenly he’s confronted with some crucial situation where he finds himself facing ruination on the one hand and with a chance to turn defeat into victory by doing something which seems very simple but which is—well, not dishonest, but not strictly legal.”
“Never mind the excuses,” Mason said somewhat sharply. “Don’t underestimate Tragg. When he works on a case, he works fast. I want facts. You can fill in reasons and excuses later. And get this straight. All that you’ve told me before this is what I had already deduced. All you’ve done so far has been to cross the t’s and dot the i’s. The thing you’re coming to now—if you tell me the truth—is going to be the determining factor in whether I represent you.”
Shore nervously took the cigarette from his mouth, dashed it out of the window to the sidewalk. He took off his hat and ran his hands through the wavy splendor of his gray hair. “This is something which must never, never come out,” he said.
“Go ahead,” Mason said.
Gerald Shore said, “I begged and pleaded with my brother. I had to have ten thousand dollars. He read me a lecture on my general business methods—a lecture which I wasn’t in a position to appreciate because, if I didn’t get that ten thousand dollars, I was completely ruined. If I did, I felt I’d clean up enough money on that one deal so I could quit taking long chances and become more conservative. My brother finally promised that he would help me. He said that he had some other matters to attend to that night, but that before he went to bed, he would make a check for ten thousand dollars and put it in the mail.”
“A check payable to you?” Mason asked.
“No. A check payable directly to the party to whom the money was due. Time was too short to have a check go through my account.”
“Your brother did that?” Mason asked.
“My brother didn’t. He disappeared without doing that.”
“Then we can take it for granted that after your visit, he was confronted with a certain urgency which made his disappearance so imperative that he forgot his promise to you.”
“I suppose so.”
“When did you learn of the disappearance?”
“Not until the next morning.”
“And that day was the last day you had in which to take some action?”
Shore nodded.
“You had, perhaps, already assured your associates that the matter had been taken care of?” Mason inquired.
“At nine-thirty that morning,” Shore said with feeling, “I rang up the party to whom the payment was due and told him that he would have his check before the banks closed that afternoon, that the check would be made payable to him and would be signed by Franklin B. Shore. About ten minutes after I’d hung up the telephone, Matilda got in touch with me and asked me to come over at once. She told me about what had happened.”
“Now, as I remember it,” Mason said, “the fact of the disappearance was kept from the public for a day or two.”
Shore nodded.
Mason looked at him shrewdly. “During that time, several large checks were cashed,” he said.
Shore nodded.
“Well?” Mason prompted.
“Among them,” Shore said, “was a check to Rodney French for ten thousand dollars.”
“Rodney French was the man to whom you owed the money?”
“Yes.”
“And to whom you had promised the payment?”
“Yes.”
“And that check?” Mason asked.
Gerald Shore said, “That check was made out and signed by me. I forged my brother’s signature. My brother had promised me that I could count on that check. I felt that—that I was entitled to do what I did in all honesty.”
“And Matilda Shore never knew that the check was forged?”
“No one ever knew it was forged. I—I made a good job of it. As it happened, my brother had called up his bookkeeper late that night in connection with some other matters, and had mentioned that he was making out this check to Rodney French for ten thousand dollars.
“I don’t suppose, Mr. Mason,” Shore went on, emotion choking his voice, “I could ever explain to you what all this meant to me. It was the turning point in my career. Prior to that time, I’d been mixed up in a lot of get-rich-quick schemes—legitimate all right, but, nevertheless, promotional gambles. I’d been intent on making money. I guess my brother’s influence furnished the spur which goaded me on. I wanted to be like him. I wanted to show that I, too, had the ability to make money. I wanted the things which went with financial security.
“After the devastating experience which I had that time, I took stock of myself. I wasn’t particularly impressed by what I found.—That’s been ten years ago, Mr. Mason. I think I can truthfully say that I’ve changed since then—changed in a great many respects.”
“Go on,” Mason said. “I’m interested.”
“For one thing, I’ve realized that there’s something more to life than making money.”
“You mean acquiring wisdom, or a philosophy of life?” Mason asked.
“No, I don’t,” Gerald Shore said. “I mean in the duties and responsibilities a man has toward others.”
“In what way?”
“I used to think a man’s life was his own to live as he wanted to live it. I realize now that isn’t true. A man isn’t entirely a free agent. He’s constantly influencing others by his character, by what he says, by the way he lives, by . . .” Shore’s voice choked, and he became silent.
Mason waited, smoking quietly.
Shore went on after a few seconds, “Take Helen, for instance. She was a girl of fourteen, standing, to use a trite expression, on the threshold of life. She had always looked up to me and respected me. She was approaching a time in life when moral values were about to become more significant to her. If something happened, if she had discovered that—well, Mr. Mason, from that time on, I changed my entire goal in life. I got a completely different set of objectives. I began to try and pattern my life so that those who looked up to me wouldn’t— Oh, what’s the use?”
“There’s a great deal of use,” Mason said, his voice kindly.
“That’s all there is to it,” Shore said shortly. “I quit trying to make money. I began to take more of an interest in people, not for what they could do for me, but for what I could do for them. I realized that, to younger persons at least, I was a trustee for certain standards. And I,” he continued bitterly, “a confessed forger, am ranting all this stuff, I who have committed a crime and who thought that crime would go undiscovered, had the temerity to think that I could avoid paying for what I had done.”
Mason waited until his emotion had subsided, then inquired, “How about Rodney French? Did he ask any questions?”
“No. He did go so far as to telephone Franklin’s bookkeeper and ask him if Franklin had said anything about making out that check. That was when the check wasn’t in the morning mail. Upon being assured that Franklin had so advised his bookkeeping department, French took the money and kept quiet.”
“Otherwise, French might have resorted to a little blackmail after he learned of Franklin’s disappearance?” Mason asked.
“I don’t know. I suppose that after he heard of the disappearance and heard my denial that I had been with my brother, French became rather suspicious.”
“And just why,” Mason asked, “did that make you feel that your brother would have become estranged from you?”
“Don’t you see?” Shore said, unmistakable anguish in his voice. “The newspapers dug up a lot of stuff. A lot of the details about my brother’s financial transactions were given to the public, the amount of his bank balance, the checks which had been drawn in the last few days—and there was, of course, mention made of the fact that the last check which he had drawn had been one in favor of Rodney French to an amount of ten thousand dollars.”
Mason gave the matter thoughtful consideration. “You don’t think your brother forgave you—under the circumstances?”
“I had hoped that he would understand and forgive,” Gerald said, “but when he saw fit to make himself known by calling up Helen instead of me, I—Well, you can draw your own conclusions.”
Mason pinched out the end of his cigarette. “If Lieutenant Tragg ever gets hold of all these facts,” he said, “he’ll convict you of first-degree murder.”
“Don’t I know it!” Gerald Shore exclaimed. “And there’s nothing I can do. I feel like a swimmer who’s being carried along by a current against which he can’t struggle, headed toward a deadly whirlpool.”
Mason said, “There’s one thing you can do.”
“What?”
“Keep your mouth shut,” the lawyer said. “Let me do the talking—and that means let me do all of it.”