The Case of the

  Beautiful Beggar

  Erle Stanley Gardner

  Chapter 1

  Della Street, Perry Mason’s confidential secretary, regarded the lawyer with pleading eyes.

  “Please see her, Chief.”

  Mason frowned. “I have this ten-thirty appointment, Della, and before I see this man I want to—Oh, well, I don’t want to ruin your day. What’s it all about?”

  “She’s just arrived in Los Angeles from the Orient. She came by way of Honolulu. She has a letter from her uncle telling her to get in touch with you immediately upon her arrival here and before she goes home.”

  “And she didn’t send a wire asking for an appointment?” Mason asked.

  “She isn’t that kind,” Della said. “She’s about twenty-two, naïve, demure, quiet-spoken and very much disturbed.”

  “She was told to see me immediately on arrival?”

  “That’s right. Her uncle, Horace Shelby, wrote her a letter and—”

  “What’s in the letter?”

  “I don’t know. She said her uncle bad told her not to show it to any living mortal except Perry Mason.”

  Mason sighed. “Show her in. I’ll hit the high spots, get rid of her and—” Like a streak Della Street went through the door to the outer office before he had finished the sentence.

  Mason grinned and rose as Della ushered in a beautiful young woman.

  “This is Daphne Shelby,” she said, and then, smiling brightly at Daphne, “and this is Mr. Mason.”

  Daphne shyly mumbled a greeting, opened her purse, took out a letter, said, “Thank you very much for seeing me, Mr. Mason. I guess I should have sent a wireless but I was too upset. … I’ll try and be as brief as possible.”

  Della passed the letter and envelope across to Mason.

  The lawyer held the envelope in his hands for a moment while he sized up Daphne.

  “Won’t you sit down?” he asked.

  She seated herself somewhat tentatively in the straight-backed chair across from his desk, rather than in the comfortable overstuffed leather chair usually selected by clients.

  Mason regarded her thoughtfully. “How old are you?” he asked.

  “Twenty two.”

  “You wanted to see me about your uncle?”

  “Yes. Horace Shelby.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Seventy five.”

  “He’s your uncle?” Mason asked.

  “Yes,” she said, noticing Mason’s uplifted eyebrows.

  “I’m the daughter of Robert Shelby who was eighteen years younger than Horace.”

  “Is your father living?” Mason asked.

  “My father and mother were killed in an automobile accident when I was one year old. Uncle Horace sent for me and raised me.”

  “He’s married?” Mason asked.

  “No, he’s a widower, but he had a wonderful woman keeping house for him. She was like a mother to me.”

  “Is she still with him?”

  “She died two years ago. … Please, Mr. Mason, I feel that after you read that letter, you’ll see the urgency of all this.”.

  Mason unfolded the letter addressed to Daphne Shelby care of the steamship at Honolulu and marked Urgent.

  The letter was in pen and ink and in the cramped, wavering handwriting of a person whose reflexes are somewhat impaired by age.

  The letter began,

  Daphne dear,

  Don’t come home until you have done what I am asking. Don’t let anyone know you have heard from me. I won’t be able to meet the boat. Take a cab and go as fast as possible to the office of Perry Mason, the attorney. Get Perry Mason to go to the bank with you cash the enclosed check and have Perry Mason take charge of the money for you so that it can’t possibly be found by anyone.

  After you have done this, come home and try to keep your temper. Be prepared for a shock.

  Tell Perry Mason to prepare a will leaving everything to you. I want a short will and I want it prepared just as fast as he can do it. Have Mr. Mason come to the house when the will is ready for my signature. Tell him to have the necessary witnesses with him. At the very first opportunity he’s to hand me the will. I’ll sign it and give it back to him to keep. No one except Mason and the witnesses must know he has a will ready for my signature, or that it has been executed. The greatest secrecy is necessary.

  Please remember, Daphne, that no matter what happens I love you very much indeed.

  Your Uncle Horace.

  Mason read the letter, frowning thoughtfully. “Sounds like an emergency. Do you have any idea what it is?”

  “The letter is all I know. It was sent to Honolulu. I had been in Hong Kong for a three month vacation. They thought I needed a rest.”

  “Who is the ‘they’?” Mason asked.

  “The brother, Borden, and his friend.”

  “Borden Shelby?” Mason asked.

  “No, his name is Finchley. He’s a half brother. He and his wife came to visit Uncle Horace. He brought his friend, Ralph Exeter, and since Aunt Elinor was there it was suggested—”

  “Aunt Elinor?” Mason asked.

  “That’s Borden’s wife. She said she’d take charge of things. They agreed that I was rundown and needed a good long rest that I was to go on a ocean voyage and forget about everyone except myself.”

  “And you’ve been away several weeks?”

  “Nearly three months.”

  Mason extended his hand casually. “There was a check in the letter?” he asked.

  She passed over a slip of paper. “Here it is,” she said.

  Mason looked at the check, suddenly straightened in the chair, frowned, looked at the check again and said, “This check is for one hundred and twenty five thousand dollars!”

  “I know,” she said. “I couldn’t understand it at all.”

  Mason pursed his lips. “Quite evidently there’s something bothering your uncle.” The lawyer looked at his watch. “All right,” he said, “let’s go to the bank and cash this check. Are you known there?”

  “Oh, yes, I’ve always done my uncle’s banking business.”

  “And he has a balance sufficient to honor this check in his commercial checking account?”

  “That’s right. There was around a hundred and forty five thousand dollars in it when I left. I keep his books and make out his checks, you know.”

  “But he signs them?” Mason asked.

  “Oh, yes.”

  Mason gave Della Street a troubled glance. “That ten thirty appointment” he said, “explain that I’ve been unavoidably detained for just a few minutes. … Now, what do you want done with this money. Daphne, you can’t go around carrying a sum like that.”

  “No, no, the letter says you are to take charge of it and fix it in such a way that I can have it but nobody can find it.”

  Mason frowned. “I don’t think I care to undertake something of that sort, but I can certainly arrange to keep the money for you until we can find out what this is all about.

  “You have some cash with you?” he asked as they started for the door.

  “Actually I don’t. Uncle Horace saw that I had traveler’s checks when I started on the trip. But everything was a lot more expensive than we had expected. I cashed my last traveler’s check in Honolulu. I had just enough money for taxi fare here. I’ll have to take taxi fare home out of the money we get on this check.

  “You see,” she added apologetically, “I hadn’t expected anything like this, and the cost of the taxi here was a lot more than—Well, I’m broke.”

  “I see,” Mason said. And then as they started down the corridor to the elevator added, “Your Uncle Horace is wealthy?”

  “Quite wealthy,” she said. “That is, I consider him so. He has some real estate holdings and stocks and bonds, and he keeps a large amount of liquid cash.”

  “I can see that he does,” Mason said. “Why?”

  “He likes to have cash on hand that he can use whenever he wants to for quick investments without bothering to sell stocks or bonds.”

  They went down in the elevator, walked two blocks to the bank, and Mason said to Daphne, “You know one of these gentlemen at the teller’s window?”

  “Oh, yes,” she said, “I know several of them. There’s Mr. Jones over there. There’s a short line in front of his window.”

  She took her place in the line. Mason stood beside her.

  The line thinned out at the window, and Daphne endorsed the check, then pushed it through the wicket.

  “Why, hello, Daphne,” the teller said, reaching for the check. “A deposit?”

  “No, I’m cashing this check,” she said.

  The teller opened a drawer. “All right, how do you want it? You—” He looked at the check, paused in stiff arrested motion, said, “Excuse me for a moment, please.”

  He left the window, and a few moments later was back with the cashier.

  The cashier glanced at Daphne, then at Perry Mason.

  “Why, hello, Mr. Mason,” he said.

  Mason acknowledged the greeting.

  “Is he with you?” the cashier asked Daphne.

  She nodded.

  The cashier handed back the check. “I’m sorry, Daphne,” he said, “but there isn’t any money to cover this check.”

  “No money?” she asked. “Why, I’m sure there is. When I left there was—”

  “The account has been cleaned out by a C
ourt order,” the cashier said. “It’s been transferred to a conservator—I think you’d better see your uncle. Mr. Mason can explain to you what has happened.”

  “I’m not sure I can,” Mason said. “What’s the exact status of the account?”

  “A Court order appointing a conservator. The conservator asked for the balance in the account and wrote a check for the exact amount, transferring funds to an account in the name of Borden Finchley as conservator.”

  “When did all this happen?” Mason asked.

  “Day before yesterday.”

  “I think I see,” Mason said.

  The cashier’s eyes were sympathetic as he handed the check back to Daphne. “I’m sorry,” he said, and then added, “but that’s rather an unusual check.”

  “I know it is,” she said. “That’s the way Uncle Horace wanted it.”

  “Well, you’d better have a talk with him, and have a talk with this Borden Finchley. Do you know him?”

  “Oh, yes,” she said, “he’s my uncle, too—that is, he’s a half brother to Uncle Horace. He’s staying there with Uncle Horace.”

  The cashier flashed a sharp glance at Mason, then turned back to Daphne. “You’ve been away?” he asked.

  “Yes, I went on a vacation nearly three months ago.”

  “Apparently a good deal has happened while you’ve been gone,” the cashier said, and then glanced at the line that was forming behind Daphne. “Mr. Mason will take care of you, I’m sure.”

  He gave a reassuring smile and turned away.

  Mason took Daphne’s elbow. “I think you’d better give me that check, Daphne,” he said, “and perhaps you’d better let me keep the letter for you. Now, I have an appointment which I simply can’t break. The person is waiting for me up in my office right now, but I think you’d better take a cab and go right out to the house and, if possible, talk with your Uncle Horace. If you can’t talk with him, get in touch with me and—”

  “But why shouldn’t I be able to talk with him?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” Mason said. “He may have had a stroke or something. You know, a person at that age is getting to a point where those things do happen. I feel certain that there’s been a very drastic change in the situation while you were gone, and if for any reason you can’t see your uncle, I want you to come right back to my office. You can telephone first and let my secretary, Miss Street, know that you’re coming.”

  Her eyes were dark with alarm. “You think Uncle Horace has—?”

  “I don’t know,” Mason said. “Your Uncle Horace was all right when he wrote that letter, but evidently something has happened. Perhaps he is not getting along well with his half brother.”

  “Well,” she said, “I can understand that. He didn’t want them to come and see him in the first place.”

  “All right,” Mason said, “here’s twenty dollars for cab fare and expenses. Run along now, get a cab. I’m going back to the office. You give Miss Street a ring. You be sure to let us know what the situation is out there.”

  The lawyer gave her shoulder a reassuring pat, held up his hand for a cab which was waiting, put Daphne in it, then strode down the street toward his office building.

  Chapter 2

  It was just before Mason was leaving for lunch that Della Street said, “She’s back, Chief.”

  “Who is?” Mason asked.

  “Daphne Shelby.”

  “I’ll see her,” Mason said.

  Della nodded and brought Daphne into the office.

  “What is it, Daphne? Bad news?” Mason asked.

  Her eyes showed that she had been crying. She seemed numb with shock.

  “They’ve done something terrible, Mr. Mason.”

  “Who has?”

  “Borden Finchley, Ralph Exeter and Elinor.”

  “And what have they done?”

  “They’ve put Uncle Horace away.”

  With that, she burst out crying.

  “Now, take it easy,” Mason said. “Keep yourself in hand. Let’s find out about this. What do you mean, they put him away?”

  “They had him declared incompetent or insane, or something, and they’ve taken over the house and they’ve locked up my room and told me that I have until tomorrow night to take all my things out. And they won’t tell me what’s happened.”

  “All right,” Mason said grimly, “sit down. Let’s get this thing straight.”

  Mason picked up the telephone. “Tell Paul Drake to come in, if you will, Gertie. I have a case for him.”

  Mason said, “Now, just try to relax for a minute, Daphne. Paul Drake is a private detective and a good one. He has his offices on this floor and he’ll be in here within a minute or two.

  “In the meantime, I want you to fill me in with a little background.”

  “What do you want me to tell you?”

  “You’ve been in the Orient for three months?”

  “Well, in the Orient, and on shipboard. I took a long cruise. I went to Honolulu, to Japan, to Hong Kong, then to Manila and then back.”

  “You had letters from your uncle while you were gone?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “What kind of letters?”

  “Nice cheerful letters.”

  “And then when you got to Honolulu, you received this letter?”

  “Yes. If I hadn’t been in such a hurry to get ashore I would have had it when the boat docked, and then I could have telephoned or taken a plane or done something. But I had made some friends in Honolulu on the trip over. They were waiting for me and I hurried off the ship as soon as we were cleared to land. I didn’t get back until just before the ship sailed.

  “So I stood on deck saying goodbye to friends before I went down to my stateroom. The letter was there, waiting for me.

  “By the time I had read the letter, the ship was well out past Diamond Head.

  “Somehow, the letter itself didn’t mean so much to me. I thought that Uncle Horace was a little despondent and he wanted me to have some money that—Well, frankly, Mr. Mason, I thought it was some kind of a tax deal. I thought perhaps he was leaving me money in his will, but wanted me to have some money that wouldn’t be subject to inheritance tax.”

  Mason shook his head, said, “It would have been a transfer in contemplation of death. He didn’t send you that check for that purpose the question is, why did he send it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “His letters were cheerful?”

  “Well, yes, but come to think of it, there was a little something strained in his letters as though he—Well, now that you mention it, I begin to think of certain things. The letters were sort of stereotyped and—perhaps he wanted me to keep on having a good time and not bother me with anything until I got back.”

  “Now, when you went out there this morning,” Mason said, “what did …”

  The lawyer broke off as Paul Drake’s code knock sounded on the door.

  Mason nodded to Della Street, who opened the door.

  Paul Drake, tall, loose-jointed, deceptively mild of manner, gave a comprehensive grin by way of greeting.

  Mason said, “Paul, this is Daphne Shelby. Sit down while I find out just what has happened. After I get this information from Daphne, we’ll make plans, but right now getting this information is too important to justify any interruption.”

  Mason turned back to Daphne. “Tell me what happened when you went to the house,” he said.

  “Well, of course,” she said, “I was worried and I was in a hurry to see Uncle Horace, so I didn’t wait for anything but just used my latchkey and ran right in and yelled, “Whoooo-hoooo! Here I am!”

  “No one answered. I looked right away into the room Uncle Horace has and it was vacant, both his study and his bedroom. So then I ran up to my room and my room was locked.”

  “You had a key to it?” Mason asked.

  “Heavens, no. When I left there was a key on the inside of the bedroom door, but I never kept it locked.” “But it was locked just now?” Mason asked.

  “That’s right. So I went looking for Uncle Borden or Ralph Exeter or Aunt Elinor or somebody.”

  “And who did you see?”

  “Aunt Elinor.”

  “And what happened?”

  “Aunt Elinor smiled and said, “Oh, hello, Daphne. Did you have a good trip?” And I said, “Yes. What happened? Where’s Uncle Horace?” And she said, “Your Uncle Horace had to be taken away. He’s in a home where he’ll be given the best of care. And we suppose you, of course, will want to move out just as soon as you can get your things together.”