Chapter 5

  Perry Mason, hat pushed jauntily back on his head, came swinging down the corridor just as Della Street was leaving by the exit door of the private office.

  “Well, for heaven’s sakes, what brings you back?” she asked.

  Mason grinned, “Been having a session with the district attorney.”

  “That’s something.”

  “Uh huh, thought I’d drop in at the office to see if there was anything new. Everyone gone?”

  “Jackson’s in the law library.”

  Mason grinned. “Looking for a case that’s on all fours?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Mason said, “Jackson is never satisfied. If he had a replevin case involving a brown horse with a white right hind leg, he doesn’t want a precedent that establishes a rule of law about just any old horse. He wants to keep looking until he finds one with a white right hind leg.”

  Della Street smiled, “One white right hind leg,” she amended. “That’s Jackson.”

  “What is it this time?” Mason asked.

  “An oil lease … A couple of sisters, a vague dreamy little woman whom you’d like and a grim faced chiseler whom you wouldn’t … Looks to me as though the chiseler might wind up with the money in the long run.”

  “They always do,” Mason said. “What about the oil lease?”

  “Some joker that provided any default could be straightened up within six months.”

  Mason said, “I suppose there’s some new activity and the sharper wants to chisel in on it.”

  “No, something different. It’s an island in the middle of the river about thirty miles up from the bay. Apparently just a beautiful place for a millionaire to have an island empire of his own. It isn’t much good for ranching but it would be swell for a millionaire’s estate.”

  Mason grinned, “The problem these days is to first find your millionaire.”

  “They’ve found one, Parker Benton.”

  Mason whistled.

  “The deal’s already in escrow,” Della said. “This oil thing will kill it.”

  “How long’s Jackson been working on it?”

  “Only about an hour. I think he’s waiting for the women to return and bring him the oil lease. He doesn’t want them to know he’s going to be in the office. He told them to drop it through the mail chute in the door, but I know he rang up his wife and told her he wouldn’t be home for dinner.”

  “Again?”

  “Again and again and again. If I were his wife I’d want to have him wear an identification tag with his photograph on it so I’d know who he was when he did come back to the house. Honestly, it seems to me she doesn’t get to look at him often enough to remember what he looks like. He’s always up here in the office with his nose stuck in some law book.”

  Mason said, “Let’s take a look, Della,” and opened the door of the law library.

  Jackson was seated at the table. Already an imposing array of open books had been erected in a semi-circular barricade around him, and he was so deeply engrossed in the volume he was reading, that he didn’t hear them enter.

  For a moment Mason stood watching.

  The expression on Jackson’s face was similar to that of a fisherman who has just received a strike in a deep pool and then, after a couple of fruitless casts, is looking through his fly book, trying to find something else the trout will take.

  “Hello, Jackson,” Mason said, “you’re working late.”

  Jackson looked up and blinked his eyes into focus. “A most interesting problem, Mr. Mason. It involves a potential conflict between provisions in a lease, one of them providing specifically that in the event a certain sum of money is not paid by a certain time, the lessee shall lose all rights; and the other one, a blanket provision, to the effect that any breach can be cured within six months, unless the lessor has given a specific notice of termination.”

  Mason sat down on the corner of the law library table, tapped a cigarette, snapped a match into flame and asked, “Getting anywhere?”

  “Well, yes and no.”

  “What’s your theory?” Mason asked.

  Jackson placed the open law book on the table, shoved it slightly to one side, then, swinging around in the chair, pressed the tips of his fingers together.

  “The first big hurdle to get over is the question of a forfeiture. The law doesn’t like forfeiture provisions in a document, and anything providing for a forfeiture is to be strictly construed. That would seem to subordinate the clause about payment of rental to the general clause providing that there can be performance at any time within six months unless a forfeiture has been sooner declared.”

  Mason said, “Remember that this is an oil and gas lease, Jackson.”

  “Well, what about it? It’s still a lease, isn’t it?”

  Mason slid down from the corner of the library table, walked over to the shelf, ran his hand along the row of books, pulled down a red backed book, riffled through the pages, said, “Here’s a line of decisions for you to look up, Jackson, taking a view that forfeiture clauses are a necessary part of an oil lease and that the statutory provisions requiring a forfeiture to be strictly interpreted against the party for whose benefit it is created, doesn’t apply to oil leases.”

  Jackson jerked upright in the chair. “What’s that?” he asked.

  “Uh huh,” Mason said lazily. “See the case of John versus Elberta Oil Company, 124 Cal. App. 744; Slater versus Boyd, 120 Cal. App. 457; Hall versus Augur, 82 Cal. App. 594.”

  Jackson said, somewhat querulously, “That phase of it hadn’t occurred to me. I don’t know how it is you can walk into a law library and pick what you want out of thin air. I have to do a lot of plodding to even get the proper legal theory on which to work.”

  Mason said, “The theory on which you want to work is always the theory on which the other man doesn’t want to work. How long will it be before you can give these women an opinion, Jackson?”

  “Well, I’m hoping to have something by day after tomorrow, if it isn’t too complicated, and I have luck.”

  Mason went back to perch on the edge of the table. He kept his right foot on the floor, swung his left foot in lazy swings. “Suppose that may be too late, Jackson?”

  “I can’t help it. It’s the best I can do.”

  “As I understand it, there’s a deal in escrow.”

  “That’s right.”

  Mason said, “A lot depends on how anxious Parker Benton is for this property.”

  “Well, he certainly doesn’t want to buy a lawsuit,” Jackson said. “And yet, I don’t see any other way out. There certainly is a clause in that oil lease which gives the lessee a leg to stand on, for a prima-facie case and there’s nothing to prevent him filing suit.”

  “Is the document recorded?”

  “No, apparently it contained a provision to the effect that drilling operations had to start immediately if the document was recorded. That was by way of insurance that the lessor wouldn’t have his title all clouded up.”

  Mason said, “I don’t think I’d go about it this way, Jackson.”

  “How else can you go about it?”

  “Who’s the man who has the oil lease?”

  “A Scott Shelby.”

  “In the telephone book?”

  “I haven’t looked.”

  Mason said to Della Street, “Take a look, Della.”

  Della Street ran through the pages of the telephone book.

  Mason said, almost musingly, “With a certain class of people, you have to be rough, Jackson.”

  “Yes, I suppose so. However, the law is a very exact science. There is always a remedy, if one knows where to hunt for it.”

  “And is smart enough to find it,” Mason supplemented. “And isn’t in a hurry. For my part, I have a different way of handling a chiseler.”

  “What’s that?” Jackson asked.

  “I kick his teeth in.”

  Jackson winced. “That expression always makes me shiver,” he said. “I detest violence—of all forms.”

  Mason said, “I love it.”

  Della Street looked up, caught Mason’s eye, nodded.

  Mason gave her a signal and Della Street’s nimble fingers whirred the dial of the telephone.

  After a moment, she said into the telephone, “Mr. Scott Shelby, please, Mr. Mason’s office is calling.”

  She held the line for a moment, the looked up and nodded to Mason.

  Mason came over to stand beside her, waited while she said, “Is this Mr. Shelby? … Just a moment Mr. Shelby. This is Mr. Mason’s office. Mr. Mason wants to talk with you.”

  She handed the telephone to Mason and moved to one side.

  Mason said, “Hello, Mr. Shelby.”

  The voice which came over the wire was appraising, “Is this Mr. Perry Mason?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Was there something you wished?”

  “Got a lawyer?” Mason asked.

  “No. Why?”

  “You’re going to need one.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I do.”

  “May I ask why?”

  Mason said, “I have something to say. It’s going to hurt. I’d prefer to deal with your lawyers.”

  “If it involves oil matters,” Shelby said positively, “I don’t need any lawyer. I know more about oil leases than any lawyer I’ve ever talked with yet. What’s on your mind?”

  “The Jane Keller lease.”

  “What about it?”

  “Suppose you tell me.”

  Shelby said, “There’s nothing much to it, Mr. Mason. The lease is very simple and very plain. One of those straightforward documents that is put in ordinary business language and says what it means.”

  “In fine print,” Mason commented.

  “Well, of course, it’s printed. It makes it a lot easier that way.”

  “Sure it does—for you.”

  “Now in this lease,” Shelby went on, “I was to pay a hundred dollars a month until I started drilling. Any time I didn’t pay, they could consider the lease at an end. That’s fair enough, isn’t it?”

  “It would seem so.”

  “But,” Shelby went on, “there was also a provision that if they didn’t terminate by notice, I could come back at any time within six months and reinstate myself. Apparently they overlooked that.”

  “That your private joker, or did you borrow it?” Mason asked.

  Shelby said suavely, “There’s no use you and me arguing over the telephone, Mr. Mason. I understand there’s a sale on. I don’t want to be shortchanged. I won’t have that property sold out from under me; but on the other hand, I don’t want to interfere with a good sale. Look here, Mr. Mason, why don’t you run over and have a chat with me?”

  “Come on over here,” Mason invited. “I’ll wait.”

  “No, I’d prefer to talk in my office if we’re going to talk. You know how those things are. … Now in this case, I understand the deal is just about ready to go through escrow. I don’t want to do anything to rock the boat unless I have to. Why don’t you come over …”

  “I’ll be over,” Mason said.

  “How soon?”

  “Ten minutes.”

  “That’ll be fine.”

  Mason hung up the telephone, said “Close up your law books and go home, Jackson.

  Jackson was watching Mason with shocked eyes. “Good heavens, Mr. Mason! You’re seeing this man, and you don’t even know what’s in the lease yet.”

  “I’ll damn soon find out,” Mason said. “Come on, Della. I’ll want a witness.”

  “Can I be of help in that respect?” Jackson asked dubiously.

  “Hell no,” Mason told him cheerfully. “This guy’s a chiseler. The party’s going to be rough. You’d have a nervous breakdown. Let’s go, Della.”

  “Coming,” she said.

  Jackson’s stricken pale eyes rebuked them out of the office.

  Chapter 6

  The door of Scott Shelby’s office was locked. Mason knocked. Almost immediately they could hear the sound of steps. A chunky man with pale complexion, slightly stooped shoulders and a high forehead opened the door and regarded his visitors with dark, restless eyes. Those eyes seemed hot with emotion. The face itself was that of a man who is cool, collected and thoroughly master of himself. Only his eyes belied the placid features.

  “Mr. Mason?”

  Mason nodded, said, “Shelby, I presume?”

  The two men shook hands.

  “Miss Street, my secretary.”

  “Come in,” Shelby invited.

  Shelby escorted them through an outer office into his private office, said “I want you folks to meet Miss Ellen Cushing. She has a real estate agency in the building and I knew she’d be working late. I asked her to come in.” He laughed apologetically and then added, “Frankly, I wanted a witness and I see that Mr. Mason had the same idea. I had intended to try and palm Miss Cushing off as my secretary and then thought I couldn’t get away with it so I decided to be frank. She’s a witness.”

  “All right,” Mason said, “Miss Street is a witness, too. We’re two against two. I guess however, we don’t need to bother about that angle of it.”

  “No, I guess not,” Shelby admitted.

  Mason said, “All right. What’s your proposition?”

  “Well, of course, Mr. Mason, I don’t want to stand in the way and …”

  “Never mind the preliminaries,” Mason said. “They don’t mean anything to either of us. We’re businessmen. Why not get down to brass tacks?”

  “How high will your client go?” Shelby asked.

  “I haven’t the slightest idea.”

  “She’d be guided by your recommendations?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, how high would you go?”

  “Not very high,” Mason said, sitting down and crossing his legs. “Anyone want a cigarette?”

  Shelby said, “I smoke cigars myself.”

  Della Street and Ellen Cushing took cigarettes. While he was holding a match to Ellen Cushing’s cigarette, Mason sized her up.

  She was a woman who might have been either in the late twenties or the early thirties, a blonde with impudent grayish-green eyes, a supple, well curved figure, although her waist was slender and her stomach was flat. She sat very erect in her chair, her knees crossed, the toe of her well shod foot carefully pointed downward.

  She was conscious of Mason’s appraisal and her eyes raised from the flame of the match to regard the lawyer with quiet humor. It was as though she had said in words, “I knew I’d catch you doing that.”

  Mason grinned, turned his attention back to Shelby, said, “If you thought this was going to be easy, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

  “I knew that as soon as you phoned.”

  “Just so we understand each other,” Mason said.

  “However,” Shelby said, “I don’t want you to think this is a shake-down. I really had no idea a sale was being made until Mrs. Keller told my agent at the bank.”

  Mason’s silence could have shown either that he felt that point was now unimportant or that he thought the man was a liar.

  Shelby watched him in thoughtful brooding silence.

  “It’s your move,” Mason said.

  “I intend to give written notice to the title company and serve a copy on Parker Benton that I have a lease on the property. In fact, I have already prepared such notice and will attach to it a copy of the lease. I don’t like to do it because the escrow is, I understand, about ready to be closed. Benton won’t want oil wells on his island. He is, of course, acting on the assumption he’s getting a clear title. They must have told him the place was free of clouds. My notice will make him take it subject to whatever rights I have.”

  “You haven’t any.”

  “The lease says I have.”

  “A joker.”

  “I don’t so regard it. After all, it doesn’t make any difference. Parker Benton isn’t going to pay thirty thousand for a lawsuit.”

  “And you aren’t going to sue,” Mason said.

  “I intend to, if I have to do it—to protect my rights. I hope I don’t have to.”

  “It’ll cost you ten thousand dollars to find out if you have any rights” Mason said.

  “And take five years,” Shelby observed.

  “At a hundred a month.”

  “It’ll cost your client something, too.”

  “Naturally,” Mason admitted.

  “And the sale will be off the minute I serve this notice.”

  “That won’t help you any.”

  “It will hurt your client.”

  “We might bond against your claim.”

  “Benton wouldn’t stand for it. But let’s be reasonable, Mr. Mason. I don’t want to block that sale. I only wanted to keep the lease alive. I didn’t even know there was a sale pending until …”

  “Yes, go on.”

  “Until Mrs. Keller told my agent when he tendered her the five hundred dollars at the bank.”

  “How did you know who was buying the property?”

  “She told my agent.”

  “Told him Parker Benton was buying it?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you know that the escrow was just about ready to be closed and the deal concluded?”

  Shelby’s eyes suddenly shifted. “I … I think she told him.”

  “And I note that you know the amount of the purchase price. How did you get that?”

  Shelby said abruptly, “I don’t think you’re doing yourself or your client any good by cross-examining me this way, Mr. Mason.”

  “How much?” Mason asked.

  Shelby looked him in the eye. “All right. Since you want the figure, it’s ten thousand dollars.”

  Mason got to his feet, nodded to Della Street, said, “I guess that’s all.”

  “You’d better think it over,” Shelby warned. “Benton is paying a great deal more for that island than it’s worth, a lot more than any other person would pay. It’s a most advantageous deal.”

  Mason started for the door, turned, said, “I guess it’s only fair to tell you that when I start fighting I fight rather rough.”