Judge Ballinger said. “You’re not a witness as yet, Mrs. Finchley. You haven’t been sworn. I would like to ask you, however, if you saw this letter Horace Shelby had written Daphne?”

  “Yes, I saw it.”

  “Who showed it to you?”

  “My husband.”

  “Before it was put in the envelope?”

  “I didn’t see it put in the envelope.”

  “The letter was signed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Folded?”

  “I can’t remember.”

  “Your best recollection?”

  “I have no recollection.”

  “What did you do with the letter after reading it?”

  “Borden put it back in the env—” She bit the word off.

  “In the envelope?” Judge Ballinger asked.

  “Yes.”

  “You had then steamed open the envelope?”

  “Yes.”

  “You put it back in the envelope. Did you mail it?”

  “No. We put the envelope back on Horace’s desk after he asked what had happened to it. He mailed it himself.”

  “I haven’t time to go into this matter at this present hearing,” Judge Ballinger said, “because there is another matter heretofore set which comes on the calendar, but I am going to look into this with great care. This matter is continued until—” He turned to the clerk. “When is the first day that we have—Wait a minute. I understand this case of Johnson versus Peabody is going off calendar. That will give us a half a day tomorrow?”

  The clerk nodded.

  “I’m continuing this matter until tomorrow, at two o’clock,” Judge Ballinger said. “At that time I want to have Horace Shelby in court and, in the meantime, I am going to have him examined by a doctor of my own choosing. What is the private sanitarium where he is now located?”

  Finchley hesitated.

  “The Goodwill Sanitarium at El Mirar,” Darwin Melrose said.

  “Very well,” Judge Ballinger said. “I’m going to continue the matter until tomorrow afternoon at two o’clock. I want it understood that a physician appointed by the Court will examine Mr. Shelby at the sanitarium. I want Mr. Shelby in court and I want it understood that the Court is not going to rule upon the objection disqualifying Perry Mason from appearing in the matter as attorney for Daphne Shelby—or Daphne Raymond, whatever her name may be—from appearing as an interested party until after I have given the matter further consideration.

  “I may state that I will probably rule upon the objection at the conclusion of the hearing tomorrow afternoon, and that I will permit the examination of witnesses by Mr. Perry Mason until the Court has made its ruling.

  “It is the offhand impression of the Court that the public is sufficiently a party to inquiries of this sort so that the Court can have the assistance of any interested party or any interested counsel, and in the event the Court decides that Mr. Mason is not entitled to appear and interrogate witnesses on behalf of his client, the Court will probably welcome the services of Mr. Perry Mason as amicus curiae.

  “The matter is continued until tomorrow afternoon at two o’clock.”

  Chapter 5

  Daphne clung to Mason’s arm as a drowning person clutches a bit of floating wood.

  Borden Finchley gave her a vague smile and stalked out of the courtroom.

  Darwin Melrose, walking up to Mason, said, “I didn’t like to jerk the rug out from under you, Mason, but it was the only way I could play it.”

  “You haven’t jerked any rug out from under anyone as yet,” Mason replied, smiling affably.

  He put an arm around Daphne’s shoulders. “Come on, Daphne,” he said, and led the way into an adjoining witness room.

  “You sit down here,” he said, “until the others have got out of the courtroom. And after that, you’re going to find reporters will be hunting you up—probably the sob-sister type of columnists who like to do the Poor-Little-Rich-Girl articles.”

  “Mr. Mason, this is absolutely incredible,” she said. “My whole world has come crashing down around my ears. Good heavens, do you realize what I’ve been through the last—”

  “I know,” Mason said. “I understand, but you’re a big girl now you’re out in the world. You’ll have to learn to take wallops and to come back fighting. Now, lets take stock of the situation and see where we can start fighting.”

  “What can we do?” she asked.

  “Well,” Mason said, “we can check for one thing. Although I feel pretty certain they’re sure of their facts or they wouldn’t have brought them out in this way. Otherwise, it would have been suicidal.”

  “I still don’t understand it,” she said.

  “The relatives thought they were going to be disinherited but felt that, if there was no wills they could control the estate.

  “So they arranged for a visit, contrived in some way to get left alone with the aged testator, then manipulated things so they could claim his mind was failing, that he needed someone to protect him from shrewd and designing persons. … And, of course, the shrewd and designing person they always pick is the person they think is going to be the beneficiary under the will.

  “If they can get the Court to appoint a guardian or a conservator, they’re that much ahead. If they can’t, they have at least established a record so that they can claim undue influence and a lack of testamentary capacity when the will is finally brought up for probate.”

  “I can’t imagine people being like that,” Daphne said.

  Mason looked at her sharply. “Do you mean you’re as innocent as all that?”

  “No,” she said, “I just can’t imagine people being that low—particularly where Uncle Horace was concerned. Uncle Horace is the best, the most big-hearted man in the world.”

  “How did he feel toward Borden Finchley?”

  “I don’t know, Mr. Mason. I do know that he thought they were staying in the house altogether too long but then when Uncle Borden 3suggested that I needed a good rest and a trip somewhere on an ocean steamer, Uncle Horace chimed right in with the idea.

  “I know that it meant a lot to him. I know that he knew he would have to put up with a lot of inconveniences, but he wanted me to have the rest and relaxation and have a good time.

  “I told you Aunt Elinor had been a nurse, and she told Uncle Horace that I was simply working myself to death and taking altogether too many responsibilities for a young girl—that I should be out having a good time.”

  “All right,” Mason said, “I’m going to scout around and see that the coast is clear of reporters and get you out of here. Don’t tell anyone where you are staying and try not to talk with reporters. If you do, tell them that you have no comment to make unless I am present at the time of the interview that, under instructions from your attorney, you are making no statement.

  “Can you do that?”

  “Of course I can do that,” she said. “It will be easy for me. I just don’t want to talk about things, but—I just can’t understand how anything like this can take place.”

  “Our system of justice isn’t absolutely perfect,” Mason said. “But the case isn’t finished yet. They may have letters from your Uncle Horace telling them about your parentage, but those letters are hearsay except for the purpose of impeachment. You just sit tight and keep a good grip on yourself.”

  She shook her head. “I’m finished,” she said, the corners of her mouth drooping. “I’m illegitimate, I’m nobody. I’m going to be forced to go out in the world and try and make a living and I haven’t anything to offer. I have no skills. I’ve been too busy taking care of Uncle Horace to ever learn anything that will help me make a living.”

  “You type, don’t you?” Mason asked.

  “Sure,” she said, bitterly, “I type, but I don’t have any shorthand and I haven’t had any experience with taking dictation on any kind of a machine. I just compose the letters and bring them to Uncle Horace to sign. That is, I did compose. I guess those days are all over now.”

  “You use the touch system?” Mason asked.

  “Yes, thank heavens, I taught myself that. I was just using a hunt-and-peck system with two fingers on each hand, and I realized that if I didn’t break myself of that habit, I’d never be a really finished typist so I started practicing on the touch system and finally mastered it.”

  “Well,” Mason said, “you’re doing all right. You can get a job that will keep you going if you have to and if worse comes to worst.”

  She said, “The worst has already come. I’ve been batted around …” She suddenly squared her shoulders. “No, I haven’t either,” she said. “And I’m not going to be a beggar. I’m going to make my own way in the world—but I’m going to see what I can do for Uncle Horace. I’m not going to let those horrid people manipulate him just any old way they want to.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Mason said.

  She smiled at him and said, “And I’m not going to be a beggar.”

  Mason said, “You endorsed that check for a hundred and twenty five thousand dollars when you tried to cash it at the bank?”

  She nodded.

  “That,” Mason said, “leaves you with a hundred and twenty five thousand dollar check, endorsed in blank, which may not be too good and that letter which your uncle sent is evidence that—”

  “Mr. Mason,” she interrupted, “I just can’t believe that he isn’t my uncle. Oh, this is terrible, some sort of a nightmare that I’ll awaken from.”

  “It may be at that,” Mason said, smiling reassuringly. “My experience has always been that these things look much worse than they actually are. In fact, I tell my clients that nine times out of ten they can say to themselves, “Things are never as bad as they seem.” ”

  “Thank you for trying to reassure me but I just don’t know what to do next. How am I going to live until I can get a job? How can I go and get a room and—

  “No, no,” she interposed hastily, as Mason started to speak, “don’t tell me that you’ll finance me. I can’t just live on your charity.”

  “It isn’t charity,” Mason said. “It’s a business investment. Give me that check and the letter. I’m going to keep them in my office safe.”

  She said, “That letter, I’m afraid, shows that Uncle Horace—or should I say Mr. Shelby—never made a will in my favor and suddenly realized that he hadn’t made a will.”

  “Don’t be too sure,” Mason said. “Many times a person makes a will entirely in his own handwriting—which is perfectly legal and valid—but then wants to have it supplemented by another will executed in the presence of witnesses.”

  “A will in handwriting is good without witnesses?” she asked.

  “In this state, yes,” Mason said. “The holographic will, entirely written, dated and signed by the testator, is valid.

  “There are, of course, several catches or legal pitfalls. There can’t be anything on the sheet of paper except the handwriting of the testator. In other words, if part of the date is printed and the testator only has to fill in the day and month, then the will is considered as not being entirely of the handwriting of the testator. The testator should start with an absolutely blank piece of paper on which there is no writing or printing of any sort. He should set forth that he is making a will. He should be sure to state the date. He should make a clear disposition of his property and sign it. Now, I have a feeling that your Uncle Horace, being a pretty shrewd businessman, did make such a will.”

  “But if they are in charge of his papers, they can find it and destroy it,” she said. “Probably they have already done that.”

  Mason shrugged his shoulders. “I can’t answer that as yet. It is always a possibility. However, remember that we have seriously impeached Borden Finchley by this letter having sworn that he had no thought about the possibility of his half brother executing a will which would disinherit him and then having admitted he had seen this letter, he put himself in a very questionable position.

  “You could see Judge Ballinger turn against him the minute he made that statement.

  “Well, Daphne, I admit things look black, but we’re going to keep fighting and don’t you get discouraged…. You have enough money for your present needs?”

  She nodded. “Thanks to your generosity,” she said.

  “It’s all right,” he told her. “I repeat, I’m just putting up a little money as an investment. After I collect some money for you, you can repay me and pay me a fee as well.”

  Her smile was wan. “I am afraid that your chances of getting a good fee are just about as slim as your chances of ever getting repaid. I suppose after I get a job I can pay you ten or fifteen dollars a month—something like that.”

  Mason patted her shoulder. “Let me give you some good advice, Daphne. Quit worrying about the future.”

  Mason left her and went to his office, fitted his latchkey to the door of his private office, and shook his head at Della Street.

  “The poor kid,” he said. “I felt so sorry for her—her whole world crashing about her ears.”

  “What chances does she have?” Della Street asked.

  “I don’t know,” Mason said. “If we can get the order appointing a conservator set aside and if Horace Shelby is the type of man I think he is, we can do some good. But remember that Horace Shelby has been through a whole series of devastating experiences and these have probably been complicated by some medication which is contra-indicated in his condition. There may be some permanent damage there.

  “You can see their strategy,” Mason went on. “They got rid of Daphne for the longest possible period of time. While she was gone, they did everything they could to undermine the mental health of Horace Shelby. Then when they didn’t dare to wait any longer, they went to court. Of course, the fact that he was trying to give his niece—who it now seems is actually a stranger to the blood—one hundred and twenty five thousand dollars, which virtually wiped out his checking account, was a big factor in the mind of the Court.

  “You put yourself in the position of a judge and find a set of circumstances like that and you’re pretty certain to feel that the man needs protection.”

  Della Street nodded, said, “Mr. Stanley Paxton is waiting in the office for you.”

  Mason nodded. “Let’s have him in,” he said. “In the meantime, Della, remember that I have this check for one hundred and twenty five thousand dollars made to Daphne Shelby and endorsed by her, and also the letter that Horace Shelby sent her. I want to put them in our safe and I’d like to have a photographer make photographic copies of them.”

  Della Street reached out her hand.

  “I’ll keep them for the moment,” Mason said. “Let’s not delay seeing Mr. Paxton. His time is valuable.”

  Della Street went to the outer office, returned with Stanley Paxton.

  “Mr. Mason,” the banker said, “I find myself in a peculiar situation.”

  Mason raised his eyebrows in silent inquiry as he gestured to a chair.

  Paxton seated himself, ran his hand over his high forehead, looked shrewdly at Mason and said, “We have had a little experience in these matters from time to time and we can size people up. Our primary interest as a bank is in protecting our clients.”

  Mason nodded.

  “Horace Shelby is our client,” Paxton went on. “As far as we are concerned, the conservator is a stranger—an intruder, an interloper.”

  “Under an order of Court,” Mason pointed out.

  “Under an order of Court, to be sure,” Paxton conceded. “That’s what I want to talk with you about.”

  Mason nodded. “Go right ahead.”

  “Of course, it’s unusual because you are attorney—not for Horace Shelby but for his niece.”

  Mason was silent, waiting for the other to continue.

  Paxton put the tips of his fingers together, looked steadily at a spot on the floor about five feet in front of him. He spoke in the tone of voice used by a man who is accustomed to dealing in precise figures and wants to express himself in such a way that he conveys exactly the thought he wants to convey.

  “In dealing with the conservator,” Paxton said, “the general custom is for the conservator to file with us a certified copy of the order of Court and have us transfer the account to the conservator.”

  “That custom wasn’t followed in the present case?” Mason asked.

  “In the present case,” Paxton said, “I remember the wording of the Court order very clearly because I have had occasion to look it up. It said that Borden Finchley, as conservator, was to take possession of all funds on deposit in the Investors National Bank in the name of Horace Shelby, and safeguard those funds as conservator. An order was made to the bank ordering the bank to turn over every credit existing in the bank as of the date of that order to the conservator.

  “Then Borden Finchley—apparently not trusting us—drew a check on us for the exact amount of the balance on hand in the account of Horace Shelby.”

  “And opened a new account as conservator?” Mason asked.

  “He did that temporarily. He opened a new account as conservator but, within two hours, went to another bank, opened an account in the name of Borden Finchley, conservator for the estate of Horace Shelby, and cleaned out the account.”

  Mason grinned. “He evidently didn’t want to antagonize you until you had transferred the money to his account, then he went out of his way to give you a deliberate slap in the face.”

  “Probably,” Paxton said, “he realized that our attitude was somewhat unsympathetic. We considered Horace Shelby a rather elderly but very shrewd individual. Some people are old at seventy five, some people are alert at ninety.”

  “And Horace Shelby was mentally alert?”

  “We considered him a very lovable old gentleman. I’ll be frank with you, Mr. Mason, he would get a little confused at times and he knew it, and he relied implicitly on Daphne.”

  “And what’s your opinion of Daphne?”

  “She a jewel. She’s just a sweet, loyal girl who sacrificed her entire life for her uncle and she did it out of affection and not because she was looking to see which side of the bread had the butter.”