“You’d better start,” Mason told him. “We’ve wasted enough time beating around the bush.”

  “About three weeks ago,” Addison said, “I had a chance to buy some property for a country estate. It was about twenty miles out. The place was run down. Originally there had been three hundred acres in it. Then it had been split up until finally there was only a twelve acre piece left, and the old ranch house.”

  “Go on,” Mason said as Addison paused. “And you’d better sit down while you’re talking. I can hear you better.”

  Addison hesitated a moment, then waddled over to the client’s chair and plunked himself down in the cushions.

  It was a deep, comfortable chair, Mason’s idea being that a client who was completely relaxed physically would be more apt to tell his entire story than one who was seated in a hard, uncomfortable chair.

  “Go on,” Mason said impatiently.

  “Well, I looked the place over. Ferrell was with me. It was a nice property if you had any use for it. I didn’t have any use for it. I couldn’t see it as a business speculation because the house was too big to leave all by itself and I didn’t want to put in a caretaker. It was a rambling, old-fashioned, two-storey ranch house. Lots of room in it and lots of room around it. There was a barn and a garage, and the place was ideally located, so far as privacy was concerned, a little winding stream bed with brush, a lot of big oaks around the place and level ground back of the farm, plenty of water for all ordinary purposes and this rambling old-fashioned frame house that could be picked up fairly cheap.”

  “You bought it?” Mason asked.

  “I turned it down,” Addison said.

  “Then what happened?” Mason asked.

  “Then two days later Ferrell secretly bought the property himself.”

  “Without telling you?”

  “Without telling me a word about it. I only happened to find out about it last Tuesday, and then by accident.”

  “Of course,” Mason said, “since you didn’t want the place, it’s all right. But if you had been acting a little cool about it so as to get the price down, with the intention of making a counter offer, Ferrell’s action was rather unusual for a partner. He didn’t discuss the matter with you – ask you if it would be all right if he made an offer?”

  “Not Ferrell!” Addison said. “That one deal shows you the kind of a duck he is.”

  “What did he want the place for?” Mason asked.

  “Now there,” Addison said, “you’ve got me.”

  “What do you think?” Mason asked.

  “What do you think?”

  Mason said, “What I think doesn’t coincide with your sketch of Lorraine Ferrell, and your comments on Edgar Ferrell’s character.”

  “Well,” Addison said, “I’m telling you what I know. Perhaps there’s a lot I don’t know.”

  “I take it,” Mason said, “you didn’t come to consult me about your partner’s country estate.”

  “I wanted to explain to you how it happened I went out there.”

  “When?”

  “That night I picked up Veronica on the road – Tuesday.”

  “Oh,” Mason said.

  “Why do you say, ‘Oh’ in that tone of voice?” Addison asked indignantly.

  “I’m damned if I know,” Mason told him. “Go on with your story.”

  “Well, there’s no reason for it,” Addison snapped. “You’re putting two and two together and making twelve. You’re getting your cart so far in front of the horse …”

  “Just give me the facts,” Mason said, “and after I have the whole picture I’ll try and fit it into a frame.”

  “Well,” Addison said, “it’s like this, Mason. I went out and looked at that property, I guess around three weeks ago. As I told you, I didn’t want it. Didn’t see any reason why I should take it. Tuesday afternoon the real-estate dealer who had offered me that property rang me up and asked me if I wanted to look at something else. We talked a bit over the phone, and he asked me how my partner liked the property he’d bought. I didn’t know what he was talking about. He explained, and it turned out Ferrell had bought this property.”

  Mason nodded.

  “Now, then,” Addison went on, “the real-estate agent said that Ferrell had been in a terrible hurry to get the deal in escrow and get possession of the property.”

  “I see nothing particularly unusual about that,” Mason said.

  “Wait a minute. Remember this conversation was Tuesday. The dealer then went on to tell me that Ferrell had told him that he had to be in possession of the property by Tuesday because he was going to be out there for two or three weeks starting Tuesday noon.”

  Mason frowned.

  “Well,” Addison said, “I kept thinking the thing over. I began to wonder if Ferrell was perhaps trying to pull over a fast one on me or on his wife, and I decided to drive out Tuesday night and find out.”

  “And what did you do?”

  “Got in my car, drove out to the place.”

  “What did you find?”

  “Nothing, no indication that there was anyone on the place, although one thing struck me as a little peculiar.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Someone had been out there – you remember it had rained – let’s see, I guess it was Monday night and there was a place over by the side of the house where the ground was soft enough to show automobile tracks. You could see that one or two automobiles had been in there quite recently.”

  “Anything else?”

  “No, the thing bothered me, that’s all. I finally came to the conclusion that Ferrell had bought the place as an investment, had someone on the string with whom he thought he could make a deal, that he’d taken this person out, showed him the property, the person had liked it, and Ferrell had agreed to assign him his rights in the escrow.”

  “That sounds like a logical conclusion,” Mason said.

  “It sounded like it at the time, all right. It was an explanation that occurred to me and I was satisfied with it. I felt that Ferrell had been going away on his vacation Tuesday noon. Therefore, he wanted to conclude the deal on Tuesday with his own prospect. So he’d left the store shortly before lunch on Tuesday and taken the prospect out there and showed him the place Tuesday afternoon, taken the man’s cheque, given him a receipt and gone on, on his vacation.”

  “Well, why not?” Mason asked.

  Addison took a telegram from his pocket. “And here,” he said, “is a telegram that was sent night letter Wednesday night, that certainly tends to bear out that supposition.”

  Addison handed the wire over to Mason.

  Mason took the wire but for the moment didn’t read it. He said instead, “What’s all this build-up about, Addison? You evidently have received other information which makes you think this explanation was incorrect.”

  Addison nodded, said, “Read the wire.”

  Mason unfolded the telegram and read:

  ARRIVED LAS VEGAS SAFELY. EXPECT REACH RENO TOMORROW NIGHT. ALTURAS DAY AFTER. WILL CALL FOR TELEGRAMS CARE WESTERN UNION BUT DON’T WIRE UNLESS SOMETHING IMPORTANT. AM TRAVELLING IN EASY STAGES THOROUGHLY ENJOYING MYSELF. REGARDS.

  Mason folded the wire, said, “What’s getting you all worked up now? Has there been another wire?”

  “No,” Addison said, “but his wife, Lorraine Ferrell, saw Edgar Ferrell’s car on the street early this afternoon.”

  Mason cocked a quizzical eyebrow.

  “She was shopping at the time. She tried to follow it, but she couldn’t. She says there was a cute redheaded trick driving the car. And she’s absolutely furious.”

  “Is she certain about the car?”

  “Absolutely certain, says she not only recognized the car but she took a quick look at the licence number and saw that it was the same.”

  “What did she do?” Mason asked.

  “Tried to get a taxicab and tried to follow the car, but the car had rounded the corner and got away from her.”

  Mason pursed his lips thoughtfully for a moment, then said, “Well, Addison, if your partner wants to have a love nest, I don’t see that there’s anything in particular you can do about it.”

  Addison started popping his knuckles.

  “Is there?” Mason asked.

  “Yes,” Addison said shortly.

  “What?”

  “I’m in a devil of a position, Mason, a hell of a quandary!”

  “How come?”

  “If Edgar is using that old ranch house as a love nest, I want to catch him at it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because then Lorraine will be in a position to get a divorce. And I’ll be in a position to make Edgar sell out.”

  “Well,” Mason said, “I’m no more clairvoyant than you are, Addison.”

  “I want you to go out there with me tonight. I want your advice. If Edgar is there, we’ll have a showdown. I want you as a witness. I’ll have my chequebook along.”

  “You keep referring to Ferrell as your partner. I thought the business was a corporation.”

  “Unfortunately it is now. It used to be a partnership. Ferrell’s father and I organized the business together. Shortly before Frank Ferrell’s death, we incorporated the business. We each took forty per cent of the stock.”

  “What happened to the other twenty per cent?”

  “We gave the old-time employees a chance to buy it, just people we could trust. With a few exceptions, they never attend meetings, sign proxies as a matter of form. They collect the dividends on the stock. That’s all they want. If they leave our employ, they have to sell us the stock.

  “Well, Edgar inherited his father’s stock, and he’s been a pain in the neck ever since.”

  “Young Ferrell has none of the endearing qualities of his father?”

  “As far as I know,” Addison said, “Frank Giles Ferrell made one mistake in his life. That mistake is named Edgar, and that boy is a mistake all the way through. Frank never had much of a formal education. He’d had to work hard. He’d worked up from the bottom. That had been his salvation, that hard work. Edgar was an only child, and Frank decided that Edgar was never going to have to work the way he had.

  “It’s the same old story. Edgar had an automobile as soon as he was old enough to drive one. He had a college education, and an indulgent parent impressed upon Edgar that he was never going to have to exert himself unduly.”

  “Why did you let him get in the business with you?”

  “When Frank died, the stock was left to the boy. He didn’t want to sell it at any price. That’s where I made my big mistake. I thought that if he came into the business and had to dig in and work, be in the office regular hours and all that, it wouldn’t be long before he was tired of it and then would want money for his stock.”

  “It hasn’t worked that way?”

  “It definitely hasn’t worked that way. In the first place, he doesn’t come into the office regularly, and when he does, he simply messes around with the figures, mixes into things that he knows nothing about, and gets the help … What’s the use discussing it, Mason? It drives me nuts! It’s a highly unsatisfactory arrangement.”

  “All right. You’d like to see Ferrell’s wife divorce him?”

  “For business reasons, yes.”

  “Are you sure there are no other reasons?”

  “Don’t misunderstand me, Mason. I’m a businessman. When it comes to dealing with Edgar, I’m just as cold as a fish. If Edgar bought that place as a love nest, if he’s playing around with some cutie and Lorraine can catch him at it, she’ll sue him for divorce. There’ll be a property settlement. Get me?”

  “Let’s see if I do.”

  “In the settlement, Lorraine will get a chunk of Edgar’s stock. I’ll buy that stock from her at a premium. Then I’ll have a controlling interest and Edgar will get the hell out of the business and stay out. He’ll sit on the side lines and either sell me his stock at a reasonable value or he’ll be like any other stockholder and take what dividends are paid, attend the stockholders’ meetings, make his suggestions as a stockholder, and the management will either adopt those suggestions or pitch them out of the window, whichever it damn pleases.”

  “You dislike your partner?”

  “I don’t dislike him, I hate his guts!”

  “But you don’t hate your partner’s wife?”

  “Lorraine is regular,” Addison said. “She’s extremely attractive. Make no mistake about that, Mason. And she’s levelheaded. I can do business with her. It would be nice, of course, if she could get half of Edgar’s stock. But it really doesn’t make too much difference how much she gets, just enough to give me the controlling interest. That’s all I ask. And if Edgar is out there running a love nest, he’ll know I’ve got the whip hand. I’ll tell him we can’t have a scandal touch the business and whip out my chequebook. With you there to back my play, there’ll be nothing to it.”

  “When do we go?” Mason asked.

  “Tonight, after dinner.”

  Mason looked at his watch.

  “All right. Don’t go back to your office. Don’t be where anyone can reach you. Meet me at The Stag at seven o’clock. Until then, keep out of touch with your office, out of touch with the police.”

  “The police!”

  “That’s right.”

  “Why the police?”

  Mason said, “I pulled a fast one on your blackmailer. The way things look now, I may have been premature. Do as I say and don’t ask questions.”

  “The police – I say, Mason, I don’t like that!”

  “Who does?” Mason said, getting up front his chair and moving over to the hat closet.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Addison said, “Slow down. It’s just after you cross this next culvert. There’s a road that turns to the left … Take it east. It’s a sharp turn … Here it is, here. Right down to the left on that dirt road.”

  Mason swung the wheel of his automobile, put on the brake and eased the car down a sharp incline.

  “You picked up Veronica near here?” he asked.

  “She was back down the road, right by that culvert we just passed.”

  “All right. I just wanted to get it straight.”

  The dirt road dipped sharply down to the bed of the dry stream which was bridged farther down the highway by the culvert, crossed the stream on a little plank bridge, debouched onto a flat.

  Addison, peering through the windshield, said, “There aren’t any lights on in the place … I don’t think he’s here … I think Lorraine must have been mistaken. He wouldn’t have passed up his vacation.”

  Mason said, “Since we’re here, we’ll at least go bang on the doors and make absolutely certain no one’s home.”

  “What’ll I say if he should be here?”

  “Nothing. I’ll do the talking.”

  Mason slid out from behind the wheel and walked over to the front door. Addison sat still for a few thoughtful moments in the automobile, then walked over to join Mason.

  The lawyer, fumbling around on the porch said, “There’s a flashlight in the glove compartment of the car. Guess I’ll get that.”

  “Here’s a knocker,” Addison said.

  “You use the knocker,” Mason told him. “I’m going to go get the flashlight.”

  The lawyer walked back to the car, opened the glove compartment, took out a hand flashlight and walked back to the front door.

  “Any results?” he asked.

  “I almost banged the door down. No one’s home.”

  “Well,” Mason said, “it’s pretty certain he’s not here now. Let’s take a look around.”

  They walked around the house. The beam of Mason’s flashlight swept up and down the sides of the house, across the windows. On the lower floor, the shades were all drawn, the windows tightly locked. But on the upper floor there was a window with no shade. Mason’s flashlight, shining through the window, made light on the ceiling of the room. Then suddenly the lawyer stopped, holding the flashlight steadily in one place.

  “What is it?” Addison asked.

  “Do you,” Mason asked, “see what I see?”

  Addison stepped slightly back, following the pencil of light from the flashlight.

  “The glass is broken,” he said.

  “A neat, round hole,” Mason said, “with a few cracks radiating out from it.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned!” Addison exclaimed.

  Mason moved the flashlight slightly. The light reflected back from the cracks in the window, showed him little scintillating flashes.

  Addison said, “You don’t suppose …”

  “I don’t know,” Mason said gravely.

  “But it’s …” Addison seemed reluctant to put the thought into words.

  “A bullet hole,” Mason finished for him.

  “We’ve got to get in and look around.”

  Mason moved the flashlight back to the ground. They followed a path around to the back of the house. Mason pounded on the back door, tried the knob. The door was locked. He went around the house, trying the windows. They were all locked.

  “I don’t like this,” Addison said. “The place is terribly secluded here. I feel like a burglar. Suppose someone should catch us here?”

  Mason said, “I want to find out what’s in that house before we make our next move. The windows seem to be all locked. There’s a key in the back door. What kind of a lock on the front door? Is it a spring lock?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Any electricity in the place?”

  “Not when I looked at it. It wasn’t even wired.”

  Mason moved around the house until finally he was back at the front door.

  “Windows all bolted on the inside,” he said. “Key in the back door. Whoever last left the house must have left it from the front door.”

  Mason tried the knob, then recoiled in surprise as the latch clicked back and the door swung open on well-oiled hinges.

  There was a somewhat clammy smell from the interior of the house, an aftermath of the months during which it had been closed and uninhabited.

  Mason said, “Okay, let’s take a look around.”

  “I say!” Addison said. “Isn’t this dangerous?”