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 Court 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...”