“Simply that if it was known this woman had any connection with me, it would raise the very devil all around. It would bring about the very situation I’m trying to avoid.”
“What,” Mason asked, “is she to you?”
Peltham said steadily, “She’s everything to me.”
“Do I understand you want me to represent some woman, but I’m not to know who she is?”
“Exactly.”
Mason laughed. “Good Lord, man! You seem entirely sober and in possession of your senses.”
“I am.”
“But you’re asking the impossible. I can’t represent a client unless I know who she is.”
Peltham got up from the chair. He walked gravely across to the exit door which led from Mason’s private office to the corridor. He said, “Pardon me, Mr. Mason, if I seem to take a liberty.” He clicked back the spring lock on the door and stepped out into the corridor. Mason could hear low-voiced conversation, and a few moments later the door opened and Peltham ushered a woman into the room.
She was garbed in a dark raincoat, buttoned up around the throat, which stretched almost to the ground and concealed all of her figure. It was a voluminous coat either cut for a person several sizes larger or else it had originally been a part of a man’s wardrobe. She wore a small, close-fitting hat which nestled well down on her head. The upper part of her face was concealed by a mask, through which sparkling dark eyes held a twinkle that was almost a glitter.
“Come in, dear, and sit down,” Peltham said.
The woman walked calmly across the office to seat herself in the chair opposite the lawyer. Her chin, the tip of her nose, and the full-bodied crimson lips indicated youth, but there was nothing else about her to give a clue to her age or appearance. She sat motionless in the chair, her hands concealed in black gloves. She did not cross her knees, but sat with her feet flat on the floor. Those feet were encased in galoshes which were evidently a size too large.
“Good evening,” Mason said.
She might not have heard him. Her eyes — dark, glittering, and restless — stared through the eyeholes in the mask.
Mason quite evidently began to enjoy the bizarre situation. Outside the dark windows of the office, wind-driven rain pelted against the glass, lending a semblance of fitting background to the situation.
Peltham was the one person in the office who seemed to see nothing unusual in the conference. He once more took from his pocket a pin-seal wallet. From it he took a bank note. “This, Mr. Mason,” he said, “is a ten-thousand-dollar bill. Perhaps you would care to examine it to see that it is genuine.”
He passed the bill across to the lawyer who looked it over and silently handed it back.
“Have you a pair of scissors, dear?” Peltham asked.
The woman wordlessly opened a black purse and took out a pair of curved manicure scissors. She handed these to Peltham who took them and walked over to Mason’s desk. He held the bill in his left hand, the scissors in his right.
With the careful touch of a man whose hands are trained to do exactly what he wants them to do, he cut the bill in two pieces by a series of curved segments.
With the last snip of the small scissors, a piece of the bill representing about one-third of its area fluttered to Mason’s desk.
Peltham returned the scissors to the masked woman. He held the two sections of the ten-thousand-dollar bill so that Mason could see they fitted perfectly, then he presented the larger portion of the bill to the woman, and dropped the smaller portion on top of the two one-thousand-dollar bills, which he shoved across the desk to Mason.
“There you are,” he said. “I don’t want a receipt. Your word’s good. You’ll never know this woman’s identity unless it becomes necessary for you to know it in order to protect her interests. At that time, she’ll give you the rest of this ten-thousand-dollar bill. That will be her introduction. You can paste the two halves together, take it down to your bank, and deposit it. In that way, your fee will be guaranteed, and there’ll be no chance of an impostor imposing on you.”
“Suppose someone else should get that other half of the bill?”
“No one will.”
Mason looked across at the woman. “You understand what Mr. Peltham is asking of me?” he asked.
She nodded.
“I take it that you knew what he had in mind when he came here?”
Again she nodded.
“And you’re satisfied to have me accept employment under those conditions?”
Again there was a nod.
Mason straightened in his chair, turned to Peltham, and said, “All right. Sit down. Let’s get down to brass tacks… You want me to represent this woman. I don’t know who she is. Perhaps tomorrow morning someone will walk in and ask me to take a case. I’ll accept the employment. Later on, this woman will announce that she’s the adverse party in that case, and hand me the rest of this ten-thousand-dollar bill. I’d then find myself retained on both sides of the same case.
“I think that explains my position. I can’t do it. What you ask is impossible. I’m interested, but I can’t do it.”
Peltham raised his left hand to his head. The tips of his fingers massaged the left temple. He was silent for an interval. “All right,” he said at length. “Here’s how we’ll get around that. You’re free to take any case except one that involves matters in which I am apparently directly or indirectly interested. If such a case should come to your office, you will get my permission before you accept the employment.”
“How can I get that permission?” Mason asked. “In other words, how can I get in touch with you? Will you be instantly available?”
Again Peltham rubbed his temple for several seconds of thoughtful deliberation. Then he said, “No.”
“All right,” Mason said impatiently. “That leaves us right back where we started.”
“No, it doesn’t. There’s another way.”
“What is it?”
“You can put an ad in the Contractor’s Journal in the personal column. You will address it simply to P, and sign it with the single initial, M. You will ask in that ad if there is any objection to your accepting employment on behalf of the person calling on you.”
“That,” Mason said, “wouldn’t be fair to my other clients. Clients don’t care to have their names broadcast in the personal columns of a newspaper.”
“Don’t mention that person by name,” Peltham said. “Take the telephone directory, list the number of the page, the column, and the position of the name in that column. For instance, if it’s a person on page 1000 of the telephone directory, the fourth name down from the top in the third column, you will simply say, ‘If I accept employment for 1000-3-4, would I be in danger of handling a case against you?’ ”
“And you’ll answer it?”
“If I don’t answer it within forty-eight hours,” Peltham said, “you may consider yourself free to accept the employment.”
“And how,” Mason asked, “will I know about your affairs? I take it, you have somewhat diversified business interests. I may not know…”
Peltham interrupted. For the first time, there was in his voice evidence of mental tension. “You’ll know by tomorrow,” he said, “—that is, if you read the newspapers.”
Mason said, “It’s goofy. It doesn’t make sense.”
Peltham indicated the two thousand dollars on the desk. “There’s two thousand dollars,” he said. “That money is paid over to you with no questions asked. I don’t want a receipt. I’ll take your word. Ninety-nine chances out of a hundred you won’t have to turn a finger. That money will be velvet. But if you should become active on behalf of this woman, you will then automatically receive the additional ten thousand dollars.”