“All right,” Mason said. “How about Byrl Gailord?”
“They took a gamble with her — and they lost.”
“Where did they get her in the first place?”
Freel said glibly, “She was Russian. Her parents were killed in a shipwreck. Mrs. Tump left her with them. At that time, she was older than the Home liked to have children, but with the heritage she had, it was a cinch for them to get a high price.”
Freel moistened his lip with his tongue and started nodding his head up and down, giving silent emphasis to his words.
Mason studied the man narrowly for several seconds. Abruptly, he said, “Mrs. Tump has a daughter, hasn’t she?”
Freel’s head jerked in a quick half-turn as his eyes searched Mason’s. “A daughter?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Why… what sort of a daughter?”
“A daughter,” Mason said. “You know what the word means, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes. Yes, of course… I’m sure I can’t remember. A lot of those things have escaped my recollection — little details. I presume they got Mrs. Tump’s history when the child was given to them.”
“Why would they do that?” Mason asked.
“Oh, they want to know all about the child, everything they can find out. They usually make the girls give them the names of the fathers. The girls hate to do that… It’s strange the way they try to protect the men who have betrayed them. It’s the natural loyalty women have for men. Women are a lot more loyal to men than men are to women, Mr. Mason.”
Mason took a last drag at his cigarette and ground it out in the ash tray.
“All right,” he said. “Let’s get back to Tidings.”
Freel said, “Tidings tried to pump me. He wanted to find out everything I knew. I think he was looking for some flaw somewhere, something that would show that Byrl Gailord wasn’t…”
“Wasn’t what?” Mason prompted.
“Wasn’t entitled to the money.”
Mason stared thoughtfully for several seconds at the faded carpet. Freel studied him with the anxious scrutiny of a marksman who is anxious to see just where his bullets have struck in the target.
“Did the Home investigate that story about the torpedoed ship?” he asked.
“Oh, yes. Yes, indeed, Mr. Mason. They made a very complete investigation. They always want information about the parentage, you know. That information means dollars and cents to any home.”
Mason got up from his chair, walked over to the narrow window with its dingy lace curtain over the lower portion of it. He raised a tattered, green shade, and stood with his elbows resting on the molding which divided the upper from the lower part of the window, and stared meditatively down into a dingy alley and at the blank wall of a brick building opposite.
Freel turned to Drake. “You believe me, don’t you?” he asked.
“Sure,” Drake said carelessly.
“Know Coleman Reeger?” Mason asked, still staring out of the window.
“No,” Freel said. “Who’s he?”
“You don’t know anything about him?”
“No.”
“Ever heard the name?”
“No, I’m quite certain I haven’t. I have a good memory for names.”
“You take a lot of prompting,” Mason said. “It took quite a while to get you to remember Tidings.”
“I was lying about Tidings,” Freel confessed. “I thought it would be better not to let anyone know… Well, you know how it is.”
“He came to you?”
“Yes. He wanted to bribe me.”
“What did Mrs. Tump say when you told her that?”
There was sudden panic in Freel’s voice. “I didn’t tell her,” he said. “You mustn’t tell her. She must never know about that.”
Mason continued standing at the window. The tips of his fingers drummed thoughtfully on the narrow projection against which his elbows were propped. Suddenly, he whirled to face Freel. “You’re lying,” he charged.
“I am not, Mr. Mason. I swear to you that I’m telling the God’s truth.”
Mason said, “I see the whole business now. How much are you getting out of it?”
“Nothing, I’m simply giving my testimony in an attempt to right a wrong in which I feel I have unwittingly participated… Of course, I knew what was going on there at the Home, but then, I was just an accountant. I had charge of the books, and that was all.”
“Where are those books?”
“I don’t know. I was discharged.”
“But you remember a lot of details?”
“Yes.”
Mason, watching him with level-lidded intensity, said, “Your testimony wouldn’t be worth a damn, Freel. It’s too long ago. No jury would trust your memory.”
“I made notes,” Freel said. “I made a complete set of notes of certain cases that impressed me as being… well, being apt to come up again.”
“Why?”
“Because if I were ever called on to testify, I wanted to be certain that I could give the true facts.”
Mason said, “You mean you wanted something for blackmail.”
Freel’s shoulders seemed to slump. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, his eyes avoiding those of Mason.
Mason said, “Look up at me, Freel.”
For a moment Freel continued to avoid his eyes, then, with an obvious effort, looked up at the lawyer.
“What’s back of all this business about Byrl Gailord?” Mason asked.
“Just what I told you,” Freel said, and his eyes slithered away from those of the lawyer.
“Look up at me, Freel.”
Mason waited until the man had slowly raised his eyes.
“Now,” Mason said, “I’ll tell you the whole business. Byrl Gailord is no more the daughter of a grand duke than I am. Byrl Gailord is the illegitimate daughter of Mrs. Tump’s daughter. That grand duke business was invented within the last few months by Mrs. Tump to give the child a background of respectability. Gailord’s will referred to her as an adopted child. She inherited a lot of money under that will, but that will also disclosed the fact that she had been taken from a welfare home somewhere, and had never been formally adopted, that she was the illegitimate offspring of an illicit affair… No, don’t shift your eyes, Freel. Look up at me. Keep looking at me… Mrs. Tump wanted to get the girl into society. Byrl Gailord attracted the interest and attention of Coleman Reeger. Reeger’s family are high society with a capital H.S. They’d never have consented to a marriage with a young woman of Byrl Gailord’s real antecedents, so Mrs. Tump took it on herself to furnish a fictitious background. She knew she couldn’t do it by herself, so she hunted you up and planted you as a witness.”
Freel fidgeted. The bedsprings squeaked uneasy accompaniment.
“How much?” Mason asked.
“Fifteen thousand dollars,” Freel said in a thin, reedy voice.
“How much of it have you actually received?”
“One thousand. The other comes when… when…”
“When she marries Reeger?” Mason asked.
“Yes,” Freel said, his eyes still avoiding those of the lawyer.
“Go ahead and tell me about it.”
“That’s all there was to it. I was out of work, and desperate. Mrs. Tump had detectives hunt me up. She made me this proposition. That thousand dollars looked big to me. I’d have agreed to anything.”
“And that’s all bunk about this Russian blood in the girl’s veins?”
“Not entirely. The father is a Russian, the son of a headwaiter who was a refugee from Russia.”
Mason abruptly turned away from the little man and started pacing the floor. His hands were thrust deeply down in his trousers pockets. His eyes from time to time swung to study Freel’s face.
Drake, manifestly uncomfortable in the conventional, straight-backed, rickety chair, watched Mason in silent interest.