Mason said, “Hang it, I need that information. Rushing Creek? That’s a little resort and lumbering village, isn’t it?”
“That’s right Quite a few trout fishermen go up there. It’s also the gateway to some nice picnic and camping grounds back in the mountains.”
“Well,” Mason said, “keep after them. See if you can find out anything. You haven’t heard anything more about Argyle — or that chauffeur of his?”
“Argyle’s house is dark,” Drake said. “I have a couple of men on the job. I’m working on the chauffeur’s background.”
Mason said, “Okay, stay with it, Paul. Let me know as soon as you find out anything.”
He walked down to his office with Della Street, said, “Gosh, Della, the police must be really giving her a third-degree.”
“Would she tell them about you?”
“I told her to.”
“Do you think she did?”
“She had to. I was with her when she discovered the body.”
Mason unlocked the door of his office, switched on the lights, sat down at his desk, started drumming with his fingertips... “I’ll tell you what, Della. You wait here. Hold the fort. I’ll take a quick run out to the hospital and tell Bob Finchley that we’re coming along all right. You stay right here and if the police come, tell them you’re waiting for me, that I’m out working on a personal injury case. And you can pave the way for a series of very pleasant relations with the police by showing them the ad we put in the Blade, telling them about the accident case, and showing them the letters we’ve received, and then giving them the keys.”
“And tell them about Argyle?”
“Sure, the whole thing.”
“Okay,” she said, “I’ll wait here and do my stuff with the police. Will it be the men from Homicide?”
“That’s right, Homicide — probably Lieutenant Tragg.”
“I like him.”
“Don’t make any mistake about him,” Mason said. “He’s smart.”
“What difference does it make, if we’re going to tell him everything we know?”
“I guess it won’t make any,” Mason said, grinning. “It’s simply that I’m not accustomed to all of this law-abiding frankness. They’ll be as puzzled as I am. They’ll feel we’re holding out something and have a nervous breakdown trying to find out what it is... Okay, Della, I’m on my way.”
Chapter 12
Mason walked down the linoleum-covered hallway of the hospital.
Nurses had begun to quiet the patients down for the evening. The lights were dim and the hospital hush was broken only by the occasional rustle of starched uniforms as nurses on rubber-soled shoes moved swiftly and efficiently about their business.
Mason, feeling embarrassingly healthy, tiptoed awkwardly down the corridor.
The supervising nurse frowned at him, said, “No visitors after...” then, recognizing him, smiled and said, “I think your patient is feeling very very fine this evening, Mr. Mason.”
“How come?” Mason asked.
“This afternoon he was worrying about the hospital bills, wondering how he was ever going to pay them, and...”
“I told him I’d take care of all those,” Mason said.
“I know, but he didn’t want you to do that, Mr. Mason. You’ve been terribly good to him, and of course he didn’t have the faintest idea of who’d hit him. Those hit-and-run cases are really terrible things.”
“And what happened to make him feel good this evening?” Mason asked.
She smiled. “The man who hit him came up and acknowledged the fault and was just ready to do anything on earth.”
“Man by the name of Caffee?” Mason asked, frowning.
“I don’t know what his name was.”
“A man with thin features, gray hair, a gray double-breasted suit, about fifty-five or fifty-six...”
“That’s the one,” she said.
“Humph,” Mason grunted. “I hope he didn’t slip anything over on Bob Finchley. I’d warned that boy not to make any... oh well, let’s go take a look.”
The lawyer forgot to tiptoe. His heels were pounding belligerently on the corridor as he pushed open the door of Room 309. Bob Finchley, lying flat, with an elaborate system of pulleys holding his leg and hip in position, looked up, saw Mason, and a big grin engulfed his features.
“Hello, counselor.”
“Hello, Bob. How’s it coming?”
“Fine, Mr. Mason. Gosh, we’re all out of the woods! You know what happened?”
“What?”
“The man that hit me came in. He’s really a swell guy. He had a young fellow with him from the insurance company, a chap about my age, who was really swell.”
Mason said, “You should have called me.”
“Gosh, I tried to, Mr. Mason, but your office was closed.”
Mason frowned. “All right, Bob. What happened?”
“Well, this man told me that there was no need of my going to court. He wanted to know what I thought it was going to cost me for doctors and hospital bills and then the man from the insurance company said they felt pretty bad about it and — do you know what they did, Mr. Mason?”
Mason drew up a chair. “Look here, Bob. Did you sign anything?”
“Why, sure. I had to in order to get the settlement.”
Mason’s face darkened. “You mean you sold me out, Bob? You settled without me?”
“No, no, Mr. Mason, I fixed it so everything was all right for you. They really paid off.”
“What happened?”
“The insurance adjuster said that he’d pay me five thousand dollars; that they’d pay all of my hospital bills, all of my doctor’s bills, and that they’d agree to pay you a reasonable sum as an attorney’s fee.”
“A reasonable sum,” Mason said.
“That’s what they agreed.”
“Of course,” Mason said, “my idea of what’s reasonable and their idea of what’s reasonable might be very far apart under the circumstances.”
“And in addition to that,” Bob said, “the man gave me his personal check for a thousand dollars over and above what the insurance company would pay.”
“A man by the name of Caffee?” Mason asked.
Bob’s face showed surprise. “No, not Cafifee — Stephen Argyle.”
“What!” Mason exclaimed.
“That’s right.”
Mason said, “Begin at the beginning. Tell me the whole thing. Make it quick, Bob. Get it out just as fast as you can. Did they give you a copy of the document you signed?”
“Yes, sir,”
“Let me see it,” Mason said.
Mason glanced through the document. A slow grin came over his features. “All right, Bob. Now tell me what happened.”
“Well, they came in here about an hour and a half ago, Mr. Mason. It seems that Mr. Argyle was very very much upset. He said he couldn’t talk about the accident, because the insurance company wouldn’t let him, but he was just terribly sorry about everything. He was a nice guy.”
“Go ahead,” Mason said.
“Mr. Argyle is really trying to do the right thing, Mr. Mason. He told me he’d been waiting at your office for you to come in because he wanted to have you with him when he talked with me. He said your office was closed but your confidential secretary was there and that she wasn’t certain you’d be back any more this evening.
“He tried to call you from the hospital here two or three times but there was no answer.”
Mason frowned. “We don’t answer the phone after the office closes. I have an unlisted phone in my private office. I had no idea of what Argyle wanted. I was out on another case.”
“Gee, Mr. Mason, I hope I didn’t do anything wrong.”
Mason shook his head and smiled. “On the contrary, Bob, you did just right.”