“Gosh, I’m glad of that! The way you acted at first... well, I wasn’t sure.”
Mason pocketed the signed copy of the release, said, “Usually whenever anything like this happens, we tell the client not to make any independent settlement, because the lawyer can make a better settlement than the client can ever hope to. But this time, because we didn’t know who had hit you, and it didn’t look as though there’d ever be much chance of finding out, I neglected to give you the usual warning. How’s your head? Hurting much?”
“No, it’s feeling swell... Gosh Mr. Mason, I hope I didn’t... hope I didn’t...”
“Not a bit,” Mason said, grinning. “That signed receipt you have releases Stephen Argyle for any and all claims you may have against him for his own acts and/or those of his agents from the beginning of the world to date.”
“Well, isn’t that receipt all right?”
“Sure, it’s all right,” Mason said, “but now remember, Bob, don’t sign anything else. No matter who comes to you with anything, or what offer is made to you, don’t sign anything. Understand?”
“Why, yes, sir.”
“Now the insurance company gave you a check, and Argyle gave you a check?”
“Yes, sir. That’s right.”
“And what about your mother?”
“They’re going to see her. They had me telephone her. They asked me if I thought a thousand dollars would cover the effect of her shock... I knew Mom would be tickled to death with that settlement, but I looked thoughtful, and then Mr. Argyle said, ‘And I’ll raise that another five hundred dollars by my personal check.’ So I guess they’re making a settlement with Mom.”
Mason said, “That’s fine, Bob. Now I want you to endorse those checks and give them to me. I’m going to see that they’re deposited to your credit first thing in the morning. You have an account?”
“Just a small one. Just a few dollars that I’d been saving up for my next year in college, in the Farmers and Mechanics National.”
“All right,” Mason said. “Write on the back of those checks ‘Endorsed for deposit to my account,’ then sign your name on them, give them to me, and I’ll have my secretary take them down and deposit them to your account first thing in the morning.”
“Gee, Mr. Mason, that’ll be swell! Tell me, honestly, did I do wrong in making this settlement?”
“Under the circumstances,” Mason said, “you did all right, but don’t do it again. If anybody comes with anything for you to sign, no matter what it is, just tell them you’re not signing a thing. Can you do that?”
“Yes, sir. I think so.”
Mason took out his fountain pen. “All right now, endorse those checks. Be sure to endorse them only for deposit so that in that way nothing can be done with them except to put them to your account.”
“Well, Mr. Mason, how about your fee? Are they going to...”
“You’re damn right they are,” Mason said, handing him the fountain pen. “They usually think they’re pulling a fast one when they tell an injured party they’ll pay a ‘reasonable’ attorney’s fee. They offer the lawyer some absurdly small amount and then point out he’ll have to sue to get any more. By the time they get done they whittle the thing down until...”
“Gosh, Mr. Mason,” Finchley exclaimed in dismay, “they aren’t going to do that to you, are they?”
“No,” Mason said, smiling, “they aren’t going to do that to me. You see, Bob, the insurance people were so afraid they’d admit liability that they made these releases read that they still denied their policy holder had actually inflicted the injury, but were making a settlement just to avoid litigation.”
“Well, isn’t that all right?” Finchley asked.
“Sure, it’s all right,” Mason grinned, “particularly because their policy holder really didn’t inflict the injury. Tomorrow we’ll make another settlement with the man who really hit you. And in the meantime we’ll deposit these checks.
“And that should teach the insurance company not to sneak around behind a lawyer’s back.
“Now you go to sleep, Bob.”
And Mason gently closed the door to the patient’s room.
Chapter 13
Whistling a tune, his hat pushed jauntily to the back of his head, Mason opened the door of his office and found Della Street pounding away at her typewriter.
“For heaven’s sake,” Mason exclaimed, “you do enough work during office hours. When I leave you here like this at night to keep an eye on things, don’t try to ruin your nervous system by pounding away at that typewriter.”
“This was some stuff that’s important, and...”
“And your health is important too,” Mason said. “This job isn’t particularly easy on the nerves. What happened to the police, Della?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t heard a peep out of them.”
Mason frowned. “That’s something I can’t understand. They should have been here hours ago.”
“You didn’t hear anything?”
“No, I’ve been out at the hospital.”
“How’s Bob Finchley?”
Mason grinned and perched himself on the edge of his desk. “Now there, Della,” he said, “we have the bright spot of my entire legal career.”
“Tell me about it.”
Mason said, “The better class of insurance companies are always willing to deal with a lawyer, but there’s a certain type of adjuster who loves to cut a lawyer’s throat.”
Della Street nodded.
“Obviously,” Mason went on, “they figure they can settle with a client a lot cheaper than they can with a lawyer, and if they can get the client to make a settlement by assuring him that they’ll agree to pay his lawyer ‘a reasonable fee’ the client thinks that’s all there is to it. He doesn’t realize that the insurance company will then offer the lawyer a nominal fee and tell him to file suit if he wants to get any more.
“That puts the lawyer in the position of having to throw in a lawsuit in order to get what’s really coming to him and even then a jury is usually inclined to look at the thing from a layman’s viewpoint, so he takes the offer and grits his teeth.
“A lawyer has a lot of overhead. He has to keep his office running and when he handles a personal injury case, he has to get a pretty good fee from the ones he wins in order to compensate for all of the time, energy and money spent in connection with the ones he loses.”
“Are you trying to tell me the financial problems of running a law office?” Della demanded. “If you could see the bookkeeping headaches I have with five people on your payroll...”
Mason grinned. “No, Della, I’m simply feeling so darned good that I have to begin from scratch.”
“Well, then,” she told him, smiling, “by all means proceed from scratch.” She pushed her chair back and came over to sit on the desk beside Mason. “All right, what happened?”
“The long arm of coincidence is playing right into our hands, Della.”
“How come?”
“Evidently Argyle’s chauffeur must have had the car out on the third and hit someone. He went to Argyle and without telling him any details let Argyle know he was in a mess. So Argyle decided to be smart, took the car out, parked it in front of a fireplug and then went to the club and reported it as being stolen. And to make his story stand up, bribed the doorman to say he hadn’t been out all afternoon.”
Della frowned. “Then Argyle’s chauffeur was the one who was driving the car that hit...”
Mason grinned. “Don’t be silly. It was Daniel Caffee, but Argyle thought his chauffeur was guilty.”
“So what happened?”