“Don’t let yourself get that way,” Mason interrupted. “A dubious lawyer isn’t worth a damn to himself or to his client. If you think we have a chance, go to it.”
“Very well. Since there is the question of advancing money for an investigation, I thought I should have your permission before incurring the expense.”
“You have it,” Mason said.
Jackson closed the door, and Mason looked at Della Street with twinkling eyes. “You must admit Jackson’s a bit conservative.”
Della said demurely, “Aren’t all lawyers?”
Mason raised his eyebrows and Della added hastily, “An impulsive lawyer might be dangerous.”
“The trouble,” Mason said, “is that cautious lawyers get in a rut. Now take Jackson. His mind is occupied with demurrers, with pleas in confession-and-avoidance. He has no use for the extemporaneous. He has thwarted all impulses. He never trusts his own ideas. Unless he can find a case which is ‘on all fours’ he’s afraid even to think. When he married, he married a widow. He doubtless could make no romantic approach to a woman until he had evidence that previous romantic activities had been established, thereby having the assurance of precedent and...”
Mason’s telephone rang. Mason nodded to Della, and she answered it, turned to Mason and said, “Gertie wants to know if you will accept a call from Mr. Sticklan of the firm of Sticklan, Crowe & Ross. He insists on talking with you personalty.”
Mason reached for the telephone. “Tell Gertie to put him on— Hello.”
“C. V. Sticklan, Mr. Mason, of Sticklan, Crowe & Ross.”
“Yes, Mr. Sticklan.”
“Are you representing a client by the name of Bickler — Arthur Bickler? An auto accident case?”
“Yes”.
“What,” Sticklan asked, “would your clients want by way of settlement?”
“How much are you willing to pay?”
Sticklan’s voice was cautious. “For a complete release from all parties concerned, my clients might go as high as three hundred dollars.”
“You’re representing the Skinner Hills Karakul Company?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll call you back.”
“Call me as soon as you can,” Sticklan said. “My client is anxious to get the matter disposed of.”
Mason hung up the phone, grinned at Della Street and said, “Things are looking up, Della, Ask Jackson to come in here.”
A few moments later, Della Street was back with Jackson in tow.
“The Bicklers still in your office?” Mason asked.
“Yes.”
“How much do they want for complete settlement?”
“I haven’t discussed that. He feels his automobile was damaged to the extent of two hundred and fifty dollars.”
“How much was it actually damaged?”
“Well,” Jackson said dubiously, “if you could get the parts, the damage might not be so great. But then, of course — well, in any event, two hundred and fifty dollars is what he wants.”
“And Mrs. Bickler, what does she want for her nervous shock?”
“She’s talking about five hundred dollars.”
“They’d settle for seven hundred and fifty?”
“Oh, unquestionably. Five hundred would be considered a good settlement.”
“Go see them,” Mason said. “Find out if five hundred is all right.”
Jackson was gone for less than two minutes. “Five hundred dollars for a cash settlement will be very acceptable,” he said.
Mason’s eyes were twinkling. He picked up the telephone, said to Gertie, “Get me C. V. Sticklan, of Sticklan, Crowe & Ross, on the telephone.”
A few moments later when he had Sticklan on the telephone Mason said, “I find the situation a little more serious than I had at first suspected. Not only is there a property damage, but Mrs. Bickler suffered a severe nervous shock and...”
“How much?” Sticklan interrupted.
“Moreover,” Mason went on, “there was a highhanded disregard of the rights of our client, the larceny of...”
“How much?”
“Twenty-five hundred dollars.”
“What!” Sticklan shouted.
“You heard me,” Mason said. “Next time, don’t interrupt me when I’m listing a client’s grievances.”
“That’s absurd. That’s outrageous. That’s out of all reason.”
“Okay,” Mason said. “Have it your own way,” and promptly hung up the telephone.
Jackson’s eyes were wide. “What,” he asked, “is the idea?”
Mason placed his watch on the desk. “Give him five minutes. That will give him an opportunity to communicate with his client and make me a counter offer.”
“But how did these lawyers know we were handling the case?”
“Probably tried to reach the Bicklers, found out they were at a lawyer’s office, asked the neighbors... How the devil do I know, Jackson? The point is they’re in a frenzy to get it cleaned up.”
Mason watched the second hand on his watch. The telephone rang.
“Two minutes and ten seconds,” Mason said cheerfully, and picked up the telephone.
“Mr. Mason,” Sticklan said, his voice harsh with anxiety, “I’ve communicated with my clients. They feel that the demands of your clients are out of all reason.”
“All right,” Mason said cheerfully, “we’ll file suit and see how a jury feels about it. We...”
“But my clients,” Sticklan interrupted hastily, “are prepared to offer twelve hundred and fifty dollars for a complete settlement.”
“No soap,” Mason announced.
“Look here,” Sticklan pleaded. “In order to get the matter disposed of, I’ll take the responsibility of asking them to put on another two hundred and fifty dollars and make it a total of fifteen hundred dollars.”
Mason said, “Mrs. Bickler sustained a severe nervous shock.”
“Nothing that a little money won’t cure, I trust,” Sticklan said sarcastically.
“That’s doing my client an injustice,” Mason reproached. “Tell you what I’ll do, Sticklan. Tell your clients that if they’ll pay two thousand dollars within the next hour, we’ll sign a settlement. How soon will you let me know?”
“Just a moment,” Sticklan said. “Hold the phone.”
Mason heard the faint murmur of voices, then Sticklan was back on the line. “Very well, Mr. Mason, one of my men will be over at your office with a certified check within thirty minutes. Have your clients wait there, please. There’ll be a complete release for them to sign. We’ll want the release signed in front of a notary.”
Mason grinned at Jackson as he hung up. “Probably,” he announced, “my conscience should bother me, Jackson, but it doesn’t.”
Jackson’s forehead was furrowed. “I don’t know how you do it. I’d have settled for five hundred,” he said glumly. “I lived a hundred years in that two minutes and ten seconds.”
Mason said, “Just a moment before you go, Jackson. I seem to recall having heard something about the Skinner Hills recently. Don’t we have a matter in the office pertaining to property in that district?”
Jackson shook his head, then suddenly caught himself and said “Wait a minute! There’s that Kingman case.”
“Just what is the Kingman case?” Mason asked.
“Remember you received a letter from Adelaide Kingman that you turned over to me? I corresponded with her and advised bringing suit to quiet title. But she didn’t feel that she had the money to go ahead with a lawsuit, so I guess the matter has been virtually dropped.”
“Tell me more about it,” Mason said.
Jackson cleared his throat with the somewhat pompous formality which was a characteristic preliminary of all his legal utterances. “Adelaide Kingman has the record title to a tract of land in the Skinner Hills district, a piece, covering eighty acres of hillside. She executed a contract of sale with a sheepherder named Frank Palermo. The contract price was, I believe, around five hundred dollars. The land is virtually valueless except for a very few acres which are suitable for sheep grazing. Palermo didn’t pay the contract price, but insists that he is entitled to the property because of some financial failure on her part. He’s been in possession for several years and has had the property assessed to him and paid the taxes. He claims to have a title by adverse possession. Apparently he’s one of those smart, cunning, grasping, aggressive individuals who try to chisel at every opportunity.”