Calhoun indicated a comfortable chair, then walked around to the other side of the desk, seated himself in the armchair, propped his elbows on the arm of the chair, extended long, tapering fingers, touched the tips of the fingers of each hand together and assumed his most impressive manner.
Mason said, “I am an attorney at law, Mr. Calhoun, and—”
“Yes, yes, I know all about you, Mr. Mason.”
Mason bowed his head. “And I am here,” he said, “on rather a peculiar matter. I have been asked to deliver to you some contracts which I believe Mr. Gilman has been working on. I think it is only fair to state that I am somewhat in the nature of a common carrier in the matter. I am delivering contracts which I haven’t read and about which I know nothing except I was instructed to deliver them and to instruct you that they were to be executed.”
Calhoun sat forward in the chair, parted his hands and said eagerly, “Yes, yes, Mr. Mason, I’ve been waiting for those contracts all day. A very important business deal is pending and... can you tell me where Mr. Gilman is?”
“I’m afraid I can’t at the moment,” Mason said, with his voice indicating courteous surprise. “He hasn’t been in touch with you?”
“He has not,” Calhoun said, snapping the words out. “It is most unusual. May I see the contracts, please?”
Mason opened the brief case, pulled out the green Bristol-board jacket on which had been scribbled the notation to call Perry Mason in the event of an emergency and giving Mason’s telephone number.
The lawyer carefully extracted the blue-backed contracts.
“It’s all right,” Calhoun said impatiently, his eyes on the inked notation. “Just give me the entire folder, Mr. Mason.”
The lawyer said evenly, “My instructions were to deliver the contracts.”
He handed four contracts over to Calhoun.
Calhoun looked through the contracts to make sure they were all copies of the same instrument, then he turned the pages of the instrument with a quick motion of his long forefinger and thumb. He did this in a practiced manner as though he had long been accustomed to turning pages or perhaps counting money.
When he had finished he looked up with grave dignity and said, “Thank you very much, Mr. Mason.”
There was something about the man’s slender, youthful appearance that made his attempt to impress visitors with the massive furniture of his office, the grave dignity of his manner, seem slightly incongruous.
Mason said, “Since I am acting in an unusual capacity here and in connection with a situation which is somewhat unusual, I would like to have a receipt showing that I have delivered the contracts and showing the time, if you please.”
Calhoun hesitated a moment, then pressed a button.
A moment later his secretary stood in the doorway.
“Will you bring your notebook, Miss Colfax?” he asked.
The secretary smiled. “I have it here, Mr. Calhoun.”
She moved easily into the room, pulled up a small secretarial chair, crossed her knees, giving a generous display of remarkably well-proportioned legs, and poised her notebook on the crossed knee.
“You will write the date, which is the thirteenth,” Roger Calhoun said in the meticulous voice of a schoolteacher giving instructions to pupils. “You will mark the exact time, which at the moment of this delivery was five thirty-two. You will make the receipt to Perry Mason, an attorney at law, and you will note in the receipt that Mr. Mason has delivered to me the original and three copies of a contract covering the proposed purchase by the corporation of all rights in the Barclay Mining Syndicate. You will note that these contracts are delivered for signature by Mr. Mason as attorney for Carter Gilman, who has approved the deal in its present form.”
“Just a minute,” Mason interrupted. “I think we had better leave off that about approving the deal. My instructions were only to deliver the contracts and state they were to be executed.”
“But that’s the sole idea in having the contracts executed,” Calhoun said. “If Gilman doesn’t approve the entire deal he wouldn’t have said to execute the contract.”
“I am interested in your statement to that effect,” Mason said, “but the fact remains that I know nothing whatever about whether Mr. Gilman approves the entire deal.”
Calhoun hesitated a moment, then said, “I think, in order to protect myself, Miss Colfax, I will ask you to type the receipt as I dictated it.”
“All right,” Mason said. “In order to protect myself, I’ll strike out the phrase about Gilman’s approval of the entire deal at the time the receipt is handed to me.”
“I fail to see that the point is of such devastating importance, Mr. Mason,” Calhoun said coldly.
“The matter is of importance as far as I’m concerned,” Mason said. “There’s nothing devastating about it. That’s your adjective. I don’t know what’s important to you. I know what’s important to me.”
Calhoun took a deep breath, said, “Very well, Miss Colfax, you may strike out the phrase about Gilman’s approval and type the receipt, please. Make it in triplicate.”
“Yes, Mr. Calhoun,” she said.
She got to her feet and left the room.
Calhoun looked at his watch and said, “While we are waiting, I would like to discuss some matters which pertain to your client.”
“I haven’t authority to discuss anything,” Mason said. “My sole authorization was to deliver papers.”
“There is no reason why you can’t listen.”
Mason said, “I’ll listen to anything.”
Calhoun once more assumed what apparently was his favorite pose of putting his fingertips together, said, “This is a business dealing with investments. In order to carry on the business it needs a great deal of skill in appraising the market trends and it, of course, requires that our clients have the utmost confidence in the integrity of the executive personnel.”
Calhoun paused as though expecting some sign of agreement, but Mason didn’t so much as nod his head.
Calhoun said, “I don’t know how much you know about the history of your client, Mr. Mason, or about his background. I take it that you must know something.”
As Mason remained silent, Calhoun went on, evidently somewhat nettled. “There are certain things in the background of Mr. Gilman which I hadn’t discovered until recently. Mr. Gilman was married and has one child by that marriage, a very charming young woman, Muriell, who is now, I believe, about twenty years of age.
“His wife died and about five years ago Gilman married his second wife, Nancy. She had been married to Steven A. Barlow, who is at present living in Las Vegas, Nevada and was divorced from him. There is one child, presumably a child of that marriage, named Glamis, who is also a young woman of about twenty years of age.
“I had always supposed that Glamis was the child of the marriage between Nancy and Steven A. Barlow, but recently it has been called to my attention that Glamis is twenty years of age, yet the Barlow marriage was solemnized nineteen years ago. There are some other rather peculiar factors in the background of Glamis. I understand a detective has recently been looking up all these facts.
“Nancy Gilman is an unconventional, Bohemian type. If there should be any scandal involving the daughter it could have serious repercussions as far as this business is concerned.”
Calhoun stopped speaking and looked accusingly at Mason, as though in some way Mason were responsible for the taint of illegitimacy.
Mason said, “If it’s a fair question, how did you get your information about Glamis and about her illegitimacy?”
“The information came to me from a source which I consider authentic,” Calhoun said.
“All right,” Mason told him, “you’ve made a statement. I’ve listened.”
Calhoun moved to the office intercom, depressed a key and said, “Miss Colfax, are the receipts ready?”