Mason regarded the jurist thoughtfully. “It is almost as if Mrs. Carson had been reading your mind.”
“Yes?” Judge Goodwin asked.
“She seems to be utilizing the situation for all it is worth. For instance, I understand she put on a very abbreviated bikini and took occasion to take a sunbath on her half of the swimming pool while my client was inspecting the barbed-wire division.”
“And your client objected to that?” Judge Goodwin asked, smiling.
“Well, it made an embarrassing situation.”
“Embarrassing for whom?”
“Generally embarrassing,” Mason said.
“Vivian Carson is a very attractive woman,” Judge Goodwin said. “She was, I understand, a highly successful model before she was married. She’s doubtless been seen in a bikini before. I doubt if she was embarrassed.”
Mason said, “It makes the grass on the other side of the fence look rather green to a bachelor, and that may be what she has in mind.”
“That may well be,” Judge Goodwin said, “but let’s not have any misunderstanding, Mr. Mason. If your client so much as sticks a finger through that fence or does anything to invade the premises on the other side of the property line, the court will consider that conduct a violation of the restraining order.
“After all, your client is an assignee of Loring Carson. He’s claiming title under Loring Carson. Very frankly, and off the record, I hope to see Loring Carson suffer just as much inconvenience as possible, because I want to see him pay through the nose. I think he has been milking cash out of his income for some time and concealing it. I think he has been cheating the Internal Revenue Service and I think he has been concealing his true financial status from his wife. I doubt if his wife can hire detectives and smoke out the facts, but if your client gets mad enough, I think he’ll get a judgment against Carson and then I think he’ll be man enough to find these hidden assets. When he does that, I’ll reopen proceedings on the property division and reapportion the community property.
“Now that may or may not be good law, but it’s good psychology. It may teach Loring Carson that he can’t pull a financial razzle-dazzle on this court and then stand back and laugh about it.”
“It’s an intriguing situation,” Mason said, eyeing Judge Goodwin shrewdly. “When the newspaper reporters get hold of it, it’s certainly good for a feature story.”
Judge Goodwin nodded, then grinned.
“Damn it,” Mason charged, “you engineered this whole thing. You knew exactly what was going to happen and you’re sitting back there and enjoying it.”
Judge Goodwin said, “When I sit as a judge in a case I try to do substantial justice between the parties. I can only make decrees, and decrees are simply pieces of paper. I have, however, made a judgment in this case which I think will eventually get results.”
Mason got to his feet. “All right, Your Honor,” he said, bowing. “And keeping my remarks off the record, I can assure you that your judgment has raised hell.”
Judge Goodwin said, “If you are waiting to hear any expressions of regret from me, Mason, you’ll have to wait a lot longer than I’m going to be here.”
Chapter 3
Mason rang his office and, when the switchboard operator answered, said, “Let me talk with Della Street.”
A moment later his secretary came on the line and he said, “Judge Goodwin is sympathetic to our client but just as firm as a brick wall as far as his decision is concerned, Della. He says that Loring Carson is a heel and the best way he can reach Carson is through a decision of this sort. He’s hoping that our client, Morley Eden, will proceed to put Loring Carson through a meat grinder.”
“And so?” Della asked.
“So,” Mason said, “I am going out and look the premises over. I just wanted to let you know there’s no need for you to wait.”
“Isn’t it a little late for that?”
“What do you mean, Della?”
“The ex-model in the bikini will probably be well finished with her sunbath.”
Mason laughed. “She might be in an attractive skin-tight cocktail gown by this time.”
“How delightful,” Della Street said. “You can have a neighborly chat, with cocktails served through a five-strand barbed-wire fence. Be careful you don’t get scratched.”
“I’ll do that,” Mason said. “Button up the office for the night, Della. Give Morley Eden a ring and tell him I’m on my way out.”
Following the sketch map his client had given Della, Mason came at last to a road which wound through rolling hills to end on a natural plateau beyond which there was a drop-off into a little valley purpled with the rays of the declining sun.
The house was a long, low structure with artificially weathered thick shingles. It had the appearance of having aged naturally and blended perfectly with the surroundings.
The driveway which approached the house was bisected by a five-strand barbed-wire fence, anchored to a concrete post in the middle of the driveway.
Mason took the left-hand drive, noticing as he did so that the parking place, most of which was on the right-hand side of the barbed-wire fence, was well filled with cars.
As Mason brought his car to a stop in front of sweeping semicircular steps leading to the front door, Morley Eden, who had evidently been watching the driveway, opened the door and walked across the broad porch area to greet the lawyer.
“Believe it or not,” Eden said, “they’re having a party, and it’s the damnedest party you ever saw.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“There isn’t a man in the place; just a flock of good-looking women. From the looks of them I’d say they were all models. Perfect figures, snaky gowns that cling like the skin on a sausage.”
“They’re talking with you?” Mason asked.
“Not a word. They’re waiting for me to break the ice, I guess.”
“You break the ice and you’ll land in jail,” Mason said. “This whole thing is an elaborate trap. Technically you are claiming under Loring Carson. Therefore you come within the provisions of the restraining order relating to his agents and assigns. If you interfere in any way with the possession of that other side of the house, your goose is cooked. That’s why Vivian Carson is bringing out all this tempting array of feminine pulchritude. She hopes that you’ll be encouraged to take the initiative and make a pass.”
“I gathered as much,” Eden said, “but this is the sort of torture a man can’t endure very long.”
“Check out, then, and go to a hotel,” Mason said.
Eden’s jaw clamped shut. “I’ll be damned if I will! I’ll fight it out with her on these grounds if it takes all winter. Come on in and take a look.”
Eden held the door open. Mason entered a reception hall, walked through an arched doorway which could be shut off from the reception hall by heavy draperies and down three steps to a living room. It was sumptuously furnished and lighted by concealed lights which gave the room an atmosphere of soft moonlight.
About one-third of the room was separated by the taut strands of the barbed-wire fence, which ran in a mathematically straight line directly through the house and through the wall. Above it stretched a rod.
On the other side of the fence a group of women, seemingly oblivious to their unusual surroundings, were having cocktails and chatting gaily, their voices at times rising to a crescendo of rapid communication which indicated the liquid in the cocktail glasses had plenty of alcoholic content.
Apparently no one noticed Mason entering the room and no one paid the slightest attention to Morley Eden as he stood and gestured with his hand. “There you are,” he said.