“Or she does,” Della Street pointed out.
“Well,” Mason said, “that can account for a lot of things. Ring up the Double-O Motel in Las Vegas, Della. See if you can get Homer Garvin. If you can’t, ask for Lucille and relay the message that the name Mr. Garvin wanted is that of George Casselman, that the address is 948 Christine Drive in the Ambrose Apartments, Apartment 211.”
Della Street nodded, left the office and was back in ten minutes.
“I couldn’t get him, Chief, but I did talk with Lucille and left the message with her.”
“Did you get her last name or find out anything about her?”
“From the way she answered the phone I have an idea she’s the manager of the motel. I simply asked for Lucille and the woman who had answered said that she was Lucille. I told her my name and she asked if I had a message for Mr. Garvin. So I gave her Casselman’s name and address.”
Mason lit a cigarette, and frowned thoughtfully.
“So what do you do, if anything?” Della Street asked.
Mason said, “Under the circumstances, I think I am free to call on Mr. Casselman this evening before Stephanie Falkner gets there. I suppose further that a wedding present is in order for Homer Garvin, Jr. You had better organize yourself into a shopping department, Della... something around fifty dollars.”
“Will Casselman talk with you?” Della Street asked.
“I don’t know,” Mason said, “but if he’s in, I’ll talk with him!”
Chapter Five
Promptly at eight o’clock Mason parked his car across the street from the Ambrose Apartments and walked over to the entrance.
To the right of the door was a long row of push-buttons. To the right of each push-button was a name and an apartment number, and to the right of the card was the end of an old-fashioned speaking tube.
Apartment 211 had the name Casselman opposite it.
Mason pressed the call button.
Almost immediately there was an answer. “Who is it?”
“Mr. Mason.”
“What do you want?”
“I want to see you.”
“What about?”
“About some stock.”
A moment later the buzzer which released the electric catch on the front door sounded.
Mason pushed the front door open, climbed a flight of stairs to the second floor, walked down a corridor to where a figure was standing in a lighted doorway.
“You’re Mason?” the man asked.
“Yes. Casselman?”
“That’s right.”
“I wanted to talk with you about some stock. I’m representing Homer Garvin. Does the name mean anything to you?”
The man who had been silhouetted in the lighted doorway suddenly stepped back. The light from the inside illuminated sharp, thin features. The man was slender, alert and about thirty-five years of age. He was smiling broadly.
“Yes, yes, Mr. Mason. It means a good deal to me. Won’t you come in, please?”
Casselman flashed a glance at a wristwatch. “May I ask how you located me here?”
Mason said curtly, “I’m a lawyer,” as though that explained everything.
“Oh yes, I see. The question still remains that... Good heavens! You aren’t Perry Mason?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, well! This is indeed a pleasure.”
Casselman extended his hand. Mason shook hands. Casselman’s fingers were wiry and strong. “Sit down, Mr. Mason. Sit down. Can I get you a drink?”
“No thanks,” Mason said, “I haven’t much time.”
Again Casselman looked at his watch. “I’m rather pressed for time myself, Counselor. I have another appointment. Shall we get down to business?”
Mason nodded, sat down and took a cigarette from his case.
“I take it you’re familiar with the outstanding stock in the corporation?”
“That’s right.
“I control forty-five per cent of the stock. Your client has fifteen per cent and Stephanie Falkner has forty per cent.”
“Uh-huh,” Mason said, exhaling a cloud of cigarette smoke, crossing his long legs, and settling back in the chair comfortably.
“These Nevada corporations are different from some of the others,” Casselman said. “Gambling is legalized in Nevada, and of course that makes a difference.”
“Naturally,” Mason said.
“Gambling attracts gamblers,” Casselman said.
“Exactly,” Mason observed.
“And since gambling is not legalized in other states, the activities of gamblers are quite frequently associated with illegalities.”
“Naturally.”
“That is something many people don’t appreciate in dealing with situations of this sort.”
“I appreciate it.”
“Let’s get down to brass tacks. What will Garvin take for his stock?”
“What will you give?”
“I am prepared to make one final definite offer.”
“What is it?”
“I’ll give thirty thousand dollars for that fifteen per cent of the stock.”
“It’s worth more.”
“That’s a matter of opinion. You are entitled to yours, I am entitled to mine. It’s worth thirty thousand to me only because it would represent the controlling interest.”
“I’ll pass the offer on to my client, but I don’t think it’s going to be satisfactory.”
“Well, that’s as high as we’ll go and I can point out one other thing to you, Mr. Mason.”
“What?”
“If by any chance we should get control of the corporation, that offer will of course be withdrawn. Once we get control we’ll buy out Garvin at our own price.”
“I don’t think so,” Mason said.
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t think you realize how much trouble a minority stockholder can be in a corporation of this nature.”
“Perhaps you don’t realize the type of person you’d be dealing with,” Casselman said.
“That’s entirely possible,” Mason told him. “Perhaps the others don’t realize the type of person they’d be dealing with.”
Casselman said, “Now, look, Mason, let’s keep this on a business basis. Let’s not get personal. You might get hurt.”
Mason said, “I’m not a damned bit afraid of getting hurt. I don’t frighten easily. Glenn Falkner was murdered. You went out and bought up three blocks of stock because the stockholders were frightened. Garvin isn’t frightened and I’m not frightened.”
“I don’t want any trouble, Mason,” Casselman said at length.
“Then don’t ask for it,” Mason told him. “For your information, Garvin won’t sell you his stock so you can get control of the corporation and then buy out the Falkner stock at your own price. We’ll offer you Garvin’s holdings as a part of a unit transaction with Stephanie Falkner.”
Casselman said suddenly, “All right. I’ll give her the same price. If you can...”
Abruptly the telephone rang. Casselman jumped nervously, said, “Excuse me a moment.” He walked into another room, picked up the telephone, and Mason heard him say, “Hello... You can’t — not now!” There was a moment’s silence, then Casselman said something in a low voice which Mason could not hear. After that he said, “Okay, give me two minutes,” and hung up without saying good-bye.
Casselman returned to the room, plainly uneasy and impatient, and said, “Mr. Mason, I’m going to have to ask you to excuse me. I have an appointment at eight-thirty, and a very important matter has come up which I have to dispose of between now and then.”
“Very well,” Mason said, moving toward the door. “How about giving me your telephone number?”
“I’m sorry. It’s an unlisted number.”
Mason stood with his hand on the knob, waiting.
Casselman said hurriedly, “All right, it’s Belding 6-9754.”