The Case of the Dangerous Dowager

Dowager

April, 1937.

DELLA STREET – Perry Mason's devoted secretary, who is always urging her boss to be careful

PAUL DRAKE – A tall man with a carp-like grin who does all the leg work for Perry Mason

ARTHUR MANNING – Special officer on the gambling ship The Horn of Plenty

SAM GRIEB – Owner of The Horn of Plenty, and not averse to a little blackmail

CHARLIE DUNCAN – Grieb's shrewd partner, bald-headed, forty-five, and disarmingly pleasant

SYLVIA OXMAN – Who likes roulette and makes no bones about it

PERKINS – Who isn't an ex-jailer for nothing

JIMMY – Suspicious, close-mouthed bartender on The Horn of Plenty

BERT CUSTER – Who knows about guns

MARILYN SMITH – Bert's girl, who is observant as well as affectionate

FLO BELGRADE – A mercenary blonde – the kind you wouldn't trust around the block

GEORGE BELGRADE – Who sells out to the newspapers, and who would be married to just such a blonde

FRANK OXMAN – Who wants evidence against his wife

BASIL WILSON – Federal District Attorney and PERRY MASON

"No," she said, "I haven't killed anyone – not yet, I haven't. But don't think I'm a peaceful old lady who sits by the fire and knits, because I'm not. I'm a hard-bitten old hellion."

The lawyer laughed. "Perhaps," he said, "this gambling girl you wanted to see me about may be overshadowed by a…"

"Dowager," she said, as he hesitated. "Go on and say it – a dangerous dowager. I saw you in court when you were trying that howling dog case, Mr. Mason. I liked you because you fought every inch of the way. I'm something of a fighter myself."

Della Street, catching Mason's eye, said to the woman, "I'd like to have your name, age, and address for our office records."

"The name's Matilda Benson," the dowager said. "The address is 1090 Wedgewood Drive. The age is none of your business."

"How long have you been smoking cigars?" Mason asked curiously.

Her eyes flicked back to his. "Ever since I kicked loose from the conventional traces."

"When was that?"

"After my husband died and I realized what spineless hypocrites my relatives were… do you have to go into all that?"

Mason said, "I'd like to know something about your background. Go ahead. You're doing fine – So you kicked over the traces?"

"Yes. And I'm getting worse every year. My husband's relatives think I'm a brand for the burning – and I don't give a damn what they think! You hear a lot about people who are afraid to die. Well, they're nothing compared to the ones who are afraid to live – people who go through life just making motions – and conventional motions at that. My relatives think I've started Sylvia on the downward path and…"

"Who's Sylvia?" Mason interrupted.

"My granddaughter."

"Married?"

"Yes. To Frank Oxman. And they have a daughter, Virginia. She's six now."

"So," Mason said, "you're a great-grandmother?"

She puffed contentedly at the big cigar. "Yes," she admitted, "I'm a great-grandmother."

"Tell me some more about your husband's relatives," the lawyer invited. "Have you been fighting with them?"

"Not particularly. I got fed up with them, with what they stood for. I just revolted, that's all."

"Revolted at what?"

She frowned impatiently, "Why worry so much about my ideas of life?"

"Because they're interesting. I want to get your mental background before I decide whether I can take your case."

"Well," she said, "I'm making up some of my lost life. I was brought up according to rigid, puritanic standards. None of the people around me took time out to enjoy life. They couldn't enjoy youth because they were preparing to take a part in life. They couldn't enjoy themselves after that because they were saving money for their old age. And they put in their old age making peace with God. I was brought up on that philosophy. Then my husband died and I was left alone. There was some insurance money. I invested that and did well with it. I started to travel, looked around me, and decided I might as well enjoy life. I was past sixty and I'd never really lived.

"Now I drink, swear, smoke cigars, and do as I damn please. I'm tired of living a treadmill existence. I have enough money to allow me to do things the way I want."

"And you need a lawyer?" Mason asked.

She nodded, suddenly serious.

"Why? Are you in some trouble?"

"Not yet."

"But you expect to be?"

She pursed her lips thoughtfully, regarded the tip of her cigar, flicked the ash from it with a deftly expert little finger, and said, "I hope it won't come to that."

"Exactly what is it," Mason asked, "that you want me to do?"

"Do you know a man by the name of Sam Grieb?"

"No. Who is he?"

"He's a gambler He and a man by the name of Duncan run The Horn of Plenty. That's the gambling ship that's anchored out beyond the twelve-mile limit."

"What about Grieb?" Mason asked.

"He's put Sylvia in a spot."

"How?"

"He has her IOU's."

"For how much?"

"Somewhere around seven thousand dollars."

"What were they given for?" Mason asked.

"Gambling debts."

"And you want me to get those without paying…"

"Certainly not," she interrupted. "I want you to pay every cent that's due on them. But I don't want to be held up for a bonus. I'll pay debts, but I won't pay blackmail."

"Do you mean to say," Mason asked, puzzled, "that Grieb won't surrender the IOU's for their face value? Why, he'd have to. He'd be…"

"Don't jump at conclusions, young man," she snapped. "There's a lot more to this than you know about. There's a lot more to it than I'm going to tell you. But Grieb has heard in a roundabout way that Sylvia's husband, Frank Oxman, might be willing to pay more than face value for those IOU's."

"Why?" Mason asked.

"Evidence," she snapped.

"Evidence of what?"

"Evidence that Sylvia is a chronic gambler and can't be trusted with money."

"Why does Frank want to get evidence of that?"

"Because he does."

"Why does he?"

"I don't think," she said, "I'm going into that right now. All I want you to do is get those IOU's. I'll give you the money to take them up. If you have to pay a bonus, pay a bonus, but don't pay a big one. I hate blackmail and I hate blackmailers."

"But," Mason objected, "you don't need me. Simply give your granddaughter the money and tell her to go to the gambling ship and take up the IOU's. They'd have to surrender them if she offered to redeem them."

Matilda Benson shook her head. "I don't want to make it that easy for her. I'm going to teach my granddaughter a lesson by scaring the hell out of her. I want you to get those IOU's and give them to me as soon as you get them. I don't care how you get them."

"I'm afraid," Mason said, "I wouldn't care to handle it. After all, this isn't a legal matter. It's something a detective can handle to better advantage. Now, Paul Drake, of the Drake Detective Agency, handles my work. He's thoroughly competent and trustworthy. I'll put you in touch with him and…"

"I don't want a detective," she interrupted. "I want you."

"But if you hired me," Mason protested, "I'd turn around and hire Drake. He does all my leg work."

"I don't care what you do, nor whom you hire," Matilda Benson said. "That's up to you. And don't think this is going to be an easy job. You're going up against a crook who is smart as a steel trap and absolutely ruthless."

Mason said, "I'm afraid you're making a mountain out of a molehill."

"No," she said, "you're the one who's making a molehill out of a mountain. I'll pay you a retainer of twenty-five hundred dollars. I'll pay you another twenty-five hundred when you get those IOU's, if you can get them in such a way that my name doesn't figure in it. And I'll pay all your expenses, including whatever you have to pay out for detectives and whatever you have to pay to get those IOU's. That's fair, isn't it?"

Mason watched her with a puzzled frown.

"Could I," he asked, "go out to call on Grieb and tell him I was acting as Sylvia's attorney and…"

"No, because he'd tell Sylvia, and Sylvia mustn't know anything about it."

"And you don't want Grieb to know that you're interested in it?"

"No. Aside from that, the sky's the limit. You can work any scheme on him you want to. But don't let him know you're willing to pay a bonus, because the minute you do he'll stall you off until he can get to Frank Oxman for a bigger bid and start playing you, one against the other."

"That," Mason admitted, "complicates matters."

"Of course it complicates matters. I haven't the faintest idea how you're going about it. But I do know that if anyone can handle those two crooks, you're the one to do it."

"You don't think they've approached Oxman yet?"

"Not yet."

Mason stared thoughtfully at the carpet for a moment, then raised his eyes and said smilingly, "Let's go."

Matilda Benson pulled a sheaf of hundred-dollar bills from her handbag. "This," she said, "is the money you can use in taking up the IOU's. You'll have to pay cash. The balance will apply on your fees and expenses."

Mason took the money. "My secretary will give you a receipt, Mrs. Benson, and…"

"I don't want a receipt," she said.

The lawyer regarded her quizzically.

"You see," she said, "I know all about the person with whom I'm dealing. And," she added with a chuckle, "that's more than you can say, Mr. Perry Mason. Good day!"

Della Street nodded. "How are you going about it, Chief?" she asked.

"I've got a scheme," he told her, "that may work. We'll lay a trap and see if Sam Grieb walks into it."

"Suppose he doesn't?"

Mason grinned and said, "Then we'll think up another scheme."

"I don't suppose," she said, her eyes wistful, "that it would do any good to ask you to be careful?"

"None whatever."

"Why can't you let Paul Drake handle those gamblers?"

"Because my client doesn't want Paul, she wants me. I collected the fee and I take the responsibility."

"Most generals," she pointed out, "don't go into the front-line trenches."

"And thereby miss all the fun," he told her.

She nodded slowly. "Yes," she agreed, "life in this office never lacks for excitement."

"Like it, Della?"

"Of course I like it."

"Then why adopt that hang-your-clothes-on-a-hickory-limb-but-don't-go-near-the-water attitude?"

"Just my maternal instinct, Chief."

"You're too young to have maternal instincts."

"You'd be surprised. There's Paul Drake at the door, now." Della Street crossed the office, opened a door and nodded to the tall man who grinned down at her.

Drake's mouth twisted into a carp-like grin as he closed the door behind him and said, "My God, Perry, don't tell me you're starting a new case. Or did you want to conduct a postmortem on that other one?"

Mason said, "The other one's finished, Paul. This is a new one. Do you own any evening clothes?"

The detective chuckled. "Sure, I list them in my office inventory as a disguise. Why?"

"Know a man by the name of Sam Grieb?"

"You mean the gambler?"

"Yes."

"Know of him. I don't know him personally. He runs this gambling ship, The Horn of Plenty, which is anchored out beyond the twelve-mile limit. Every once in a while they try to control him by passing ordinances about the speed boats that run out there, but they don't get very far with it."

"What's his reputation, Paul?" Mason asked.

"Hard as steel and cold as concrete," the detective said. "He's a good business man, and he's reported to be making money. I can find out all about him within twenty-four hours if you want."

"No," Mason said, "that isn't going to be necessary, Paul. Here's the sketch. A married woman, name of Sylvia Oxman, has left IOU's with Grieb. These IOU's amount to somewhere around seven thousand dollars. She hasn't the money to take them up right now. And her husband's willing to pay a bonus to get his hands on them. That's all anyone has told me, and that's all I'm telling you. I did a little thinking. You can do the same."

"Well," Drake said, "if Grieb wants to peddle those IOU's to the husband, there isn't any way we can stop him, is there?… Unless the woman went out there and paid off the IOU's and demanded possession of them."

Mason grinned. "Looking at it from a purely ethical and legal standpoint, Paul, you may be right."

The detective crossed his fingers. "I suppose you've hatched out some scheme by which we'll just scrape past the walls of State's Prison, if we're lucky, and be corpses or convicts if we're not. Well, Perry, count me out. I've had enough."

Mason said, "Now, listen, Paul, there's no law against a man taking any name he wants to, provided he doesn't do it for the purpose of defrauding some other person. Now I want you to go down to a bank where you're not personally known and deposit one thousand dollars in the name of Frank Oxman. Register your signature as Frank Oxman and get a book of blank checks."

Drake straightened to rigid attention and said suspiciously, "Then what?"

"Then," Mason said, "we go out aboard the gambling ship and you lose a couple hundred bucks gambling. You make out a check for five hundred dollars, sign it 'Frank Oxman' and ask the croupier if he'll accept it. The croupier will send the check in to Sam Grieb for an okay. Grieb will figure Frank Oxman has come aboard and that it'll be a swell chance to sell him the IOU's at a bonus. He'll ask you to step into the office to be identified and start asking you questions. You can pretend that you're afraid he's trying to trap you, and deny that you're the Frank Oxman he thinks you are; but you'll do it in such a way that it will convince Grieb you're lying. Then Grieb will make us an offer on Sylvia Oxman's IOU's.

"Now get this sketch, Paul. If Oxman himself isn't willing to pay a premium for those IOU's, no one is. So when Grieb suggests that you take them up, you show a big lack of enthusiasm. Finally offer him a five-hundred-dollar or a thousand-dollar bonus and say that's as high as you'll go. We'll go another five hundred if we have to."

"Wait a minute," Drake protested, "ain't that getting pretty close to the line, Perry? I don't want to get hooked."

"Bosh," Mason said. "I'll be with you all the time. You'll tell him repeatedly that you're not the man he thinks you are, but that you might be interested in buying those IOU's."

Drake slowly shook his head. "No dice, Perry."

Mason said, "Okay, I'll do the talking. I'll be along with you as your friend, and I'll do all the talking."

"I still don't like it," Drake said.

"You'd like five hundred dollars, wouldn't you?"

"Yes."

"Okay," Mason told him, "we'll leave here about five-thirty. I'll pick you up in my car."

"You're sure we won't get in trouble over this?" Drake asked.

"Nothing we can't get out of," Mason said. "After all, we sometimes have to fight the devil with fire."

Drake said, without enthusiasm, "You fight him with an acetylene torch. Some day, Perry, you're going to get your fingers burnt."

The lawyer nodded. "That's what makes life interesting. Go home and doll up in your soup and fish, Paul, and wipe that worried look off your map. Tonight we gamble."

Drake started for the door. "I'll say we do," he said.