“Is there a middle initial?” Doxey asked.
“No.”
Doxey filled out the certificates, then, unable to restrain himself, asked, “Mr. Mason, would you mind telling me just what you think that stock is worth?”
“A very great deal,” Mason said. “Do you expect any trouble at the directors’ meeting this afternoon?”
It was Doxey’s turn to be cryptic. “I don’t. You might.”
“Thank you,” Mason said and walked out.
Chapter 3
Mason unlocked the door of his private office.
“Mrs. Harlan is here,” Della Street said, and smiled. “You arrived in the nick of time. She just came in.”
“Show her in,” Mason said, tossing his hat in the direction of the bust of Gladstone where it landed at a rakish angle.
Della ushered Mrs. Harlan into the office. “Did you get it?” Sybil Harlan asked anxiously.
“I got it,” Mason said. “I could probably have saved you better than ten thousand dollars.”
She gestured impatiently. “I was afraid you might try something like that. I told you to pay the price he put on it.”
“I paid it.”
She added by way of explanation, “If anything had happened, and he’d stopped to think it over, he might have called my husband, and if he had... well, you can’t tell what would have happened. This is the last chance I have, Mr. Mason. At least, it’s the only thing I could think of. If that hadn’t gone through we’d have had to start from scratch.”
“All right,” Mason said, “what do we do now?”
“Now,” she said, “as a stockholder of the Sylvan Glade Development Company, Mr. Mason, it will give me great pleasure to show you what you have purchased. My car is downstairs and we can go out right now. I want to show you the layout because this is probably the last time we dare be seen together. By this time tomorrow, they’ll have detectives shadowing your office, trying to find out who your client is. They’ll be smart enough to realize that you didn’t buy this for yourself.”
“I hope so,” Mason said, reaching for his hat. He motioned Sybil Harlan to precede him.
She flashed him a glance from the doorway. “Why?”
Mason said, “I don’t want people to get the impression that I go around buying property at the asking price. You should have seen Lutts. He was afraid we’d found uranium on the property. He didn’t want to sell, but he was afraid to let me get out of that door for fear I’d get away and wouldn’t come back. All in all, he was in quite a predicament.”
Mason told Della where he would be and followed Mrs. Harlan to the car.
“Tell me some more about the property,” he said as they eased into traffic.
“It was out at the end of a carline. At one time it had been a rather exclusive suburb. Then it was sold, subdivided into lots, went through a fashionable period, then became a real estate white elephant. Around 1933 or 1934 a fire wiped out many of the old mansions. Then for a period of five or ten years, the place started filling up with shacks. It was a strange combination. A couple of the old mansions, standing in utter disrepair, surrounded by squalid hovels.
“Then the carline was discontinued. New roads were cut through and Lutts was shrewd enough to realize that if he could buy the property, tear it down, move away the buildings, and level the hill, the place would make a wonderful close-in site for a golf course or good subdivision property. He tried to tie up all the adjoining property, and that’s when my husband got in on the deal. Enny is a pretty shrewd real estate operator. He realized what Lutts was trying to do.
“About that time, Enny became infatuated with Roxy. At first, the interest was legitimate. Roxy was a young divorcée with money to invest. She wanted Enny to recommend good real estate investments.
“Enny found out that the new freeway was going to come very close to this property, that they would need a lot of dirt for a fill. So, while Lutts was picking up options at a more or less leisurely pace, Enny, representing Roxy, swooped in and got hold of all the property to the north. Then he made the first deal with the contractor who was constructing the freeway and sold him dirt for the fill.”
“How much dirt?” Mason asked.
“All they had. You’ll see for yourself when we get out there. Roxy’s property has been leveled right up to the line. In fact, after the last rain our property caved and started to slide. The road contractor needs more dirt right away, and he’s negotiating with Lutts. That’s really what the directors’ meeting is about this afternoon.”
“To consider the contractor’s offer?” Mason asked.
“To accept it. After all, they can’t do anything else. He’s willing to pay for all the dirt and pay for tearing down the house and pave a roadway along the side of the property and along Roxy’s property. That’s why Enny will be at the meeting this afternoon.”
“To see that the offer is accepted?”
“Yes, he’s very anxious. He’s sold his dirt and got Roxy’s property leveled, so naturally he’s anxious to see that construction is speeded up and that Roxy gets the benefit of the paved road. The contractor is willing to build along the property lines so he can haul the dirt to the second fill. Dirt from Roxy’s property went into the first fill.”
“Suppose the corporation doesn’t accept the contractor’s offer?”
“Then they’d be stuck with moving the dirt and they’d have to find a place to put it.”
“Where would that leave the road contractor?”
“Well, he’d get dirt from somewhere. There has to be a fill. Of course, the deal is a natural, Mr. Mason. The contractor needs the dirt, and the Sylvan Glade Development Company wants the hill leveled.”
“And what am I supposed to do?”
“Try to make Roxy pay for her roadway through the nose.”
“But it’s all one deal with the contractor?”
“Yes. Actually, the Sylvan Glade wants the roadway paved and dedicated because they’ll be using it. Roxy is willing to dedicate the roadway provided she gets it paved for nothing. The contractor is willing to pave for nothing provided he gets the dirt from the Sylvan Glade Development Company.”
“That’s the deal?” Mason asked.
“That’s the deal.”
“And what do you want me to do?”
“Throw enough wrenches in the machinery so that Roxy knows she’s in for trouble. Do everything you can to embarrass her.”
“That might be in conflict with your best interests as a stockholder.”
“I told you before, Mr. Mason, I’m not buying stock. I’m buying a husband.”
Mason nodded, lit a cigarette, settled back in the car, and surreptitiously studied Mrs. Harlan’s profile.
She kept her eyes on the road, said, “I can feel that you’re putting me in a test tube, Mr. Mason. I suppose pure cussedness is the analysis.”
“Not exactly,” Mason said. “You interest me.”
“Thank you. Do you think I can interest my husband — again?”
“You did it once,” Mason said.
She nodded. “That was five years ago. Now I’m having to give my opponent a six-year handicap.”
“You can do it,” Mason said. “Where did this Claffin woman get all the money — insurance, an estate, or—?”
“Or gold digging,” she interrupted.
Mason looked at her in quick surprise. “I thought she was well fixed, the way you were talking.”
“She’s supposed to be, but where did she get it... or rather, where is she getting it?”
“No alimony?”
“Not a cent. She was on the losing end.”
“Investments?”
“Now she has investments, but the original cash came from somewhere. She’s a plunger and she’s hit a potential jackpot now.”