“I most certainly agree with you on that,” Olney said.
Della Street returned with the letter.
Mason looked at it, passed it across to Olney and said, “Sign right there, if you will, Mr. Olney.”
Olney signed.
Mason said, “I think, Della, that in order to satisfy the Court in this matter it would be a good plan to have Mr. Olney swear — just hold up your right hand and swear that the facts contained in that letter are true, Mr. Olney. Della Street is a notary public.”
Olney said, “Now, wait a minute. You didn’t say anything about swearing.”
“It’s just a formality,” Mason said. “I think you’d better just put a notarial certificate on there, Della, and Mr. Olney, if you’ll hold up your right hand—”
Olney said, “I don’t sign anything under oath without consulting my attorney.”
“What’s the difference between making a statement to me,” Mason asked, “and swearing to it?”
“You know what the difference is.”
“Well, that statement is correct, isn’t it?” Mason asked.
Olney said, “I’ve told you my position, Mr. Mason. Right now I’m not certain that I understand yours and if I do understand it, I’m not certain I appreciate it.”
“Well, if you don’t appreciate it, perhaps you don’t understand it,” Mason said. “By the way, I’m trying to find out where Durant got those one-hundred-dollar bills. You know, a man can’t just pick up a lot of one-hundred-dollar bills by walking into some place of business and asking to cash a check, and those bills must have come from a bank.”
“I would assume so,” Olney said, his eyes studying Mason with sudden wariness.
“I’ll tell you what,” Mason said. “You can make an affidavit for me and I’ll use that affidavit to present to the Court tomorrow, an affidavit that you know nothing whatever about the case, that you didn’t give Durant any one-hundred-dollar bills, that you didn’t—”
“Who says I didn’t give him any hundred-dollar bills?” Olney asked suddenly.
“Why, you mentioned in the letter there that you didn’t have any business transactions with him.”
“Well, that doesn’t— Well, I didn’t, but— Well, I could have loaned the man money.”
“Did you?” Mason asked.
“I think that’s a matter I don’t care to discuss at the moment, Mr. Mason.”
Mason said, “Gosh, Olney, I’m sorry. If you gave him any money in the form of hundred-dollar bills, you’re going to have to go to court tomorrow.”
Olney said, “Now, wait a minute, Mason. You told me I didn’t have to go to court.”
“Predicated on your assurance that you knew nothing about the matter and had had no business transactions with Durant,” Mason said.
The door from the outer office opened, and Lt. Tragg came bustling in. “All right, Perry,” he said. “You told me to get here and I got here. I had to violate a few police regulations in regard to code one and the use of siren and red spotlight in order to do it, but here I am.”
“Well, that’s fine,” Mason said. “You know Mr. Olney, Lieutenant Tragg?”
“I know him,” Tragg said.
“Olney has just told me,” Mason said, “that he loaned Durant some money in the form of hundred-dollar bills. How much was it, Mr. Olney?”
Olney said, “Now wait a minute. What is this? I’m not going to be interrogated here, and furthermore I didn’t tell you any such thing.”
“I certainly understood you to say that you had given Durant some one-hundred-dollar bills,” Mason said.
“I said I could have. I could have advanced the man some money. I could have cashed a check.”
“Did you?” Mason asked, catching Lt. Tragg’s eye.
“Actually I... I felt sorry for the guy and it’s for that reason that I was so absolutely astounded when he made that statement disparaging the authenticity of my Phellipe Feteet painting. That’s one of the most prized paintings in my entire collection.”
“Then may I ask just how much money you gave him from time to time and when you gave it to him?”
“You may not,” Olney said, “and the more I see of your attitude, Mr. Mason, the more I realize that I made a mistake in trusting you and coming here without my attorney. I’m going to call my lawyer and—”
“Now, just a minute,” Lt. Tragg interrupted. “If you’re not going to tell Mr. Mason about this, you’d better tell me. Durant had ten thousand dollars, or just about ten thousand dollars, on him when he was found dead. Now, how much of that came from you?”
Olney said, “Who said any of it came from me?”
“Nobody said that,” Tragg said. “I’m asking you how much of it came from you. Now be careful what you say. This is a murder case, Olney.”
“You have no right to get me up here and start badgering me.”
“I’m not badgering you,” Tragg said, “I’m investigating a murder case. I’m asking a question. I didn’t get you up here. You came up here.”
“Well, your question is one I don’t intend to answer. Not that I have anything to conceal, but I have some complicated business transactions and I just have a general understanding that I won’t do anything without my attorney.”
“Then you’d better telephone your attorney and ask him to come over here,” Mason said. “Miss Street can do it for you. Della, will you ring up Mr. Hollister and tell him that Olney would like to have him over here?”
“Don’t do it,” Olney said. “I don’t want him over here. I’m going over there. I’m going to talk with him before I say anything to anybody.”
“That Feteet was the prize of your collection?” Mason asked.
“It certainly was.”
“And how did it happen that you didn’t miss it for the week it was gone from the yacht, during which Goring Gilbert was copying It down in his studio?”
“Who said it was missing from the yacht?”
“It had to be,” Mason said.
Tragg said, “I’m interested in knowing how much of the money that Durant had on him came from you, and with all due deference to your position, Mr. Olney, I intend to find out before you leave this office.”
“Well, I don’t have to tell you anything before I leave this office.”
“No, you don’t,” Tragg said, “but if you don’t, it’s rather a suspicious circumstance.”
“What’s suspicious about it?”
“Why should you give him ten thousand dollars?” Tragg asked. “Was he blackmailing you?”
“What do you mean?” Olney asked.
Mason said, “Tragg, you might ask him if it isn’t true that he commissioned Gilbert to make a copy of the Phellipe Feteet painting.”
“Why should I want anyone to make a copy of my painting?” Olney asked.
“Probably,” Mason said, “because you were in domestic difficulties, knew that your wife was planning to file suit for divorce, and you intended to make certain she didn’t get your most cherished painting.”
Olney said, “Do you realize what you’re saying? Do you realize that you have accused me of—”
“Exactly,” Mason said, “and if you don’t tell the complete story you’re apt to find yourself accused of murder. Lieutenant Tragg wasn’t born yesterday. And I served a subpoena on your wife a short time ago.”
Olney’s face turned white. “You subpoenaed my wife in this case?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, my God!” Olney exclaimed. “Now the fat will be in the fire!”
Mason glanced at Tragg, said, “On the day of his murder, Collin Durant didn’t have any funds at all at about six o’clock in the evening. By the time of his death, probably around eight o’clock in the evening, he had ten thousand dollars in hundred-dollar bills, Banks weren’t open at that time. Now, you just tell us whether you gave him those one-hundred hundred-dollar bills.”