“Settlement of what?”
“The Helmann Bruno claim. What did you think?”
“You’re representing him?”
Melvin laughed. “Of course I’m representing him, and I have been from the time of the accident.
“When Bruno came to me and told me about winning this contest,” he said, “it was so darned easy he thought there might be something phoney about it.”
“What did you think?”
“I didn’t have to think. I knew Breckinridge has made three or four settlements on account of stuff he’s been able to do at this place. He’s blasted the claimants in two lawsuits all to hell. That should be enough. The damned fool should have quit while the quitting was good, and thought up something new, but he kept working the same old gag.
“I was in court on one of those damage suits, sitting in the audience. I had a tip-off that the insurance company was going to blast the claimant and I wanted to see how they did it.
“It was a pretty slick piece of work. The fellow was claiming he had a slipped disc and they had pictures of him showing off in front of a couple of women here at the swimming pool, doing fancy dives and then they had pictures of him on the golf course.
“By the time they got through showing those pictures, the plaintiff had collapsed. His attorney virtually threw in the sponge. The jury returned a verdict within fifteen minutes — found in favor of the defendant, of course.
“So when Bruno told me he’d won a prize, a two-week vacation out here at the Butte Valley Guest Ranch, I told him to go right ahead and take the vacation. Just to be careful not to overdue physically.”
Melvin closed his right eye in a wink.
“I just wanted to see what happened this time. I gave Bruno an opportunity to get established and thought he’d be able to tell me what was going on. But he didn’t, so I came up here and found that one of the dudes was using the telephone a lot, going and forth. His name was Donald Lam, so I checked on Donald Lam, and sure enough, found that he was a private detective.
“Now, if you’ll come to my cabin with me, I’ll show you some pictures.”
”I’m still not saying anything,” I said.
“Don’t,” he told me. “Just come on over.”
I walked over to his cabin.
He pulled the shades, brought out a small portable picture projector and a screen.
“This isn’t quite as good a job as the insurance company did in those other cases,” he said, “but they had screened cameras, long focal-length lenses and professional photographers.
“I had to buy these shots from an amateur — one of those shutterbug tourists,” Melvin went on. “But you’ll get a kick out of the pictures.”
Melvin switched off the lights, started the camera.
There was a bright light on the screen and a flickering, then suddenly colored motion pictures, small but distinct, came to life.
Homer Breckinridge was in a swimming suit and lounging by the pool, looking up at Dolores Ferrol who was seated by the pool, one foot dangling in the water.
Breckinridge was lounging on one elbow.
He said something that caused her to laugh. She leaned forward, dipped one hand in the water, held it up and snapped the fingers, sending drops of cold water on Breckinridge’s face.
He made a grab for her. She tried to elude him but didn’t get up quite fast enough. He caught an ankle, pulled her to him, then switched from the ankle to the leg. He held her down, reached his hand down into the swimming pool then came up with a cupped palm full of water.
She talked him out of it, lying there looking up at him smiling, her legs across his lap.
Slowly, he moved his cupped palm back over the swimming pool, opened it, shook the water out of it and wiped his hand off on his bathing trunks.
Then he patted Dolores on the bare leg.
She squirmed seductively, getting up away from his lap and to her feet.
Breckinridge got up and walked away with her.
The camera showed them walking over toward the main house. Breckinridge put his hand on her shoulder, then let it slide down and gave her a little pat on the fanny.
The motion pictures flickered off, sputtered for a moment then came on with another scene.
This was a twilight scene. The illumination wasn’t so good here. The figures were mostly silhouetted but it was possible to recognize Breckinridge and Dolores.
They were talking earnestly over by the corrals apparently they had just come in from a ride. Dolores was dressed in a tight-fitting riding outfit, and Breckinridge was wearing Pendletons and a five-gallon sombrero, looking like the dashing cowpuncher.
Dolores said something to him, then reached up and took his hat, took it from his head and put it on her own, tilting it up. She tilted her chin up and looked at him. Her manner was challenging.
Breckinridge grabbed her and kissed her, then they melted together into one dark blotch.
“Light wasn’t very good on that one, Melvin explained. I believe it was actually a few minutes after sunset.”
The screen flickered again, then a scene of a breakfast ride came on. Breckinridge swung awkwardly off his horse. Dolores, supple and graceful, came down from the saddle.
Breckinridge took her arm with a proprietary air, piloted her over to the chuck wagon. They had coffee, then ham and eggs. They were talking earnestly.
When they had finished, Breckinridge extended his hand. Dolores took it. They shook hands, then walked away down over to where the horses were standing. They walked around a horse, stood for a moment with the horse screening them from the rest of the party.
The camera flickered off.
“Getting a new camera angle,” Melvin said. This will be good.
The camera came on again. The photographer had apparently managed to move around so the picture showed the other side of the horse, showed Breckinridge and Dolores standing there. This time Breckinridge took her in his arms with tenderness. They clung to each other for some ten seconds, then separated hastily as one of the wranglers came walking into view past the horse’s rear.
Melvin shut off the camera and started reversing the film.
“More?” I asked.
“It gets boring after a while,” Melvin said. “This will give you the idea. This motion-picture business is something two people can play at.”
“And just what do you intend to do with those pictures?” I asked.
“That’s up to you,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“These pictures,” Melvin said, “are part of Bruno’s case.”
“How come?”
“Oh, it’s just the way I propose to handle it,” Melvin said. “I’m not certain that I can get all this introduced in evidence as being pertinent, but my idea is to try to show the fact that the insurance company, instead of trying to minimize the damages and lessen my client’s pain and suffering, was actually trying to exaggerate them by putting him in a position where he’d be inclined to overdo, to overexert himself and to violate the doctor’s instructions.
“In order to show that, I’m going to prove that this whole dude ranch business is a trap maintained by the insurance company for the purpose of getting people to overexert and overextend themselves.
“I’m going to put on quite a little story. First, I’m going to show Breckinridge getting acquainted with Dolores Ferrol, then I’m going to take Breckinridge’s deposition and ask him if he didn’t reach an agreement with Dolores by which she was to act as representative of the insurance company and use her sex appeal to get these people to try to show how masculine they were, and all that stuff.
“Of course, I’ll be frank with you, Lam, I’m not certain that I can get away with having all this stuff in evidence. It has to be on the theory that instead of offering treatment to the injured, the company actually engaged in a conspiracy to try and get him to do things that would damage his case in front of a jury, but which, at the same time, would enhance his injuries.