The Case of the Daring Decoy, page 1
part #54 of Perry Mason Series
The Case of the
Daring Decoy
Erle Stanley Gardner
FOREWORD
For the most part I have dedicated my Perry Mason books to outstanding figures in the field of legal medicine. But this book is dedicated to a doctor of medicine; one of the kindest, most considerate men I have ever met. He reached the top of the ladder in his chosen profession, and then, in place of taking up golf or yachting, turned his razor-keen mind to a “spare time” study of the problems of evidence, of law enforcement and the part the citizen could and should play in co-operating with the various law-enforcement agencies.
Merton M. Minter, M.D., is a Diplomate of the American Board of Internal Medicine, a member of the Board of Regents of the University of Texas, and, in fact, holds so many offices in the field of education, banking and medicine that there isn’t room to list them here.
I am writing this because I wish more of the influential members of the medical profession would follow in Doctor Minter’s steps. We need their sharp minds, their diagnostic skills, their seasoned judgment in the field of better law enforcement and the better administration of justice.
And so I dedicate this book to one of the most sympathetic, courteous, and thoughtful doctors in the world, a man who is rounding out his career doing good for his fellow man in the fields of medicine, education, law enforcement and justice, my friend,
MERTON MELROSE MINTER, M.D.
—Erle Stanley Gardner
CHAPTER ONE
Jerry Conway opened the paper to page six.
There it was, just as it had been every day for the last week.
It was a half-page ad signed: proxy holders board of salvage, cleverly written, starting off with a statement that was manifestly true on the face of it:
You stockholders of the California & Texas Global Development & Exploration Company invested your money because you wanted to make money. You wanted money for yourselves, your children, and your heirs.
What are you getting?
Aside from a stroke of pure luck, what has Jerry Conway done for you? He says he is “pyramiding.” He says he is “building.” He says he is laying a “firm foundation.”
That isn’t the way the most expert operators in the business look at it.
These people say Jerry Conway is laying an egg.
You’re entitled to a run for your money. You’re entitled to action. You want to make a profit now, next year, and the year after, not ten years or twenty years from now.
Mail your proxy to Gifford Farrell, care Proxy Holders Board of Salvage, and then, with Giff Farrell in the saddle, watch things begin to hum.
Farrell believes in results, not promises. Farrell believes in action, not idle planning; in decisions, not daydreaming; in performing, not hoping.
Conway closed the paper. It was, he admitted to himself, an ad that would get proxies. The ad also hurt.
According to the Proxy Holders Board of Salvage, it was simply a stroke of luck that the C. & T. Global Development & Exploration Company had been right in the middle of the Turkey Ridge pool.
After that pool came in, Jerry Conway could have declared big dividends, pushed up the value of the stock. Instead he had chosen to put the money into other holdings potentially as big as the Turkey Ridge pool.
Gifford Farrell had been a disruptive influence from the start. Finally there had been a showdown before the board of directors, and Farrell had been thrown out. Now he had started a fight for proxies. He was trying to wrest control of the company away from Conway.
Who was back of Farrell? What money was paying for the ads in the papers? Conway wished he knew. He wished he knew how to strike back.
Conway’s over-all, master plan had to be carried out quietly. The minute he tried to blueprint his plans, he defeated his own purpose. Prices of properties he hoped to acquire would go up beyond all reason.
Conway couldn’t explain publicly. He intended to address the stockholders’ meeting. He was hoping that the stockholders who were there, and most of the big ones would be, would stand by him. But what about the smaller stockholders? The ones who had put in a few dollars here, a few dollars there? Stockholders who concededly wanted profits and action?
Would these people stay in line, or would they send their proxies to Farrell?
An analysis of the books showed that there were enough small stockholders to take over control, if they acted as a unit. If Farrell could get their proxies, they’d act as a unit. If, however, Giff Farrell’s clever ads didn’t get more than 60 per cent of these smaller stockholders, and if Conway’s personality could hold the larger investors in line at the stockholders’ meeting, everything would be all right.
Those, however, were two great big ifs. And at the moment Jerry Conway didn’t have the answer.
Jerry Conway folded the newspaper, switched out lights in the office, and. was heading for the door, when the phone rang.
Jerry answered it. He was answering all phone calls now. He dared take no chance of offending some of the small stockholders who would want explanations, and, heaven knows, there had been enough of them who had called up! So far, these people had listened to his explanation that a company in the process of acquiring valuable oil properties couldn’t blueprint its plans in the public press. Stock that the investors had bought a year ago had more than doubled in value. Giff Farrell said that was due purely to a “stroke of luck” with which Conway had nothing to do. Conway would always laugh when he quoted that. Stay with him and there might be more strokes of luck, he promised. Tie up with Giff Farrell’s crowd, and the company would be looted for the benefit of insiders.
So Jerry Conway picked up the telephone.
“Jerry Conway speaking,” he said.
The woman’s voice was intriguing, and yet there was something about it that carried its own warning. It was too syrupy-smooth, and Conway felt he had heard it before.
“Mr. Conway,” she said, “I must see you. I have some secret information which will be of the greatest value to you.”
“I’ll be in my office at nine o’clock tomorrow morning, and—”
“No, no. I can’t come to your office.”
“Why not?”
“People are watching me.”
“What do you suggest?”
“I want to meet you privately, alone, somewhere where no one will know, somewhere where we won’t be disturbed.”
“You have some idea?” Jerry asked.
“Yes, if you’ll go to the Apex Motel out on Sunset tonight, register under your own name as a single, turn your lights out, leave your door unlocked, and wait until after midnight, I’ll—”
“I’m sorry,” Jerry interrupted. “That’s out of the question.”
“Why is it out of the question?”
“Well,” Jerry equivocated, “I have other plans for this evening.”
“How about tomorrow night?”
“No, I’m afraid I can’t do it tomorrow night, either.”
“Is it because you’re afraid of me?”
“I’m living in a glass house at the present time,” Conway said drily.
“Look,” she said, “I can’t talk with you any longer. My name is—Well, let’s say it’s Rosalind. Just call me Rosalind. I want to see you. I have information you should have, information that you must have in order to protect the stockholders, protect yourself,, and save the company. Giff has a lot more proxies than you think he has. He’s a very dangerous antagonist. You’re going to have to start a counter campaign.”
“I’m sorry,” Conway said. “There are certain matters I can’t discuss over the telephone, and certain matters I can’t discuss in the press. After all, the stockholders must have some faith in someone. Otherwise, they’ll wind up in the financial gutter. Their holdings have doubled in value during the past year under my management. I have every reason to believe they’ll continue to climb, and—”
“Good heavens!” the voice exclaimed. “Don’t try to sell me. I know. Giff Farrell is a crook. He’s trying to get control of the company so he and his friends can make a cleanup by manipulating company assets. I wouldn’t trust him two feet away for two seconds. I want you to have the information that I have.”
“Can you put in a letter?” Conway asked, curious.
“No, I can’t put it in a letter,” she said impatiently, “and if you knew as much as I know, you’d realize that I’m in danger just talking to you.”
“What danger?” he asked.
“In danger of getting killed,” she said angrily, and slammed up the telephone.
Jerry Conway sat at his desk for some minutes after he had dropped the receiver into its cradle on the telephone. There had been something about the voice that had carried conviction.
However, Jerry knew the necessity for caution. Half a dozen attempts had been made to frame him during the last two weeks. If he should go to a motel, leave the door open, have some young woman join him in the dark, and then perhaps a few minutes later there should be the sound of police whistles and—No, it was a chance Jerry simply couldn’t take. Even a little unpleasant newspaper notoriety coming at this time could well turn the tide in the proxy battle.
Jerry Conway waited for fifteen minutes, then again switched out the lights, saw that the night latch was on the door, and went down in the elevator.
Rosalind telephoned the next day at a little after eleven.
Jerry Conway’s secretary said, “There’s a woma
She says you know her, that she has to talk with you, that it’s important.”
“I’ll talk with her,” Jerry said. He picked up the telephone, said, “Hello,” and again heard the smooth tones of Rosalind’s voice, a voice that he felt he should recognize but couldn’t.
“Good morning, Mr. Conway.”
“Good morning, Rosalind.”
“Did you know you’re being followed?”
Jerry hesitated. “I have wondered if perhaps certain people weren’t taking an undue interest in my comings and goings.”
“You’re being tailed by a high-class detective agency,” she said, “and that agency is being supplemented by a couple of thugs. Be very, very careful what you do.”
“Thank you for the warning,” Jerry said.
“But,” she went on, “you must see me. I’ve tried to think of some way of getting in touch with you. One of the men who’s shadowing you at the present time is a private detective. He’s not dangerous. He’s just doing a routine job of shadowing. However, there’s another individual named Baker, whom they call Gashouse Baker. He’s a one-man goon squad. Watch out for him! Are you armed?”
“Lord, no!” Conway said.
“Then get a permit to carry a gun,” she said. “You shouldn’t have too much trouble spotting the detective. Baker will be more difficult. At the moment, he’s driving a beat-up, black car with a corner bent on the license plate. Don’t take any chances with that man!
“These people are playing for keeps and they don’t intend to play fair. You’re looking for a straightforward battle for proxies and you’re planning everything along those lines. These people don’t play that way.
“And don’t ever mention to anyone that you have been in communication with me. I shouldn’t have given you the name of Rosalind, but I wanted to put the cards on the table.”
Jerry Conway frowned thoughtfully. “I wish you could tell me something of the nature of the information you have, something—”
“Look,” she said, “I can tell you the number of proxies they -hold, and if I have your assurance that you can protect me, I can give you the names of the people who have sent in proxies. However, if any of this information should get out, they’d know where it came from and I’d be in danger.”
“How much danger?” Jerry Conway asked. “If it’s economic security that you—”
“Don’t be silly!” she interrupted sarcastically. “I’ve seen one woman after Gashouse Baker worked her over. I—Oh-oh!”
The phone abruptly clicked and the connection went dead.
Jerry Conway gave the matter a great deal of thought. That noon he drove around in a somewhat aimless pattern, carefully watching cars in his rearview mirror. He couldn’t be certain anyone was following him, but he became very uneasy. He felt he was in danger.
Conway knew that he was going to have to take a chance on Rosalind. If she had the information she said she had, it would be of inestimable value. If he knew the names of the persons who had sent in proxies, there would still be time to concentrate a campaign on those people.
Rosalind called shortly after two-thirty. This time there was a note of pleading and desperation in her voice.
“I have to get this information to you so you can act on it. Otherwise the company will be ruined.”
“Exactly what is it that you want?”
“I want to give you information. I want primarily to keep Giff Farrell and his crowd of goons from wrecking the company. I want to protect the honest investors, and I … I want to get even.”
“With whom?”
“Use your imagination,” she said.
“Now, look here,” Conway said, “I can have a representative meet you. I can send someone in—”
She interrupted with a hollow laugh. “The business that I have with you is with you personally, with the number-one man in the company. I’m not taking any assurances from anyone else. If you’re too cautious to meet me face to face to get this information, then I guess the things Giff Farrell is saying about you are true!”
Conway reached a sudden decision. “Call me back in fifteen minutes,” he said. “I’m not free to make arrangements at the present time. Can you call in fifteen minutes? Will you talk with me then?”
“I’ll call,” she promised.
Conway summoned his secretary. “Miss Kane, the young woman who has just called me is going to call again in fifteen minutes. She’s going to make arrangements with me for a meeting, a meeting which has to be held in the greatest secrecy.
“I want you to listen in on the conversation. I want you to make shorthand notes of exactly what is said so that if the necessity should arise, you can repeat that conversation verbatim.”
Eva Kane never appeared surprised. She took things in her stride, with a calm, professional competence.
“Do you want shorthand notes of what she says, or shorthand notes of the entire conversation?”
“Notes of the entire conversation. Transcribe them as soon as you’ve taken them, and be in a position to swear to them if necessary.”
“Very well, Mr. Conway,” Eva Kane said, and left the office.
When the phone failed to ring at the end of the fifteen- minute period, Conway began restlessly pacing the floor.
Abruptly the telephone rang. Conway made a dive for the desk, picked up the receiver, said, “Yes?”
Eva Kane’s calmly professional voice said, “A young woman on the line who says you are expecting the call. A Miss Rosalind.”
“You ready, Miss Kane?” Conway asked.
“Yes, Mr. Conway.”
“Put her on.”
Rosalind’s voice came over the line. “Hello, Mr. Conway?”
“Rosalind?”
“Yes. What’s your answer?”
“Look here,” Conway said, “I want to talk with you, but I’ll have to take adequate precautions.”
“Precautions against what?”
“Against some sort of a trap.”
Her laugh was bitter. “You’re childless, unmarried, thirty-six. You aren’t responsible to anyone for your actions. Yet you worry about traps!
“Tonight at exactly five-thirty the private detective who is shadowing you goes off duty. Another one takes over for the night shift. They don’t make contact. Sometimes the night man is late. Perhaps it can be arranged for him to be late tonight. At precisely one minute past five-thirty leave your office, get in your car. Start driving west on Sunset Boulevard. Turn at Vine. Turn left on Hollywood Boulevard. Go to Ivar. Turn right, and then start running signals. Go through signals just as the lights are changing. Keep an eye on your rearview mirror. Cut corners. Make certain you’re not being followed. I think you can shake off your tail.”
“And after that?” Conway asked.
“Now, listen carefully,” she said. “After that, after you are absolutely certain that you’re not being followed, go to the Empire Drugstore on Sunset and LaBrea. There are three phone booths in that store. Go to the one farthest from the door, enter the booth and at precisely six-fifteen that phone will ring. Answer it.
“If you have been successful in ditching your shadows, you will be directed where to go. If you haven’t ditched your shadows, the phone won’t ring.”
“You’re making all this seem terribly cloak-and-dagger,” Conway protested somewhat irritably. “After all, if you have any information that—”
“It is terribly cloak-and-dagger,” she interrupted. “Do you want a list of the stockholders who already have sent in proxies?”
“Very much,” he said.
“Then come and get it,” she told him, and hung up.
A few minutes later, Eva Kane entered the office with impersonal, secretarial efficiency, and handed Conway typewritten sheets.
“A transcript of the conversation,” she said.
“Thank you,” Jerry told her.
She turned, started for the door, paused, then suddenly whirled and came toward him. “You mustn’t do it, Mr. Conway!”
He looked at her with some surprise.
“Oh, I know,” she said, the words pouring out in rapid succession as though she were afraid he might be going to stop her. “You’ve never encouraged any personalities in the office. I’m only a piece of office machinery as far as you’re concerned. But I’m human. I know what you’re going through, and I want you to win out in this fight, and … and I know something about women’s voices, and—” She hesitated over a word or two, then trailed off into silence as though her vocal mechanism had been a motor running out of fuel.
