The Case of the Grinning Gorilla

“Have you seen the newspapers?” Della Street asked.

“Just took a look at the headlines. Why?” Mason slowly lowered the hand holding his hat.

“You should see your photographs in the picture section of the Inquirer; and you should see the three dollar bill who’s sitting in the office, looking at his watch every fifteen seconds, waiting for you to come in so he can talk to you about the ‘package in the Helen Cadmus estate.’ ”

“So?” Mason asked, crossing over to the coat closet, and making a more conventional disposal of his hat. “What about the three dollar bill?”

Della Street said, “I mean he’s as phony as a three dollar bill.”

“In what way?”

“His name is Nathan Fallon. He is, and I quote, ‘associated’ with Mr. Benjamin Addicks, and he claims to be a distant relative of Helen Cadmus. He was deeply shocked that her memoirs had been sold at auction. He is unctuous, mealymouthed, refined, smirking, and he’s not accustomed to that sort of an act. He’s more accustomed to sticking out his chin at somebody and saying, ‘All right, do this or else.’ ”

“Well, well, well,” Mason said. “And Jackson’s report on the case of Kempton versus Addicks?”

“Well, you had the general report he made over the telephone yesterday that it was a suit for defamation of character. We now have a copy of the complaint.”

She handed Mason a copy of a complaint which had been filed in the clerk’s office, and Mason skimmed through it, nodding his head and smiling as he read. “The plot thickens,” he observed. “Apparently Mrs. Josephine Kempton was discharged under circumstances which she found highly unsatisfactory. She was unable to secure any explanation from her employer, and, later on, when she tried to get other jobs, she found out that in every instance where the new employer had written Mr. Addicks for reference, letters had been received from Addicks accusing her of theft.”

“What’s the law on that?” Della Street asked. “Is it a privileged communication?”

“You mean Addicks’ letters?”

“Yes.”

Mason grinned. “My dear Della. You are presuming upon the prerogatives of attorneys for the defendant in the case of Kempton versus Addicks. As far as the law of the case is concerned, let them fight it out; but as far as the facts of the case are concerned, I find myself very much interested. I am also interested in knowing why Mr. Fallon should be so concerned about the diaries of Helen Cadmus.”

“Well, of course,” Della Street said, “he doesn’t admit that he’s interested primarily in the diaries. He simply wants any of the personal effects that were left by the, and again I quote, ‘poor unfortunate girl.’ ”

“Tut-tut-tut!” Mason said.

“Are you going to see Mr. Fallon,” she asked, “before he wears out all of the carpet in the reception room pacing the floor?”

“We’re going to see him,” Mason said, “but Mr. Fallon, who apparently is a stuffed shirt as well as a poor actor, should see us as we really are, Della. He probably has been accustomed to the dignified corporation attorneys who handle Mr. Addicks’ affairs and advise him how he can turn income into capital for a smaller tax.

“I think it is time Mr. Fallon realizes he is dealing with an entirely different breed of cat.”

With which Mason crossed over to the coat closet, took out his hat, carried it over to the bust of Blackstone, and deliberately adjusted it at a rakish angle.

“And now, Della,” he said, “you may show in Mr. Nathan Fallon.”

Della Street smiled at Mason’s whimsical gesture and promptly went to the outer office to return with the man she had described as a three dollar bill.

Nathan Fallon had a high, bulging forehead, a short pug nose, thick-lensed rimless spectacles, a big smiling mouth, and an over-all attitude of ingratiating good fellowship.

There was a bald spot at the back of his head, and the hair had grown thin above the high forehead, but he had let the hair of the intermediate fringe grow as long as possible. By winding this hair around and around and plastering it in position with hairdressing, he had managed to take away much of the shine from the bald spot.

“Mr. Mason!” he said. “Mr. Perry Mason! I can’t begin to tell you, sir, the pleasure that I have in meeting you face to face. I have been an admirer of yours for a long time. I have followed the accounts of your courtroom triumphs in the press. I made up my mind early in the game that if I should ever find myself in trouble I would come to your office at once.”

“That’s fine,” Mason said, shaking hands and flashing Della Street a quick wink. “I take it you’re in trouble, then?”

“No, no, no, not at all! No, no, my dear Mr. Mason! Oh, please do not misunderstand me. No trouble.”

“Oh,” Mason said. “I did misunderstand you then. Sit down.”

Mason seated himself behind the big desk. Della Street moved up to her secretarial desk with notebook poised.

“Oh, my dear Mr. Mason, I wouldn’t have conveyed that impression for anything — and your so charming secretary, Miss Street! It is indeed a pleasure to see her in the flesh.”