Photoplay (Jul - Dec 1938)

ence with a man by the name of Padgham and Mr. Padgham sent Carter Wright a telegram in which he said he would employ you to draw up an agreement, that you were one of the very best and most conscientious attorneys in the country. I just happened to remember your name and, not knowing any lawyers whom I could trust, I came to you." "Most nattering," Mr. Foley agreed, "but suppose Mr. Padgham's business with Carter Wright should have had something to do with that safe-deposit box — mind you, I'm not saying that it does because I don't know — but I'm merely outlining the possibility. You can readily see that, as an attorney. I would be placed in an impossible position." "Oh, but that key has nothing to do with Mr. Padgham's business!" Mrs. Temmler exclaimed. "I'm certain it hasn't." "Do you know the nature of Carter Wright's business with Mr. Padgham?" "Oh, yes. It had something to do with acting. Carter got to thinking he was an actor. He was a very excellent chauffeur until he started in training with a theatrical crowd — not real actors, but amateurs. He entered the Little Theater plays and had some flattering press notices — I'll say they were flattering! They flattered him to death and he hasn't been worth anything since." BUT," Mr. Foley objected, "even if I agreed to represent you. I couldn't do anything except go to the police. The coroner took charge of Carter Wright's personal effects, everything that was in his pockets or. . . ." "But that's what I want you to do! I want you to go to the coroner at once. But you mustn't tell him whom you're representing." Mr. Foley smiled. "I'm afraid I couldn't get hold of a key to a safedeposit box unless I explained matters fully — and even then the police would open the lock box and inventory the contents in the presence of a representative of the estate inheritance-tax appraiser." Disappointment flooded her features. She said, impatiently, "Mr. Padgham said in his telegram that you were a very resourcejul attorney." Mr. Foley said, sympathetically, "I'm very sorry, Mrs. Temmler, but I'd have to be more than resourceful to get possession of that key ... In whose name is the box registered, yours?" "Well," she said, "you see. . . ." "Yes?" Mr. Foley asked, as she hesitated. "It's rather a peculiar situation," she said. "The box is registered in such a way that whoever has possession of the key has access to the contents of the box. It's an arrangement . . . well, Mr. Foley, I suppose it's illegal, but you mentioned something just now about the state inheritance-tax appraiser. He's always supposed to be present when the safe-deposit boxes of dead persons are opened, isn't he?" "A representative of his office," Mr. Foley said, glancing significantly at me. "Well," she said glibly, "that's the reason we rented this box the way we did. It's rented under an assumed name. My husband told the banker he was negotiating an agreement with another party covering the possession of certain notes that had to do with a very valuable invention. The notes were too valuable to be delivered in the ordinary course of business and so my husband had arranged to give the purchaser the key to this box when the money was paid over. The bank was to give this purchaser, or his legal representatives, access to the box whenever he showed up with the key." "That," Mr. Foley said, "is highly irregular." "I know it's irregular. That's why my husband chose this country bank at Las Almiras. I don't suppose they have more than half a dozen safe-deposit boxes in all. And my husband signed a blank power of attorney which the banker agreed to fill in with the name of any person who might appear with the key." "Then the box actually does contain notes relating to an invention?" Mr. Foley asked. She said, "Well, there are some notes there, yes; but those are just a blind. There's currency in the box." "Where's your husband now?" "He's in New York." "Why don't you have your husband wire the banker that the key has been stolen and withdraw any authorization to enter the safe-deposit box?" "Because my husband doesn't know it's been stolen." "How does that happen?" "He trusted the key to me . . . Can't you see? That's why I'm so anxious to get it back. He'll think I was having an affair with the chauffeur. I must get it back without anyone knowing." M R. FOLEY said. "I'm very sorry, Mrs. Temmler. There's nothing I can do. The entire affair sounds rather . . . well, rather bizarre. Incidentally. Mrs. Temmler, if the police have found any such key they didn't mention it to the Freshness . . .wins fame for Dixie Dunbar and Old Gold* Joo ! The Duke and Duchess of Windsor, boarding the Conte Di Savoia from Genoa to Cannes, were greeted by old friends, Gladys Swart'nout and her husband (smiling behind her), Frank Chapman. 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