Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Howling Dog

Perry Mason grinned.

"Now," he said, "you're commencing to get down to brass tacks. That's what I came to see you about. Don't tell the police anything. Don't tell the newspapers anything. But do tell them both that you want to talk, but that I won't let you. Tell them that I have told you you can't say a word. Tell them that you want to. Tell them that you want to explain. Tell them that you'd like to call me up and talk with me; that you think you can get my permission to talk, and all that sort of stuff. They'll give you a telephone and let you talk with me. You plead with me over the telephone for permission to talk. Tell me that you'd like to explain at least what you're doing here in the city; what happened in Santa Barbara; what your plans were. Beg with me, plead with me. Get tears in your voice. Do anything you want to. But I'll sit tight and tell you that the minute you tell anybody anything, you've got to get another lawyer. Do you understand that?"

"Do you think that will work?" she asked.

"Sure it'll work," he said. "The newspapers have got to have something for a story. They'll try to get something else. If they can't get anything else, they'll pick on that and spread it all over the front page that you want to tell your story, and I won't let you."

"How about the police? Will they release me?"

"I don't know."

"Good heavens! You don't mean I'm going to be arrested? My God! I can't stand that! I could probably stand being questioned if they questioned me here in my room. But if they took me down to the jail, down to police headquarters, and questioned me, I'd go crazy. I simply can't stand anything like that, and I can't afford to be put on trial. You don't suppose there's any chance I'm going to be put on trial, do you?"

"Now, look here," he told her, getting to his feet and standing facing her, his eyes steady and insistent. "Don't pull that stuff with me. It doesn't get you anywhere. You're in a jam, and you know it. You went into your husband's house. You let yourself in with a passkey. You found him dead on the floor. You realized that he'd been murdered. There was a gun there. You didn't notify the police. You went to a hotel and registered under an assumed name. If you think you can pull a stunt like that, and not get taken down to police headquarters, you're crazy."

She started to cry.

"Tears aren't going to do you any good," he said, with brutal frankness.

"There's only one thing that'll do you any good, and that's using your noodle and following the instructions I give you. Don't ever admit that you were at the Breedmont Hotel, or that you were ever registered anywhere under an assumed name. Don't admit anything except that you have retained me, and that you won't answer any questions or make any statements unless I am present and advise you to do so. The only exception you make to that is to complain bitterly to the newspapers that you want to tell your story, and that I won't let you. Do you get all that?"

She nodded.

"All right," Mason said. "That disposes of the preliminaries. Now, there's one other thing…"

Knuckles sounded imperatively on the door of the room.

"Who knows you're here?" asked Perry Mason.

"No one," she said, "except you."

Perry Mason motioned her to keep silent. He stood staring at the door in frowning concentration.

The knocks were repeated, this time louder and with a peremptory impatience.

"I think," said Perry Mason, in a low tone of voice, "that you've got to get yourself together. Remember, what they do with you is entirely up to you. If you can keep your head, I can do you some good."

He walked to the door, twisted the bolt and opened it. Detective Sergeant Holcomb, flanked by two men, stared at Perry Mason in amazed surprise.

"You!" said the officer. "What are you doing here?"

"I," said Perry Mason, "am talking with my client, Bessie Forbes, widow of Clinton Forbes who lived at 4889 Milpas Drive under the name of Clinton Foley. Does that answer your question?"

Sergeant Holcomb pushed into the room.

"You're damn right it does," he said, "and I know now where you got that handkerchief. Mrs. Forbes, you're under arrest for the murder of Clinton Forbes, and I want to warn you that anything you say may be used against you."

Perry Mason stared with grimfaced hostility at the officer.

"That's all right," he said, "she won't say anything."

Perry Mason entered his office, freshly shaved, eyes clear, step springy, to find Della Street engrossed with the morning newspapers.

"Well, Della," he said, "what's the news?"

She stared at him with a puzzled frown on her face.

"Are you going to let them do that?"

"Do what?"

"Arrest Mrs. Forbes?"

"I can't help it. They've already arrested her."

"You know what I mean. Are you going to let them charge her with murder and keep her in jail while her trial's coming up?"

"I can't help it."

"Yes, you can, too, you know you can."

"How?"

"You know as well as I do," she said, getting to her feet and pushing the paper across the surface of her desk, "that Arthur Cartright is the man who killed Clinton Foley, or Clinton Forbes, if you want to call him by his real name.

"Well," said Perry Mason, smiling, "how well do you know it?"

"I know it so well that there even isn't any use talking about it."

"Well, then," he said, "why talk about it?"

She shook her head. "Look here, Chief," she said; "I've got confidence in you. I know you always do the square thing. You can make all the wise cracks you want to, but you still can't convince me that it's right to let this woman stay in jail, just so Arthur Cartright can get a good head start on the police. It's bound to come out sooner or later. Why not give this woman a break and let it come out now? Cartright's had plenty of head start, and, after all, you're almost compounding a felony, being an accessory to the murder."

"In what way?" he asked.

"Withholding from the police the information you have about Mr. Cartright. You know perfectly well that he intended to murder Clinton Foley."

"That doesn't mean anything," Perry Mason said slowly. "He might have intended to murder him, but that doesn't mean he did murder him. You can't accuse a man of murder without some evidence."

"Evidence!" she exclaimed. "What more evidence do you want? The man came in here and almost told you in so many words that he intended to commit a murder. Then he sends you a letter which shows he has perfected his plans and is intending to take action. Then he disappears completely, and the man who has wronged him is found murdered."

"Haven't you got the cart before the horse?" Perry Mason asked. "Shouldn't you say that he murdered the man and then disappeared, if you wanted to make a good case of it? Doesn't it sound rather strange to say that he disappeared, and that the man he had a grudge against was murdered after his disappearance, instead of before?"

"That's all right for you to talk that way to a jury," she said, "but you're not fooling me any. The fact that the man made his will and sent you the money showed that he was intending to take the final step in his campaign. You know what that final step was, as well as I do. He had been watching and spying on the man who broke up his home, waiting for an opportunity to make his presence known to the woman in the case. That opportunity came. He took the woman away from the house and put her in a safe place. Then he came back, did the job, and joined the woman."

"You forget," Perry Mason told her, "that everything I know came to me in the nature of a professional confidence. That is, all the statements Cartright made."

"That all may be," she said, "but you don't have to sit back and let an innocent woman be accused of crime."