Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Howling Dog

"But isn't it a crime to forge a confession of this sort?"

"Under certain circumstances, it may be," Perry Mason said.

"I can't see under what circumstances it wouldn't be," she told him.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

"And you think that Arthur Cartright knew that his wife was dead?"

"Yes, he'd been devoted to her. He'd been searching for her for ten months. He'd been living next door to her for two months, spying on the man he hated, and trying to find out if his wife was happy. He made up his mind he was going to kill Clinton Forbes. He felt that he would be executed for that murder. He wanted his property to go to his wife; not to Forbes' wife, but to Paula Cartright, but he didn't care to make his will in favor of Paula Cartright before he had committed the murder, because he thought that would bring an investigation. So he made his will, or wanted to make his will, so that it would transfer the property to the woman, under the name of Evelyn Foley.

"You can see what he had in mind. He wanted to hush up any scandal. He intended to kill Foley and to plead guilty to murder and be executed. He wanted his will made so that his property would go to the woman who was apparently the widow of the man he had murdered, and he wanted to do it in such a way that no questions would be asked, and her real identity would never be known. He did that to spare her the disgrace of having the various facts become public."

She stood perfectly still, her eyes staring down at the tips of her shoes.

"Yes," she said, "I think I understand."

"And then," said Perry Mason, "something happened, so that Arthur Cartright changed his mind. He knew that there was no use leaving the property to his wife, Paula. He wanted to leave it to some one because he didn't expect to remain alive. He had undoubtedly been in touch with Bessie Forbes, and knew that she was in the city, so he left the property to her."

"What makes you say he had been in touch with Bessie Forbes?" asked Della Street.

"Because the taxi driver says that Bessie Forbes told him to telephone Parkcrest 62945, which was Cartright's number, and tell Arthur to go next door to Clint's place. That shows that she knew where Cartright was, and that Cartright knew that she knew."

"I see," said Della Street, and was silent for several seconds.

"Are you certain," asked Della Street, "that Mrs. Cartright didn't run away with Arthur Cartright and leave Clinton Forbes, just as she had left Cartright in Santa Barbara?"

"Yes," he said, "I'm virtually certain."

"What makes you so certain?"

"The note," he said, "that was left wasn't in the handwriting of Paula Cartright."

"You're certain about that?"

"Virtually," he said. "It's approximately the same handwriting as that which appeared on the telegraph blank that was sent from Midwick. I've had samples of Mrs. Cartright's handwriting sent from Santa Barbara, and the two don't check."

"Does the district attorney's office know that?" she asked.

"I don't think so," he told her.

Della Street stared at Perry Mason thoughtfully.

"Was it Thelma Benton's handwriting?" she asked.

"I've had several specimens of Thelma Benton's handwriting, and those specimens seem entirely different from the handwriting of the note and the telegraph blank."

"Mrs. Forbes?" she asked.

"No, it isn't her handwriting. I had Mrs. Forbes write me a letter from the jail."

"There's an editorial in The Chronicle," she said, "did you see it?"

"No," he said. "What is it?"

"It states that in view of the dramatic surprise that impeaches the testimony of the taxicab driver, it is your solemn duty to put your client on the stand and let her explain her connection with the case. The editor says that this air of mystery is all right for a hardened criminal who is being tried for a crime of which every one knows he is guilty, and who desires to assert his constitutional rights, but not for a woman like Mrs. Forbes.

"I didn't see the editorial," said Perry Mason.

"Will it make any difference in your plans?"

"Certainly not," he told her. "I'm trying this case. I'm exercising my judgment for the best interests of my client; not the judgment of some newspaper editor."

"All of the evening papers," she said, "comment upon the consummate skill with which you manipulated things so that the denouement came as a dramatic finale to the day's trial, and managed to impeach the testimony of the taxi driver before the prosecution had even built up its case."

"It wasn't any particular skill on my part," Perry Mason said. "Claude Drumm walked into it. He started to strongarm my witness. I wouldn't stand for it. I grabbed her and took her into the judge's chambers to make a protest. I knew that Drumm was going to claim I'd been guilty of unprofessional conduct, and I wanted to have it out with him right then and there."

"What did Judge Markham think?" she asked.

"I don't know," he told her, "and I don't give a damn. I know what my rights are and I stood on them. I'm fighting to protect a client."

Abruptly she came to him, put her hand on his shoulders.

"Chief," she said, "I doubted you once. I just want you to know that I'll never do it again. I'm for you, right or wrong."

He smiled, patted her on the shoulder.

"All right," he said, "take a taxi and go home. If anybody should want me, you don't know where to find me."

She nodded, walked to the door, and this time went out without hesitating.

Perry Mason waited until she had gone down in the elevator. Then he switched out the lights, put on his overcoat, sealed the letter, took the portable typewriter and went to his car. He drove to another part of the city, posted the letter in a mail box, and then took a winding road which led to a reservoir in the hills back of the city. He drove along the bank of the reservoir, slowed his car, took the portable typewriter and flung it into the reservoir. By the time the water splashed up in a miniature geyser, Perry Mason was stepping on the throttle of his automobile.

Radiators were still hissing comfortably in the building when Perry Mason sat down with Paul Drake.

"Paul," he said, "I want a man who's willing to take a chance."

"I've got lots of them," Drake said. "What do you want?"

"I want this man to call up Thelma Benton, say that he's a reporter of The Chronicle; that the city editor has given an okay to pay ten thousand dollars for exclusive rights to publish her diary if it's as represented.

"I want him to make an appointment to meet Thelma Benton where he can inspect the diary. She may, or may not, have some one with her. I doubt if she'll surrender the diary for inspection. But she'll let him look at it.

"I want that man to turn to the date that's marked October 18th, and tear the leaf from the book."

"What's on that leaf that you want?" asked the detective.

"I don't know."

"She'll make a holler."

"Naturally."

"What can they do to the man who does that?"

"Not very much," Perry Mason said. "They may try to throw a scare into him, but that's about all they can do."

"Couldn't she sue for damages if the thing was made public?"

"I'm not going to make it public," he said. "I'm simply going to let her know that I have it."

"Look here," Drake said, "it's none of my business, and you certainly don't need me to tell you how to practice law, but you're skating on damned thin ice. I've told you that before, and I'm telling it to you again."

"I know I'm skating on thin ice," Perry Mason said morosely, "but there's nothing they can get me for. I claim that I'm within my rights on everything I've done. Newspapers do things twice as bad as that every day in the week and nobody says anything to them."