Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Howling Dog

"You're not a newspaper," Drake pointed out.

"I know I'm not," said Mason. "But I'm a lawyer and I'm representing a client who is entitled to a fair trial. By God, I'm going to see that she gets it!"

"Does all this spectacular and dramatic stuff constitute your idea of a fair trial?"

"Yes. My idea of a fair trial is to bring out the facts. I'm going to bring out the facts."

"All of the facts, or just the facts that are favorable to your client?"

"Well," said Perry Mason, grinning, "I'm not going to try the case for the district attorney, if that's what you mean; that's up to him."

Paul Drake scraped back his chair.

"You'll defend us if we get into a jam over this?" he asked.

"Certainly," Perry Mason told him. "I wouldn't get you into anything that I wouldn't go into myself."

"The trouble with you," the detective told him, "is that you go into too darn much. Incidentally, you're getting the reputation of being a legal wizard."

"How do you mean — a wizard?" Mason asked.

"They figure that you can pull a verdict out of the hat, just like a magician pulls out a rabbit," Drake told him. "Your methods aren't orthodox; they're dramatic and effective."

"We're a dramatic people," Perry Mason said slowly. "We're not like the English. The English want dignity and order. We want the dramatic and the spectacular. It's a national craving. We're geared to a rapid rate of thought. We want to have things move in a spectacular manner."

"Well, that's the way you do it, all right," Drake said, getting to his feet. "That stunt this afternoon was certainly clever. You've got every newspaper in town featuring, not the case against Bessie Forbes, but the spectacular manner in which the testimony of the taxi driver was virtually discredited. Every newspaper in the city acts on the assumption that the entire testimony of the cab driver is valueless."

"Well, it is," said Perry Mason.

"And yet," Drake told him thoughtfully, "you know as well as I do that Bessie Forbes actually went out there in that taxicab. She was the woman who went to the house."

"That," said the lawyer, "is a matter of conjecture and speculation unless the district attorney introduces some evidence to prove it."

"Where's he going to get the evidence from, now that his cab driver has been discredited?"

"That," Perry Mason assured him, "is something for the district attorney to worry about."

"All right," Drake told him, "I'm on my way. Is there anything else you want?"

"I think," said Perry Mason slowly, "that will be all for a while."

"God knows, it's enough!" said Paul Drake slowly, and walked out of the office.

Perry Mason tilted back in his swivel chair and closed his eyes. He remained motionless, save for the tips of his fingers, which drummed gently upon the arms of his chair. He was sitting in that position when a key sounded in the lock of the outer door, and Frank Everly entered the office.

Frank Everly was the law clerk who looked up routine legal matters for Perry Mason, and sat with him in the trial of cases. He was young, eager, ambitious, and filled with a boundless enthusiasm.

"Can I talk with you, Chief?" he asked.

Perry Mason opened his eyes and frowned.

"Yes," he said, "come in. What is it you want?"

Frank Everly sat down on the edge of the chair and seemed ill at ease.

"Go on," said Perry Mason. "What is it?"

"I wanted to ask you," said Frank Everly, "as a personal favor, to put Bessie Forbes on the witness stand."

"What's the idea?" asked Mason curiously.

"I have been listening to a lot of talk," said Everly. "Not ordinary gossip, you understand, but the talk of lawyers, of judges and newspaper men."

Mason smiled patiently.

"All right, Everly, what did you hear?"

"If you don't put that woman on the witness stand, and she's convicted, it's going to mean that your reputation will be ruined," he said.

"All right," Perry Mason told him; "it'll be ruined then."

"But don't you see?" said Everly. "She's innocent. Everybody knows that she's innocent, now. The case against her is founded entirely on circumstantial evidence. All that it needs is a denial from her and an explanation, and the jury will render a verdict of not guilty as a matter of course."

"You really feel that way about it?" asked Perry Mason curiously.

"Of course I feel that way about it."

"And you think it's a shame I won't let her get on the stand and tell her story?"

"I think it's a responsibility that you've no right to take, sir," said Everly. "Please don't misunderstand me, but I'm talking to you as one attorney to another. You have a duty to your client; a duty to your profession; and a duty to yourself."

"Suppose she gets on the stand, tells her story, and then is convicted?" said Perry Mason.

"But she couldn't be," said Everly. "Everybody sympathizes with her, and now that the evidence of the taxi driver has blown up, there's nothing to it."

Perry Mason stared at the clerk steadily.

"Frank," he said, "I don't know anything that has cheered me up as much as this talk with you."

"You mean you're going to put her on the stand?"

"No, I mean I'm not going to put her on the stand; not under any circumstances."

"Why?" asked Frank Everly.

"Because," said Perry Mason slowly, "you think she's innocent now. Everybody thinks she's innocent. That means the jury thinks she's innocent. If I put her on the witness stand I can't make the jury think she's any more innocent. If I don't put her on, they may think she's got a dumb lawyer, but they'll return a verdict of not guilty.

"Now, I'm going to tell you something, young man. There are lots of ways of trying a lawsuit. There's the slow, tedious way, indulged in by lawyers who haven't any particular plan of campaign, other than to walk into court and snarl over objections, haggle over technicalities, and drag the facts out so interminably that no one knows just what it's all about. Then there's the dramatic method of trying a lawsuit. That's the method I try to follow.

"Somewhere along the line the district attorney is going to rest his case. I'm going to try and stampede the situation so that when the district attorney rests his case the sympathies of the jury are all going to be with the defendant. Then I'm going to throw the case right into the lap of the jury right then. They'll return a verdict, without even stopping to think it over, if it goes right."

"What if it doesn't go right?" asked Everly.

"If it doesn't go right," said Perry Mason, "I'll probably lose my reputation as a trial lawyer."

"But you've got no right to jeopardize that," said Frank Everly.

"The hell I haven't," Perry Mason told him. "I've got no right not to."

He got to his feet and switched out the lights.

"Come on, son," he said, "let's go home."

Claude Drumm opened his morning attack, showing only too plainly his resentment of the dramatic defeat of the previous day. His manner was cold, formal and savage. He went ahead grimly with the gory details of impressing upon the jurors the fact that a murder had been committed; a murder, if you please, where a man's house had been invaded; where the man had been shot down in cold blood while in the act of shaving.

Witness after witness was called to the stand, examined with short, crisp questions, and each witness added his bit to the feeling of horror which permeated the courtroom.

These witnesses were the police officers who had come upon the scene. They described what they had found in the room. They told of the position of the body; of the faithful watchdog who had been ruthlessly shot down while trying to protect his master.

A police photographer produced a complete file of prints showing the house, the rooms, the body lying grim and grotesque on the floor of the sumptuous room. There was even a closeup of the head of the police dog, showing the glassy eyes, the lolling tongue, and the inevitable dark pool which seeped out from the body.