Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Velvet Claws

She stared at him with blazing indignation, either natural or assumed.

“You’ve no right to talk to me that way!”

“The hell I haven’t,” said Mason, grimly.

They stared at each other for a second or two.

“It was something down South,” she said, meekly.

“What was?”

“The trouble that Locke got into. I don’t know what it was. I don’t know where it was. I only know it was some trouble, and that it was down South somewhere. It was some trouble over a woman. That is, that’s the way it started. I don’t know how it finished. It may have been a murder. I don’t know. I know it’s something, and I know it’s something that George holds over him all the time. That’s the only way George ever deals with anybody. He gets something on them and holds it over them, and makes them do just as he wants.”

Mason stared at her, and said, “That’s the way he handles you.”

“That’s the way he tries to.”

“Was that the way he made you marry him?” asked Mason.

“I don’t know,” she said. “No.”

He laughed grimly.

“Well,” she said, “what difference does it make?”

“Maybe not any. Maybe a lot. I want some more money.” She opened her purse.

“I haven’t got much more,” she said. “I can give you three hundred dollars.”

Mason shook his head.

“You’ve got a checking account,” he said. “I’ve got to have more money. I’m going to have some expenses in this thing. I’m fighting for myself now as well as for you.”

“I can’t give you a check. I don’t have any checking account. He won’t let me. That’s another way that he keeps people under his control, through money. I have to get money from him in cash, or get it some other way.”

“What other way?” asked Mason.

She said nothing. She drew out a roll of bills from the purse. “There’s five hundred dollars here, and it’s every cent I’ve got.”

“All right,” said Mason. “Keep twentyfive and give me the rest.”

He pressed a button in the side of the desk. The door to the outer office framed the inquiring features ofDella Street.

“Make another receipt,” said Mason, “to this woman. Make it the same way you made the other one, with reference to a ledger page. This is for four hundred and seventyfive dollars, and it’s on account.”

Eva Belter passed the money over to Mason. He took it and gave it toDella Street.

The two women maintained toward each other that air of aloof hostility which characterizes two dogs walking stifflegged, one around the other.

Della Street held her chin high, as she took the money, and returned to the outer office.

“She’ll give you a receipt,” said Perry Mason, “as you go out. How about getting in touch with you?”

She said, quickly enough: “That’s all right. Ring the house. Ask for my maid and tell her that you’re the cleaner. Tell her you can’t find the dress I inquired about. I’ll explain to her, and she’ll pass the message on to me. Then I’ll call you.”

Mason laughed.

“You’ve got that down pat,” he said. “You must have used it often.”

She looked up at him, and her blue eyes set in a wide stare of tearful innocence.

“I’m sure,” she said, “I don’t know what you mean.”

Mason pushed back his swivel chair, got to his feet, and walked around the desk.

“In the future,” he told her, “you can save yourself the trouble of putting on that baby stare with me if you want to. I think we understand each other pretty well. You’re in a jam and I’m trying to get you out.”

She got to her feet slowly, looked into his eyes, and suddenly put her hands on his shoulders.

“Somehow,” she said, “you inspire me with confidence. You’re the only man I ever knew who could stand up to my husband. I feel as though I could cling to you and you’d protect me.”

She tilted back her face so that her lips were close to his, and her eyes were staring into his. Her body was quite close to his.

He took her elbow in his long, strong fingers and turned her away from him.

“I’ll protect you,” he said, “just as long as you pay cash.”

She squirmed around so that she was facing him again.

“Don’t you ever think of anything except money?” she asked.

“Not in this game.”

“You’re all I’ve got to depend on,” she wailed. “Everything in the world. You’re all that stands between me and utter ruin.”

“That,” he said coolly, “is my business. It’s what I’m here for.”

As he talked, he had been walking with her toward the door of the outer office. As he put his right hand on the knob, she twisted around so that she was free of his grip.

“Very well,” she said, “and thank you.”

Her tone was formal, almost frigid. She walked through the office door and into the outer office.

Perry Mason closed the door behind her. He went to his desk, picked up the telephone and when he heardDella Street’s voice, said, “Give me an outside line, Della.”

He gave the number of Drake’s Detective Bureau, asked for Paul Drake, and got him on the line.

“Listen, Paul,” he said, “this is Perry. I’ve got a job for you. You’ve got to handle it quickly. Frank Locke, down at Spicy Bits, is a devil with the women. He’s got a jane over at the Wheelright Hotel that he’s running around with. She lives there. He drops into the barber shop once in a while and gets himself all prettied up before he takes her out on a date. He came from the South some place. I don’t know just where. And he was mixed up in something when he left there. Frank Locke probably isn’t his real name. I want you to put enough men on him to find out what it’s all about, and do it quick. How much is it going to set me back?”

“Two hundred dollars,” said Paul Drake’s voice. “And another two hundred dollars at the end of the week, if I work on it that long.”

“I don’t think I can pass this on to my client,” said Mason.

“Make itthree twentyfive in all, then, and use me right if you find you can put it in on the expense account later.”

“Okay,” said Mason. “Get started.”

“Wait a minute. I was just going to call you anyway. I see a bigLincoln is parked down here in front of the building, with a chauffeur sitting at the wheel. I have a hunch that it’s the same car that your mysterious lady friend used for a getaway the other day. Do you want me to chase it down? I took the license number as I came up.”

“No,” said Mason. “That’s okay. I’ve got her tagged. Forget about her and start in on this Locke business.”

“All right,” said Drake, and hung up.

Perry Mason dropped the receiver into place.

Della Street stood in the doorway.

“She gone?” asked Mason.

Della Street nodded.

“That woman’s going to make you trouble,” she said.

“You told me that before,” said Mason.

“All right, I’m telling it to you again.”

“Why?” said Mason.

“I don’t like the way she looks,” saidDella Street. “And I don’t like the way she acts toward a working girl. She’s got that snobby complex.”

“Lots of people are like that, Della.”

“I know, but she’s different. She doesn’t know what honesty means. She loves trickery. She’d turn on you in a second if it would be to her advantage.”

Perry Mason’s face was thoughtful.

“It wouldn’t be to her advantage,” he remarked, his voice preoccupied.

Della Street stared at him for a moment, then softly closed the door and left him alone.

Harrison Burke was a tall man who cultivated an air of distinction. His record in Congress had been mediocre, but he had identified himself as “The Friend of the People” by sponsoring legislation which a clique of politicians pushed through the house, knowing that it would never pass the upper body, or, if it did, that it would be promptly vetoed by the President.