Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Velvet Claws

“Just be a big, dumb boob, eh?” asked Drake.

“Be a big, dumb boob,” Mason told him, “and cultivate a very short memory afterwards.”

“I gotcha,” said Drake. “I’ve got to handle this thing in such a way that I’m in the clear, eh?”

Mason said, wearily, “You handle it just the way I told you, just exactly that way.”

Mason slipped the phone back on the receiver. He heard the click of the doorknob, and looked up.

Della Street slipped into the office. Her face was white, and her eyes wide. She pushed the door shut behind her, and walked over to the desk.

“There’s a man out in the office that says he knows you,” she said. “His name is Drumm, and he’s a detective from Police Headquarters.”

The door pushed open behind her, and Sidney Drumm thrust a grinning face in the door. His washedout eyes seemed utterly devoid of life, and he looked more than ever like a clerk who had just climbed down from a high stool, and was puttering about, searching for vouchers.

“Pardon the intrusion,” he said, “but I wanted to talk with you before you had time to think up a good one.”

Mason smiled. “We get used to poor manners from policemen,” he said.

“I’m not a cop,” protested Drumm. “I’m just a dick. The cops hate me. I’m a poor, underpaid dick.”

“Come in and sit down,” Mason invited.

“Wonderful office hours you guys keep,” Drumm remarked. “I was looking all over for you, and saw a light up here in the office.”

“No, you didn’t,” Mason corrected him, “I’ve got the shades drawn.”

“Oh, well,” Drumm said, still grinning, “I had a hunch you were here anyway, because I know you’re such a hard worker.”

Mason said, “All right. Never mind the kidding. I presume this is a professional call.”

“Sure it is,” said Drumm, “I’ve got curiosity. I’m a bird that makes a living by having curiosity and getting it gratified. Right now I’m curious about that telephone number. You come to me and slip me a bit of change in order to strongarm a private number out of the telephone company. I bust out and get the number for you, and an address, and you thank me for it very politely. Then you show up at that address, sitting around with a murdered guy and a woman. The question is, is it a coincidence?”

“What’s the answer?” asked Mason.

“No,” said Drumm, “I can’t speculate. I asked the question. You have to give me the answer.”

“The answer,” Mason told him, “is that I was out there at the request of the wife.”

“Funny you’d know the man’s wife, and wouldn’t know the man,” insisted Drumm.

“Isn’t it?” said Mason sarcastically. “Of course that’s the worst part of running a law office. So many times a woman will come in and ask you about something, particularly if it happens to be a domestic problem, and won’t bring her husband along so that you can see what he looks like. In fact, I’ve even heard of two or three instances where women went to law offices and didn’t want their husbands to know anything about it. But of course that’s just a rumor and hearsay, and I wouldn’t want you to take my word for it.”

Drumm kept grinning. “Well,” he said, “would you say that this was that kind of a case?”

“I would say nothing,” Mason replied.

Drumm quit grinning, and tilted his head back, his eyes became dreamy as they looked at the ceiling.

“That gives it an interesting angle,” he said. “Wife comes to attorney who is noted for his ability to get people out of trouble. Attorney doesn’t know husband’s private telephone number. Attorney starts working on case for wife. Attorney uncovers telephone number. Attorney traces telephone number to husband, and goes out there. Wife there, husband murdered.”

Mason’s voice was impatient. “Do you think you’re getting anywhere, Sidney?”

Drumm grinned once more. “I’ll be damned if I know, Perry,” he said. “But I’m moving around.”

“Let me know as soon as you get anywhere, will you?” asked Mason.

Drumm got to his feet. “Oh,” he said, “you’ll know it fast enough.” He grinned from Mason toDella Street.

“I presume,” he said, “that last remark of yours was my cue to get out.”

“Oh, don’t be in any hurry,” Mason told him. “You know we come down to the office at three and four o’clock in the morning just to be here to receive friends who want to ask us foolish questions. We don’t really have any work to do. It’s just a habit we’ve gotten into, of getting down here early.”

Drumm paused to stare at the lawyer. “You know, Perry, if you’d come clean with me, I might be able to help you a little bit. But if you’re going to stand off and be snooty, I’ve got to go out and pry around a little bit.”

“Sure,” Mason admitted, “I understand that. That’s your business. You’ve got your profession, and I’ve got mine.”

“That means, I take it,” said Drumm, “that you’re going to be snooty.”

“That means,” said Mason, “that you’ve got to find out your facts on the outside.”

“So long, Perry.”

“So long,Sidney. Drop in again some time.”

“Don’t worry, I will.”

Sidney Drumm closed the door behind him.

The girl moved impulsively toward Perry Mason.

He waved her back with a motion of his hand, and said, “Take a look in that outer office and make sure he’s gone.”

She moved toward the door, but, before her hand touched the knob, it turned, and flung open. Sidney Drumm thrust his head into the room again.

He surveyed them and grinned.

“Well,” he said, “you didn’t fall for that one. All right Perry, this time I’ll go out.”

“Okay,” said Perry Mason. “Goodby!”

Drumm closed the door, and a moment later slammed the door of the outer office.

It was then aboutfour o’clock in the morning.

Perry Mason pulled his hat down on his head and slipped into his overcoat which was still damp enough to give forth a smell of wet wool.

“I’m going out and chase down a few clews,” he toldDella Street. “Sooner or later they’re going to start narrowing the circle, and then I won’t be able to move. I’ve got to do everything while I can still move around. You stick right here and hold the fort. I can’t leave word where you can reach me, because I’m afraid to have you call me. But I’ll call you every once in a while and ask if Mr. Mason is in. I’ll tell you my name is Johnson, that I’m an old friend of his, and ask if he left any message. You can manage to let me know what’s going on without letting on who I am.”

“You think that they’ll have the telephone line tapped?”

“They may. I don’t know just where this thing is going to lead.”

“And they’ll have a warrant out for you?”

“Not a warrant, but they’ll want to ask me some more questions.”

She looked at him sympathetically, tenderly, said nothing.

“Be careful,” he said, and walked out of the office.

It was still dark when he entered the lobby of the Hotel Ripley, and asked for a room with bath. He registered under the name of Fred B. Johnson, ofDetroit, and was given room 518, for which he was required to pay in advance, inasmuch as he had no baggage.

He went to the room, pulled the curtains, ordered four bottles of ginger ale, with plenty of ice, and got a quart of whiskey from the bellboy. Then he sat in the overstuffed chair, with his feet on the bed, and smoked.

The door was unlocked.

He was smoking for more than half an hour, lighting one cigarette from the tip of the other, when the door opened. Eva Belter came in without knocking.