Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Velvet Claws

“Now, wait a minute, Locke,” Mason cautioned. “Don’t fly off the handle. I could have gone to the police with this thing, but I didn’t. I’m just working it my own way. I’m going to give you the breaks.”

“It’ll take more than you and a Jew pawnbroker, to frame anything like that on me,” Locke snarled. “Just for this I’m going to blow the lid off!”

Mason’s voice remained calm and patient. “Well, let’s go out where we can talk a bit. I want to talk where we won’t have any witnesses.”

“You just steered me in here on a frameup. That’s what I get for going with you. Now you can go to hell!”

“I steered you in here so Sol could take a good look at you,” Mason told him. “That’s all. He told me that he’d know the man if he ever saw him again. I had to be sure.”

Locke backed toward the door.

“What a sweet frameup this is,” he said. “If you’d gone to the cops with a story like that, they’d have made you put me in a line of men, and seen whether or not this kike could have picked me out of the line. But you didn’t do that. You brought me in here. How do I know that you haven’t slipped this fellow some money to pull this stunt?”

Mason laughed.

“If you want to go down to police headquarters and get in a line of men, I’ll take you down there. And I guess Sol can pick you out,” he said.

“Of course he can, now that you’ve put the finger on me.”

“Well,” Mason said, “we’re not getting anywhere with this. Come on, let’s go outside.”

He took Locke’s arm and piloted him through the door.

In the street, Locke turned to him savagely, and said, “I’m finished with you. I’m not saying a damned word. I’m going back to the office, and you can go to hell!”

“That wouldn’t be a very wise course of procedure, Locke,” Mason said, holding Locke’s arm. “You see, I’ve got a motive for the crime, opportunity, and everything.”

“Yes?” sneered Locke. “What’s your motive? I’m interested in that.”

“You have been embezzling funds from the Extraordinary Expense Account,” said Mason, “and you were afraid of discovery. You didn’t dare to cross Belter because he knew too much about that Savannah affair. He could have sent you back on a murder rap. So you went out there and had an argument with him, and killed him.”

Locke was staring at Mason. He had ceased walking, and stood stockstill, his face white, his lips quivering. A blow in the stomach would not have jarred him more. He tried to speak and could not.

Mason was elaborately casual. “Now I want to be fair Locke,” he went on. “And I think the Jew is on the square. If it is a frameup they won’t convict you. You’ve got to prove that a man’s guilty beyond a reasonable doubt, you know. And if you can raise even a reasonable doubt, a jury is duty bound to return a verdict of not guilty.”

Locke found his voice. “Where do you come in on this?” he asked.

Mason shrugged his shoulders. “I’m counsel for Eva Belter,” he said. “That’s all.”

Locke tried to sneer but it didn’t get across very well. “So she’s in on this too! You’ve teamed up with that twotiming broad!”

“She’s my client, if that’s what you mean.”

“That isn’t what I mean,” Locke said.

Mason’s voice became hard. “It might be a good plan for you to keep your mouth shut then, Locke. You’re attracting attention. People are looking at you.”

Locke controlled himself with an effort.

“Listen,” he said, “I don’t know what your game is, but I’m going to spike it right now. I’ve got an absolute ironclad alibi for last night at the time when that murder was committed, and just to show you where you stand, I’m going to spring it on you.”

Mason shrugged his shoulders.

“Okay,” he said, “spring it on me.”

Locke looked up and down the street. “All right, we get a taxicab.”

“Fine,” said Mason, “we get a taxicab.”

A cab caught Locke’s signal, pulled into the curb. Locke said, “Wheelright Hotel,” climbed in and settled back in the cushions. He mopped his forehead with a handkerchief, lit a cigarette with a hand that trembled, and turned to Mason.

“Listen,” he said, “you’re a man of the world. I’m going to take you to a young lady’s room. I don’t want her name brought into this. I don’t know what your game is, but I’m just going to show you how little chance you’d stand of making this frameup stick.”

“You don’t need to prove that it’s a frameup, you know, Locke. All you’ve got to do is to raise a reasonable doubt. If you could raise a reasonable doubt, why, there isn’t a jury on earth that would convict you!”

Locke slammed the cigarette to the floor of the car. “For God’s sake, cut out that damned talk! I know what you’re trying to do, and you know what you’re trying to do. You’re trying to break my nerve and get my goat. What the hell’s the use of beating around the bush? You’re trying to pin something on me, and I don’t propose to stand for it.”

“What are you getting so worked up for if it’s a frameup?”

“Because,” Locke said, “I’m afraid of some of the stuff you might bring up.”

“You mean that Savannah stuff?”

Locke cursed, turned his head so that Mason couldn’t see his face, and looked out of the cab window.

Mason sat back, apparently entirely absorbed in the crowds on the sidewalks, the fronts of the buildings, the window displays.

Locke started to say something once, but changed his mind and lapsed into silence. His milkchocolate eyes were wide and worried. His face had not regained its color. It showed white and pasty.

The cab drew up in front of the Wheelright Hotel.

Locke got out and indicated Mason to the cab driver, with a gesture of his hand.

Mason shook his head.

“No, Locke,” he said, “this is your party. You wanted the cab.”

Locke pulled a bill out of his pocket, tossed it to the cab driver, turned, and started through the entrance of the hotel. Mason followed.

Locke walked at once to the elevator, said, “Ninth floor,” to the operator.

When the cage stopped, he got out and walked straight toward Esther Linten’s room, without bothering to see if Mason was following. He knocked on the door. “It’s me, Honey,” he called.

Esther Linten opened the door. She had on a kimono which opened in the front sufficiently to reveal pink silk underwear. When she saw Mason, she pulled the kimono abruptly about her, and stepped back, her eyes large.

“What’s the meaning of this, Frank?” she asked.

Locke pushed on past her. “I can’t explain things, Honey, but I want you to tell this fellow where I was last night.”

She lowered her eyes, and said, “What do you mean, Frank?”

Locke’s voice was savage. “Oh, nix on that stuff. You know what I mean. Go on. This is a jam, and you’ve got to come clean.”

She stared at Locke with fluttering eyelids. “Tell him everything?” she asked.

“Everything,” said Locke. “He ain’t a vice squad. He’s just a dumb boob that thinks he can work a frameup on me, and get away with it.”

She spoke, in a low voice, “We went out, and after that, you came here.”

“Then what happened?” pressed Locke.

“I undressed,” she muttered.

“Go on,” said Locke. “Tell it to him. Give him the whole business. Speak up so he can hear you.”

“I went to bed,” she said slowly, “and I’d had a couple of drinks.”

“What time was that?” asked Mason.

“About eleventhirty, I guess,” she said.

Locke stared at her. “What happened after that?” he demanded.

She shook her head. “I woke up this morning with an awful headache, Frank. And I knew, of course, that you were here when I went to sleep. But I don’t know what time you went out, or anything about it. I passed out after I got into bed.”