Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Velvet Claws

“What about?”

“About a certain story that Spicy Bits threatens to publish. I don’t want it published.”

The diamondhard eyes never so much as changed expression. They stared fixedly at Perry Mason.

“Why come here about it?” asked Belter.

“Because I think you’re the one that I want to see.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“I think you are.”

“I’m not. Don’t know anything at all about Spicy Bits. I’ve read the sheet once in a while. It’s a dirty, blackmailing rag, if you ask me.”

Mason’s eyes became hard. His body seemed to lean forward slightly from the hips.

“All right,” he said. “I’m not asking you, I’m telling you.”

“Telling me what?” Belter asked.

“Telling you that I’m an attorney, and I’m representing a client that Spicy Bits is trying to blackmail, and I don’t like the setup. I’m telling you that I don’t intend to pay the price that’s demanded, and I’m telling you further that I don’t intend to pay a damned cent. I’m not going to buy any advertising in your sheet, and your sheet isn’t going to publish the story about my client. Get that, and get it straight!”

Belter sneered. “It serves me right,” he said, “for seeing the first shyster ambulance chaser that comes pounding at the door. I should have had the butler kick you out. You’re either drunk or crazy. Or both. Personally, I have an idea it’s both. Now are you going to get out, or shall I call the police?”

“I’ll get out,” Mason said, “when I finish what I was saying. You’ve kept in the background in this thing, and had Locke for your goat to stand out in front and take it. You’ve sat back and raked in the cash. You’ve received dividends out of blackmail. All right. Here’s where you get an assessment.”

Belter stood staring at Mason, saying nothing.

“I don’t know whether you know who I am, or whether you know what I want,” Mason went on, “but you can find out pretty quick by getting in touch with Locke. I’m telling you that if Spicy Bits publishes anything about my client, I’ll rip off the mask of the man who owns the damned rag! Do you get that?”

“All right,” Belter remarked. “You’ve made your threat. Now I’ll make mine. I don’t know who you are, and I don’t give a damn. Maybe your reputation is sufficiently spotless so that you can afford to go around and make threats. Then again, maybe it isn’t. Perhaps you’d better watch some of your own fences before you start throwing mud over other people’s.”

Mason nodded curtly. “Of course, I expected that,” he said.

“Well,” Belter said, “you won’t be disappointed then. But don’t think that’s an admission that I’m mixed up with Spicy Bits. I don’t know a damned thing about it. And I don’t want to. Now get out!”

Mason turned and walked through the door.

The butler was on the threshold. He spoke to Belter.

“I beg your pardon, sir, but your wife wants very much to see you before she goes out, and she’s just leaving.”

Belter walked toward the door. “All right,” he said. “Take a good look at this man, Digley. If you ever see him on the place again, throw him off. Call a cop if you have to.”

Mason turned and stared at the butler.

“Better call two cops, Digley,” he observed. “You might need ’em.”

He walked down the stairs, conscious of the fact that the other two men were descending immediately behind him. As he reached the lower hallway, a woman glided out from a corner near the door.

“I hope I didn’t interrupt you, George,” she said, “but…”

Her eyes met those of Perry Mason.

She was the woman who had called on Mason at his office, and given the name of Eva Griffin.

Her face drained of color. The blue eyes became dark with sudden panic. Then, by an effort, she controlled the expression of her face, and the blue eyes enlarged to that wideeyed stare of baby innocence which she had practiced when she had been in the office with Mason.

Mason’s face showed nothing whatever. He stared at the woman with eyes that were perfectly calm and serene.

“Well?” asked Belter. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” she said, and her voice sounded thin and frightened. “I just didn’t know you were busy. I’m sorry I disturbed you.”

Belter said, “Don’t mind him. He’s just a shyster who got in under false pretenses—and is leaving in a hurry.”

Mason whirled on his heel.

“Listen, you,” he said, “I’m going to tell you…”

The butler grabbed his arm. “This way, sir,” he said.

Mason’s powerful shoulders swung in a pivot that was like the swing of a golf professional. The butler was hurled across the hallway and slammed against the wall with force that jarred the pictures on their hangings. Perry Mason strode directly to the massive form of George Belter.

“I decided to give you a break,” he said, “and now I’ve changed my mind. You publish a word about my client, or about me in your sheet, and you’ll go to jail for the next twenty years. D’you hear?”

The diamondhard eyes stared at him with the uncordial glitter of a snake’s eyes staring into the face of a man armed with a club. George Belter’s right hand was in his coat pocket.

“It’s a good thing,” he said, “that you stopped right when you did. Make a move to lay a hand on me, and I’ll blow your heart out! I’ve got witnesses to show it’s selfdefense, and I don’t know but what it would be a good thing to do anyway.”

“Don’t bother,” Mason said, evenly, “you can’t stop me that way. There are others who know what I know, and know where I am and why.”

Belter’s lip curled.

“The trouble with you is,” he said, “that you keep singing the same tune. You’ve already played that game for all that it’s worth. If you think that I’m afraid of anything that a cheap, blackmailing ambulance chaser can try to pin on me, you’re mistaken. I’m telling you to get out, for the last time!”

Mason turned on his heel. “All right. I’m getting out. I’ve said all I’ve got to say.”

George Belter’s sarcastic comment reached his ears as he gained the door.

“At least twice,” said Belter. “Some of it you’ve said three times.”

Eva Belter sat in Perry Mason’s private office, and sobbed quietly into a handkerchief.

Perry Mason sat behind the desk with his coat off, and watched her with wary eyes and an entire absence of sympathy.

“You shouldn’t have done it,” she said, between sniffs.

“How was I supposed to know that?” asked Perry Mason.

“He’s utterly ruthless,” she said.

Mason nodded his head.

“I’m pretty ruthless myself,” he observed.

“Why didn’t you put the ad in the Examiner?”

“They wanted too much money. They seemed to think I was going to play Santa Claus.”

“They knew it was important,” she wailed. “There’s a lot at stake.”

Mason said nothing.

The woman sobbed silently for a moment, then raised her eyes, and stared in mute anguish at Perry Mason.

“You should never have threatened him,” she said. “You should never have come to the house. You can’t do anything with him by threats. Whenever he gets in a corner, he always fights his way out. He never asks for quarter, and he never gives any.”

“Well, what’s he going to do about it?” asked Mason.

“He’ll ruin you,” she sobbed. “He’ll find every lawsuit that you’ve got, and accuse you of jury bribing, of suborning perjury, and of unprofessional conduct. He’ll hound you out of the city.”

“The minute he puts anything about me in his paper,” said Mason, grimly, “I’ll sue him for libel, and I’ll keep on bringing a suit every time he mentions my name.”