Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Careless Kitten

“Lately Shore got to needing money. He went to Leech. Leech was to have given him the dough, but he was stony broke by this time... So Shore had to come back. The dame left him a couple of years ago and Shore was flat broke. And that’s everything I know about it. That’s the whole story the way the boss gave it to me there in the shack.”

Hamilton Burger said, “The thing’s incredible! That’s the damnedest story I ever heard.”

Lunk said in the flat, emotionless voice of a man who isn’t trying to convince anyone, “It sounded all right to me. Maybe hearing it from the boss’s own lips made it seem more convincin’, but that’s the story he told me.”

Mason said to the district attorney, “Suppose it’s all true — up to the point where the auto accident took place, Burger. Then suppose it was Shore who was killed. This double had been training to take Shore’s place. He knew intimate things that Shore had told him, and he’d written them down and memorized them. A fortune was waiting for him if he could impersonate Franklin Shore and make it stick.”

“Then why didn’t he show up sooner?” Burger asked.

“One possible explanation is that Mrs. Shore knew about this double her husband had dug up,” Mason replied. “Remember, Shore had started it as a joke, and his wife knew all about it. But if Mrs. Shore should die, then the double could show up as the missing husband and claim the whole estate.”

Burger gave a low whistle — then said, “Damn,” explosively. “And that would explain the poison.”

Mason lit a cigarette.

Lunk said, “This wasn’t no double that came to my place. It was the boss.”

“How do you know?” Mason asked.

“Because he told me some things only the boss knew.”

Mason smiled at Hamilton Burger.

Lunk frowned, then said suddenly, “Well, no matter who this was, he was broke. Why should he steal the few hundred I kept hid in my clothes and then leave a fortune in my flour can?”

Burger looked at Mason for an answer.

“No comment,” Mason said, smiling.

“Do you think the man who called on Lunk was the double, or Shore himself?” Burger asked Mason.

Mason said, “I don’t know, Burger. I didn’t see him. After all, you know you’ve said you’d prefer I minded my own business and let the police solve their murders. Suppose you wrestle with that problem?”

“Damn it, it could have been either one!” Burger exclaimed.

Mason seemed completely disinterested. “Well, I think my clients are in the clear, both Della Street and Gerald Shore.”

Hamilton Burger’s voice showed exasperation. “This is the damnedest case!”

Mason stretched and yawned.

“I don’t find it so,” he said. “However, I’m not interested in anything except getting Miss Street acquitted.”

“What the devil is that business about cat psychology you’re talking about, and what does it have to do with the case?” Burger asked.

Mason said, “I’m afraid if I told you, Burger, you’d accuse me of trying to outwit the police. I’ve been thinking over what you said to me there in your office. I think there’s a great deal to be said in favor of your position. You think an attorney has no business going out trying to solve murders, that he should confine himself to handling his own law practice, and I’m forced to agree with you. I’m representing Gerald Shore, and I’m representing Della Street. I have no interest in solving murders as such.”

“But you want to get Gerald Shore entirely out in the clear, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“There’s no better way to do it than by showing us who committed the murders.”

“No,” Mason said, “that isn’t the law. It’s what you were objecting to about my methods, Burger. You see, it’s up to you to prove that my clients committed some crime. As long as I confine myself to representing those clients, I’m practicing law in a staid, conventional manner. The minute I go out and try to ‘outwit the police’, as you called it, I’m guilty of that unconventional conduct which has proven so irritating to you. In fact, Mr. District Attorney, I’ve decided to let you solve your own mysteries — and that’s the last word I was telling you I was going to have.

“Come on, Della. Let’s leave Lieutenant Tragg and the district attorney to work out their little picture puzzle. After all, it’s no skin off our noses.”

Burger said, “Look here, Mason, you can’t do that! I’m satisfied you know a lot more about this case than we do.”

“No, I don’t,” Mason said. “You have every essential fact that I have.”

“Well, perhaps you’ve applied the knowledge we all have to better advantage.”

Mason bowed. “Thank you, counselor.”

“All right, you owe it to us to tell us what conclusion you’ve reached.”

Mason said, “I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Burger. I’ll put you on an equal footing with me. There’s one thing I know that you don’t. Lunk told me that he was satisfied Komo, the houseboy, had been experimenting with poison, that he’d first started experimenting about ten years ago, that shortly before Franklin Shore’s disappearance, Lunk’s brother died, and Lunk has always been under the impression the houseboy poisoned him.”

“Is that right?” Burger asked Lunk.

Lunk said, “That’s right. I don’t think that damn Jap had anything against my brother in particular, but I think he was experimenting with poison — just the way he started experimenting on the kitten.”

Lieutenant Tragg, who had just come up to join the group, said, “There were four bottles of stout in the icebox. Everyone of them had been loaded with strychnine. Do you think the houseboy did that?”

“I know damn well he did it,” Lunk said vehemently.

“How do you know?”

“Well, just from putting two and two together, the same as you know anything.”

Burger said to Tragg, “There’s some new and startling evidence here, Lieutenant. I want to talk with you.”

Mason smiled and said, “What Lunk means, Lieutenant, is that he feels very positively Komo is the poisoner. You’ll remember, Lieutenant, that you told me you thought the evidence would show the bullets had all been fired from the same gun, and that would mean that one person had been guilty of both crimes. Now, follow that reasoning out. Matilda Shore has a perfect alibi. She was in the hospital when the second crime was committed. Gerald Shore has an alibi. You probably know what it is, but I’m not going to stick my neck out by telling you that because I don’t want to be a witness. And you can eliminate Helen Kendal and Jerry Templar. You can eliminate darn near everyone under that theory except three or four people. There you are, Lieutenant. Pay your money and take your choice. But if I were you, I really would investigate the death of Lunk’s brother, and see if it isn’t possible that the death was due to poison rather than natural causes.

“And now if you gentlemen will excuse me, I have a dinner date with the defendant.”

The dance orchestra was perfect. The lights were dim and on the floor only a few couples were dancing so that they were neither crowded nor conspicuous.

Without either having spoken for a long time, Perry Mason and Della Street were drifting through the strains of an Island song. As the orchestra swung into the chorus, Della Street began to sing the words very softly. Suddenly she stopped with an involuntary choke.

“S’matter? Swallow a fly?” he demanded. “Go on, do some more. I like it.”

She shook her head.

“Something wrong?” he asked more seriously.