The Case of the Careless Kitten

Chapter 2

Gerald Shore had never had his brother’s flair for making money, or rather, for keeping money. Where Franklin had watched his ever-growing fortune with the tight-lipped determination of a man who knows how to say no, Gerald had spent money recklessly on the “easy come, easy go” theory.

Prior to 1929, Gerald had considered himself a wealthy man. Within a few short weeks, he not only had been completely stripped of his property, but had found himself dependent upon his law practice to give him even a living. This period of transition had been most embarrassing. Having adjusted his practice on the theory that he would not waste his time with small cases, that he would see clients by appointment only, and would take only such cases as interested him, Gerald suddenly found himself eager to accept any honorable employment where there was even a fair possibility of a fee.

Holding the kitten close, feeling the convulsive waves that racked its little body, Helen thought gratefully that Uncle Gerald was more sympathetic, more understanding, than any man she knew. She wondered if he had always been like this. Certainly his difficulties and his trouble had not hardened him. It seemed even that since the crash he had been more gentle, more tolerant, than before. Whereas Aunt Matilda’s idea was for Komo to put the kitten out of the way, Uncle Gerald obviously recognized a major emergency that relegated traffic laws to the background. It was but a matter of minutes before they had Amber Eyes in the hands of a competent veterinary.

Dr. Blakely, making a quick diagnosis, reached for a hypodermic needle.

“It isn’t — isn’t rabies, is it?” Helen asked.

“Probably poison,” he said. “Here, hold the cat’s head. Hold him tightly by the neck and shoulders. Hold firmly now. Don’t let go if he starts fighting.”

He inserted the hypodermic needle, carefully regulated the amount of fluid which he injected, withdrew the needle, and said, “Temporarily, we’ll put him in this cage. The kitten’s going to eject the contents of its stomach. In that way, we’ll get rid of any poison which remains. How long ago was it when you first observed any symptoms?”

“I don’t think it could possibly have been over five or ten minutes,” Helen said. “It didn’t take us over three minutes to get here, and... well, perhaps ten minutes ago.”

“We stand a good chance,” Dr. Blakely said. “Nice little kitten. Hope we can save it.”

“You think it’s poison?”

“I think so. The treatment isn’t going to be particularly pleasant. You’ll think the animal is suffering even more than it is. You two had better wait out in the office. If I need any more help, I’ll call you.”

He drew on a pair of thick leather gloves.

“You’re sure there’s nothing we can do?” Helen asked.

He shook his head. “I can let you know more in a few minutes. It had been playing out in the yard, hadn’t it?”

“No, I don’t think so. I don’t remember distinctly, but I think the kitten had been in the living room all the time.”

“Well, we’ll find out more about it after a while. Go sit down and wait.”

Out in the waiting room, Gerald Shore settled himself in a chair, fished a cigar from his waistcoat pocket, bit off the end and struck a match. The flame, which was held in his cupped hands, illuminated the sensitive outlines of his features, the sweep of a high, contemplative forehead, kindly, tolerant eyes, about which were little crow’s-feet of humor, a mouth which was uncompromising and determined without being too stern.

“Nothing we can do now, Helen. May as well sit down and take it easy. We’ve done everything we can.”

They sat silently for several minutes, Helen’s mind tumbling around between that strange telephone call and Amber Eyes and poison, and what she should do about her Uncle Franklin. In spite of what he had said, she wanted to confide in Uncle Gerald but she hesitated. Gerald Shore was quite evidently lost in thought, his mind occupied with a problem that plainly required concentration.

Abruptly he said, “Helen, as I told you a few days ago, we’re going to do something about Franklin’s will immediately. Matilda has been hanging on to what belongs to us long enough.”

“Perhaps we ought to wait — just a little,” Helen murmured uncertainly.

“We’ve waited long enough.”

He saw that Helen was hesitating, trying to make up her mind to speak or to keep silent.

“Well,” he asked, “what is it?”

Helen suddenly made up her mind with a rush. “I... I had a queer experience today,” she blurted out.

“What?”

“A man telephoned.”

Gerald chuckled. “I’d say it was queerer if any man who knew your number hadn’t telephoned you. If I weren’t your uncle and...”

“Don’t be ridiculous! This man said— Oh, it just doesn’t sound plausible. It can’t be true!”

“If you’d be just a little more explicit,” Gerald murmured encouragingly.

Helen’s voice dropped almost to a whisper. “He said he was Franklin Shore. He seemed to recognize my voice, wanted to know if I recognized his.”

Gerald Shore’s face showed baffled, incredulous surprise.

“Nonsense!” he exclaimed.

“It’s true.”

“Helen, you’re excited. You...”

“Uncle Gerald, I swear it.”

There was a long pause.

“When did the call come in?” Gerald asked finally.

“Just a few minutes before you came to the house.”

“Some impostor, of course, trying to...”

“No. It was Uncle Franklin.”

“Look here, Helen, did you — that is, was there anything familiar about his voice?”

“I don’t know. I couldn’t be sure of the voice — but it was Uncle Franklin, all right.”

Her Uncle Gerald frowned at the tip of his cigar. “It’s impossible! What did he say?”

“He wants me to meet him tonight at the Castle Gate Hotel — that is, I’m to see a man named Henry Leech there, and Henry Leech will take me to Uncle Franklin.”

Gerald Shore relaxed. “That settles it. Obviously an impostor after money. We’ll go to the police and set a trap for your friend.”

Helen shook her head. “Uncle Franklin told me to see that well-known lawyer, Perry Mason, tell him the whole story and bring him to the meeting tonight.”

Gerald Shore stared at her blankly. “It’s the damnedest thing I ever heard. What does he want with Perry Mason?”

“I don’t know.”

“Look here,” Gerald said somewhat sternly, “you don’t know that was Franklin talking, do you, Helen?”

“Well—”

“Then stop referring to that person as Franklin. That might affect the legal situation. All you know is, you heard a man’s voice over the telephone. That man told you he was Franklin Shore.”

“He said things that proved it.”

“What?”

“A lot of things out of my childhood that only Uncle Franklin would know about: the time the kitten got up on the roof of the house and couldn’t get down, and he rescued it; all about the New Year’s party when I was thirteen and sneaked the punch and got tipsy. No one ever knew about that except Uncle Franklin. He followed me up to my room, and was so perfect about it. He just sat down and started talking. Even when I developed a laughing jag, he pretended not to notice. He told me that he didn’t agree with Matilda’s idea of bringing me up, that I was getting to be a big girl, and would have to experiment about life myself, but that it would be better if I learned how dangerous drink was — and learned to gauge just how much I could take. And maybe for a few years it would be better if I didn’t drink at all. And then he got up and walked out.”

Gerald’s brows were level with thought. “And this person told you all about that when he called?”

Helen nodded.

Gerald Shore got up from the chair, walked over toward the window, stood with his hands in his pockets. Outwardly he seemed calm and thoughtful. Only the rapid little puffs of cigar smoke which emerged from his mouth showed nervousness.

“What happened after that?” he asked.

“Then Uncle Franklin — this man, whoever he was — asked me to get Perry Mason and be at the Castle Gate Hotel at nine o’clock and to ask for Henry Leech.”

“But, good heavens, Helen, if it was Franklin who was talking over the telephone, why in the world didn’t he come home and...”

“That’s what I kept wondering about, and then I thought perhaps — well, you know, if he’d gone away with some other woman... I guess he wants to pave the way for coming back and probably wants someone to sound out Aunt Matilda on how she’ll feel.”

“But why didn’t he call me? I’m his brother. I’m a lawyer. Why did he call you?”

“I don’t know. He said I was the only one who could help him. Perhaps he tried to reach you and couldn’t.”

“And what happened after that? How did the conversation terminate?”

“He acted as though something had surprised him, as though someone had come in the room or something. He gave a quick little exclamation and hung up the telephone very abruptly.”

“He asked you not to tell anyone?”

“Yes. But I... well, I thought I should tell you — under the circumstances.”

“You didn’t tell Matilda?”

“No.”

“Sure she hasn’t any suspicion?”

“No. I’m sure she thought I was talking to Jerry. And right after that she noticed the kitten was having spasms. Poor Amber Eyes! How could he possibly have got poison?”

“I don’t know,” Gerald said somewhat shortly. “Let’s quit thinking about the kitten for a moment and think about Franklin. This doesn’t make sense. Ten years’ silence, and then this fantastic stage play of a return! Personally I always thought he’d run away with that woman. I felt sure he’d left Matilda some note that she’d suppressed. I thought, as time passed without any word except that card from Miami, that thing probably hadn’t gone so well. I always considered the possibility that he might have committed suicide. He’d have preferred that way out rather than face the humiliation of an ignominious return.”

Gerald pushed his hands down more deeply into his pockets, stared out of the window. After a time he turned around and said to Helen, “When Franklin left, Matilda had a lot of the property in her name. If Franklin should show up he’s not going to have much left for himself. You and I will have nothing. Franklin’s my brother. He’s your uncle. We both hope he’s alive, but he is going to have to prove it”

Dr. Blakely came out from the operating room.

“Your kitten was poisoned,” he said to Helen.

“You’re certain?”

“Absolutely.”

Gerald turned again from the window to regard the doctor gravely.

“What did you find?”

“Some poisoned meat had been administered but a very short time before the kitten was brought here. There were tablets of poison in the meat — perhaps more than one. I recovered a part of one tablet which hadn’t as yet fully dissolved. It had probably been embedded in a piece of meat, and the kitten’s digestive juices hadn’t thoroughly dissolved it.”

“Will... will he live?” Helen asked.

“Yes. He’s going to be all right now. You can come back and get him in an hour or two, but you’d better let him either stay here for a few days, or let some friend keep him. Someone very deliberately tried to poison your kitten. You probably have some neighbor who doesn’t like animals, or has some particular reason for disliking you.”

“Why, I can’t believe such a thing’s possible,” Helen said.

Dr. Blakely shrugged his shoulders. “Poisoned tablets packed in small wads of meat such as was given this kitten indicate the work of a deliberate poisoner. We have trouble with poisoners in various parts of the city; usually they’re after dogs. They prepare little balls of meat and toss them into a yard. The dog grabs them eagerly. It’s rather unusual that a kitten as young as this one gets such a big dose of poison.”

Gerald said abruptly, “You want the kitten to stay away from the house for a few days, Doctor?”

“Yes.”

“Is he out of danger now?”

“Yes. But I want to give him some further treatment — an hour or so.”

Helen said, “Let’s come back right after dinner and get him, Uncle Gerald. Then we can take him down to Tom Lunk — the gardener. He has a little bachelor shack that’s out of the neighborhood. Amber Eyes loves him and will be happy there.”

“That sounds like an excellent plan,” Dr. Blakely said.

Gerald Shore nodded. “All right. Come on, Helen, you’ve got a lot to do.”

Four or five blocks from the veterinary’s Gerald Shore pulled into the curb in front of a drugstore.

“That appointment with Perry Mason,” he explained. “I know him slightly, so I’ll telephone for you. It will be a miracle if we can catch him now. He’s a law unto himself as far as office hours go — and a lot of other things.”

A few minutes later he emerged. “In an hour at his office. That all right?”

Helen nodded. “Hadn’t you better come with me?”

“No. You’ll tell him the story better if you do it in your own way without having me there. I’m particularly anxious to see how he reacts to it — if he gets the same impression I do. I told him I’d meet you somewhere in front of the Castle Gate Hotel at nine.”

“What’s your impression, Uncle Gerald?”

He smiled affectionately, but shook his head. He concentrated on his driving for a moment, then turned to Helen. “You really don’t know whether that kitten was outdoors late this afternoon?”

“I’ve been trying to think, Uncle Gerald. I remember he was out in the back yard about three o’clock, but I can’t remember that he was out after that.”

“Who was at the house this afternoon?”

“Komo and Aunt Matilda and the cook.”

“Who else?”

Under the direct impact of his eyes, she felt herself coloring.

“Jerry Templar.”

“How long before the kitten developed those spasms?”

“Not very long.”

“Was George Alber there?”

“Yes, only for a few minutes. He came to see Aunt Matilda and then kept hanging around — until Jerry came — then I got rid of him in a hurry. Why?”

A muscle flickered in Gerald’s cheek, as if his jaws had tightened. “How much do you know about this — this devotion of Matilda’s to George Alber?”

“I know she likes him,” Helen said. “She’s always—”

“You don’t know what’s behind it, then? You don’t know that she almost married his father?”

“I never knew that. It... it’s hard to imagine Aunt Matilda as ever having been—”

“She was, though. Along in 1920, when she was forty or so, she was an attractive widow. And Stephen Alber was a good looking widower. George is a lot like him. It wasn’t any wonder to us that they fell for each other. It was a good deal more of a wonder when they had a quarrel and Matilda married Franklin. I always thought she did that mainly to hurt Stephen. It did hurt him, too, but he got over it. Married, two or three years afterwards. You probably remember when he was divorced, along about 1930.”

Helen shook her head. “It’s hard to believe anybody could ever have been in love with Aunt Matilda. And it’s even harder to imagine her being in love.”

“But she was. So much in love that I don’t think she ever got over it. I think she’s still in love with Stephen Alber. I think the biggest of her reasons for hating Franklin isn’t that he walked out on her. She knew he’d always hated Steve Alber, and I’m pretty sure that the thing she can’t forgive him for is what he did to Steve.”

“What did he do?” Helen said.

“Nothing, really. The bank did it after Franklin disappeared. But I shouldn’t wonder if he’d been getting ready to do it before he left. The big smash in ’29 hit Alber pretty hard, along with everybody else, but he managed to save some of the pieces. He hung on to them till along in ’32, just after Franklin left. Then the bank put on the screws. I shouldn’t wonder if Franklin had been intending to do it himself. He certainly didn’t like Alber. Anyway, Alber went under and never came up. Perhaps that wasn’t what killed him, but I guess it helped. And Matilda—”

He stopped. They were almost home. “I’m going with you tonight. I’ll be outside of the Castle Gate at nine.”

Helen hesitated. “Uncle Franklin said I mustn’t bring anybody except Mr. Mason. He sounded terribly in earnest about it.”

“No matter,” Gerald said. “I’m going with you.” His voice dropped a tone as he stopped in front of the house. “Be careful what you say. There’s George Alber.”