The Case of the Careless Kitten

Chapter 24

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.

“No. I guess not. I’ve eaten, I’ve drunken, I’ve been merry, so I guess I’m all set for tomorrow.”

The music stopped at that moment. Mason, with his arm still around her waist, swung her away so that he could look at her. His eyes were puzzled for an instant. Then they cleared.

“I didn’t get you. I see — tomorrow you die. Have you been worrying about that damn silly case?”

She laughed nervously. “Well — I suppose every nice girl has to go through this sort of thing sooner or later.”

“But you haven’t committed any crime.”

“I wish you’d remember to tell Hamilton Burger when you see him. It seems ridiculous not to clear up this little misunderstanding, when all you have to do is say, ‘Listen, Ham, old fellow, this little girl is...’ Oh, hell’s bells, let’s sit down.”

Perry followed her to their table.

“I thought you were worried,” Della went on, “when you brought the kitten out to me and found that Franklin Shore wasn’t there.”

“I was,” Mason admitted. “If I’d used my head, though, I needn’t have been.”

“I don’t get it,” she said, lighting a cigarette.

“You should — if you know kittens.”

“You mean the kitten jumping in the flour?”

“No, not that... What is it?” he asked, noticing that she was staring over his shoulder.

“Paul Drake.”

“How did he find us here?” Mason asked, frowning.

Drake was close enough to hear Mason’s remark. He pulled out a chair and sat down.

“As you well know, I can find anybody, any time, any place. Here’s my card. Aren’t you going to order me a drink?”

“Cops and private dicks shouldn’t drink when they’re on duty.”

“Paul Drake, the fellow I work for, is broad-minded. He’s a swell guy. He’s a prince. You ought to meet him.”

Mason summoned a waiter. “Three Scotch and sodas.”

“Five Scotches,” Drake corrected. “But only three of ’em in my glass. I never could stand strong highballs.”

The waiter hesitated, then deftly withdrew.

“You know, Perry, I didn’t just drop in here to buy you and Della Scotch and sodas. There’s something worrying me.”

“Have you been arrested, too?” Della cried.

Paul Drake ignored her comment to look steadily at the lawyer. “Perry,” he said, “you weren’t by any chance planning some especially dramatic blowoff for tomorrow, were you — using your friend, Tom Lunk?”

“Perhaps. Why?”

“You’re not going to do it now,” Drake said.

“Why not?”

“Lunk’s dead, found at a road intersection a couple of blocks from his house, a hit-and-run car. A witness saw it happen and chased the car for half a dozen blocks, but couldn’t even get close enough to see the license number. The car swung around the corner just after Lunk got off the street car he rides home on.”

Mason drummed on the tablecloth with his fingers. “Burger was a damn fool to release him,” he said.

“Apparently, he thought Lunk had told ’em everything he knew and there was no reason for holding him any longer.”

Mason frowned.

“What were you intending to spring on Lunk?” Della asked.

“Quite a few things. Has it ever seemed curious to you, Della, that after I had taken all the precautions to get Lunk registered in a hotel under the name of Thomas Trimmer, the police should have picked him up so easily?”

“Someone must have followed you,” Drake said.

Mason shook his head. “Don’t kid yourself, Paul. When I don’t want to be followed, no one follows me.”

“Then who tipped them off? It couldn’t have been the hotel clerk.”

“No,” Mason said. “And you can follow that process of elimination right on through. There’s only one person who could have done it.”

“Who?”

“Lunk.”

Drake looked incredulous. “You mean that he telephoned the police himself?”

“Yes.”

“But that was a goofy, crazy thing to do. Why would he do anything like that?”

Mason said, “That fact gives you the key to the whole business.”

“But why?” Della Street asked.

Mason said, “There’s only one reason I can think of.”

“What’s that?”

“He wanted to be arrested,” Mason said dryly.

“You mean that he felt he was in danger?”

Mason shrugged his shoulders.

The waiter brought the drinks. Drake raised his glass to Della. “Here’s to jail,” he grinned. “Well, Perry, what do you do now?”

Mason said, “Nothing, absolutely nothing. Hamilton Burger is going to have to crack this nut by himself. That jury will never convict Della — not as long as there are two women on it who know something about cats.”

Della Street put her glass down firmly. “If you don’t explain what you mean by that, I will be convicted of a crime, and it will be murder.”

“No prosecutor in this state would charge you with murder for killing Perry Mason,” Drake pointed out. “You’d get a reward! But what did the kitten do that’s so significant?”

Mason grinned. “It was a cold night,” he said. “The kitten jumped into the flour when someone was hiding the gun in the can. Naturally, the kitten got thrown out, probably with a cuff on the ear. Now, that kitten had had a lot of kind treatment and didn’t like the rough stuff. It ran out of the kitchen and into the back bedroom, and jumped up on the bed. It didn’t stay there, though. It jumped off that bed and went to the other bed.”

“Why?” Drake asked.

Della Street gave a sudden, quick gasp. “Oh,” she cried, “I know why! Anyone would, if he stopped to think about it.”

Drake shook his head and got up.

“Where are you going, Paul?” Della demanded.

“I’m going out to buy a cat so I can study him and learn about some of the important facts of life.”

“You would, at that, you know,” Mason told him seriously.

“Good night,” Drake muttered lugubriously.

With Paul Drake gone, Mason turned to Della. “You know, Della, this has been more of a strain on you than I realized. As soon as the jury brings in its verdict tomorrow, what do you say we take a run out to the desert — around Palm Springs or Indio. We’ll do some horseback riding, lie in the sun—”

“Perry, I may be convicted tomorrow.”

Mason grinned. “You forget those two women on the jury who know cats.”

“Aren’t you going to explain any more to the jury?”

“Not a bit.”

“Why?”

“Because if I did, I’d be explaining to Hamilton Burger. I’m going to let him fry in his own grease.”

“What will Lieutenant Tragg do?”

“Eventually,” Mason said, “Lieutenant Tragg will solve the case.”

“But won’t it take the jury a long while to get the whole idea through its head?”

Mason said, “Now that’s something that would be a sporting bet. I’ll bet you five dollars that jury will be out for at least three hours. It’ll come in with a verdict of not guilty, but it’ll be a dazed sort of jury, with two triumphant women smiling at you, and the men scowling. Then we’ll start out for the desert, and Hamilton Burger will start talking with the jurors, trying to find out what it was about the kitten that broke the case. Then he’ll try to get in touch with me, and we’ll be out in the desert somewhere. Let’s forget it and dance.”