The Case of the Velvet Claws

Chapter 11

Perry Mason pulled his hat down on his head and slipped into his overcoat which was still damp enough to give forth a smell of wet wool.

“I’m going out and chase down a few clews,” he toldDella Street. “Sooner or later they’re going to start narrowing the circle, and then I won’t be able to move. I’ve got to do everything while I can still move around. You stick right here and hold the fort. I can’t leave word where you can reach me, because I’m afraid to have you call me. But I’ll call you every once in a while and ask if Mr. Mason is in. I’ll tell you my name is Johnson, that I’m an old friend of his, and ask if he left any message. You can manage to let me know what’s going on without letting on who I am.”

“You think that they’ll have the telephone line tapped?”

“They may. I don’t know just where this thing is going to lead.”

“And they’ll have a warrant out for you?”

“Not a warrant, but they’ll want to ask me some more questions.”

She looked at him sympathetically, tenderly, said nothing.

“Be careful,” he said, and walked out of the office.

It was still dark when he entered the lobby of the Hotel Ripley, and asked for a room with bath. He registered under the name of Fred B. Johnson, ofDetroit, and was given room 518, for which he was required to pay in advance, inasmuch as he had no baggage.

He went to the room, pulled the curtains, ordered four bottles of ginger ale, with plenty of ice, and got a quart of whiskey from the bellboy. Then he sat in the overstuffed chair, with his feet on the bed, and smoked.

The door was unlocked.

He was smoking for more than half an hour, lighting one cigarette from the tip of the other, when the door opened. Eva Belter came in without knocking.

She closed the door behind her, locked it, and smiled at him. “Oh, I’m so glad that you were here all right.”

Perry Mason kept his seat. “You’re sure you weren’t followed?” he asked.

“No, they didn’t follow me. They told me that I was going to be a material witness and that I mustn’t leave town, or do anything without communicating with the police. Tell me, do you think they’ll arrest me?”

“That depends,” he said.

“Depends on what?”

“Depends on lots of things. I want to talk with you.”

“All right” she said. “I found the will.”

“Where did you find it?”

“In his desk.”

“What did you do with it?”

“Brought it with me.”

“Let’s see it.”

“It’s just like I thought it was,” she said, “only I didn’t come off as well as I had expected. I thought that he would at least leave me enough to let me go to Europe and look around, and… and sort of get readjusted.”

“You mean and get yourself another man.”

“I didn’t say any such thing!”

“I didn’t talk about what you said. I was talking about what you meant,” Mason told her, still using that calmly detached tone of voice.

Her face became dignified.

“Really, Mr. Mason,” she said, “I think the conversation is wandering rather far afield. Here is the will.”

He stared thoughtfully at her. “If you’re going to drag me into murder cases,” he said, “you’d better not try those upstage tactics. They don’t work.”

She drew herself up haughtily, then suddenly laughed. “Of course I meant I wanted to get another husband,” she said. “Why shouldn’t I?”

“All right. Why did you deny it then?”

“I don’t know. I couldn’t help it. It’s just something in me that resents having people know too much about me.”

“You mean,” he told her, “that you hate the truth. You’d rather build up a protective barrier of falsehoods.”

She flushed.

“That’s not fair!” she blazed.

He stretched out his hand, without answering her, and took the paper from her hand. He read it slowly.

“All in his handwriting?” he asked.

“No,” she said, “I don’t think it is.”

He looked at her closely.

“It seems to be all in the same handwriting.”

“I don’t think it’s his writing.”

He laughed. “That won’t get you any place,” he said. “Your husband showed the will to Carl Griffin and Arthur Atwood, Griffin’s attorney, and told them that it was his will and in his handwriting.”

The woman shook her head impatiently. “You mean that he showed them a will, and said it was in his handwriting. There was nothing to prevent Griffin from tearing up that will, and substituting a forged one. Was there?”

He looked at her in cold appraisal.

“Listen,” he said, “you’re saying lots of words. Do you know what they mean?”

“Of course, I know what they mean.”

“Well,” he told her, “that’s a dangerous accusation to make, unless you’ve got something to back it up with.”

“I haven’t got anything to back it up with—yet,” she said, slowly.

“All right, then,” he warned, “don’t make the accusation.”

Her voice was edged with impatience. “You keep telling me that you’re my lawyer, and I’m to tell you everything. And then when I tell you everything, you start scolding me.”

“Oh, forget it,” he said, and handed her back the will. “You can save that injured innocence until you get into court. Now tell me about this will. How did you get it?”

“It was in his study,” she said, slowly. “The safe was unlocked. I sneaked out the will and then locked the safe.”

“You know that isn’t even funny,” he told her.

“You don’t believe me?”

“Of course not.”

“Why?”

“Because the police would probably keep a guard in the room. In any event they would have noticed if the safe had been open and inventoried the contents.”

She lowered her eyes, then said slowly, “Do you remember when we went back there? You were looking at the dead body, feeling of the bathrobe?”

“Yes,” he said, his eyes narrowed.

“All right. I slipped it out of the safe then. The safe was open. I locked it. You were examining the body.”

He blinked. “By God,” he said, “I believe you did! You were over there near the desk and the safe. Why did you do it? Why didn’t you tell me what you were up to?”

“Because I wanted to see if the will was in my favor, or whether I could destroy it. Do you think I should destroy it?”

His answer was an explosive, “No!”

She remained silent for several minutes.

“Well,” she asked at length, “is there anything else?”

“Yes,” he said, “sit down over there on the bed where I can look at you. Now I want to know some things. I didn’t ask them before the officers had talked with you because I was afraid I’d get you all rattled. I wanted you to have all the poise you could have when you were talking with them. But now the situation is different. I want to know exactly what happened.”

She widened her eyes, let her face take on that look of synthetic innocence she affected and said: “I told you what happened.”

He shook his head. “No, you didn’t.”

“Are you accusing me of lying?”

He sighed. “For God’s sake, forget that stuff and get down to earth.”

“Exactly what is it you want to know?”

“You had on your glad rags last night,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. You were all dolled up in your evening gown, without any back, and with your satin shoes, and Sundaygotomeeting stockings.”

“Well?”

“And your husband had been taking a bath.”

“Well, what of that?”

“You didn’t dress up just on your husband’s account,” he said.

“Of course not.”

“Do you dress every evening?”

“Sometimes.”

“As a matter of fact,” he said, “you were out last night, and didn’t get back in until shortly before your husband was murdered. Isn’t that right?”

She shook her head vigorously. Once more her manner became frigidly dignified.

“No,” she said, “I was in all evening.”

Perry Mason looked at her with cold, searching eyes.

“The housekeeper told me when I was down in the kitchen getting some coffee that she heard your maid tell you that somebody had rung up with a message about some shoes,” he ventured.

It was obvious that Eva Belter was taken by surprise but she controlled herself with an effort.

“Why, what’s wrong with that?” she asked.

“Tell me first,” said Mason, “whether or not your maid did bring you such a message.”

“Why, yes,” said Eva Belter, casually, “I think she did. I can’t be certain. I had some shoes that I was very anxious to get, and there has been some trouble about them. I think that Marie received some message about them, and told me what it was. The events crowded it out of my mind.”

“Do you know anything at all about how they hang people?” Perry Mason asked abruptly.

“What do you mean?” she demanded.

“For murder,” he went on. “It usually happens along in the morning. They come down to the death cell and read the death warrant. Then they strap your hands behind your back, and strap a board along your back, so that you can’t cave in. They start a march down the corridor to the scaffold. There are thirteen steps that you have to climb, and then you walk over and stand on a trap. There are prison officials standing by the side of the trap, who look things over, and, in a little cubbyhole back of the trap, are three convicts with sharp knives. There are three strings that run across a board. The hangman puts a noose over your head, and a black bag, and then puts straps around your legs…”

She screamed.

“All right. That’s exactly what’s coming to you if you don’t tell me the God’s truth.”

Her face was white, her lips pale and quivering, and her eyes dark with panic.

“I’m ttttelling you the truth,” she said.

He shook his head. “Listen,” he told her, “you’ve got to learn to be frank and to come clean if we’re going to get you out of this jam. Now you know, and I know, that that message about the shoes was just a stall. It was a code that you had, meaning that Harrison Burke wanted you to get in touch with him. Just the same way you gave me a code to tell the maid when I wanted to get in touch with you.”

She was still shaken and white. Dumbly she nodded her head.

“All right,” said Mason, “now tell me what happened. Harrison Burke sent that message to you. He wanted you to get in touch with him. Then you told him that you would meet him some place, and you put on your things and went out. Is that right?”

“No,” she said, “he came to the house.”

“He did what?”

“It’s a fact,” she went on. “I told him not to, but he came anyway. He wanted to talk with me, and I told him that I wouldn’t, that I couldn’t see him. So he came to the house. You had told him that George was the owner of Spicy Bits. At first he wouldn’t believe it. Finally he did. Then he wanted to talk with George. He thought that he could explain to George. He was willing to do anything in order to keep Spicy Bits from going ahead with its attack.”

“You didn’t know he was coming?” he asked.

“No.”

There was a moment’s silence.

Then she said, “How did you know?”

“Know what?”

“About the shoes being the code he used.”

“Oh, he told me,” said Mason.

“And then the housekeeper told you about the message?” she asked. “I wonder if she told the police.”

Mason shook his head, and smiled.

“No,” he said, “she didn’t tell the police and she didn’t tell me. That was just a little bluff I resorted to in order to get you to give me the real facts. I knew that you must have seen Harrison Burke some time last night, and I knew that he was the kind that would be trying to get in touch with you. When he’s worried, he wants some one to share his worry with him. So I figured that he must have left that message with the maid.”

She looked hurt.

“Do you think that’s a nice way to treat me?” she asked. “Do you think that’s being fair with me?”

He grinned.

“What a sweet angel you are to sit around and talk to a man about playing fair.”

She pouted. “I don’t like that,” she said.

“I didn’t think you would,” he told her. “There’s going to be lots about this you don’t like before we get done. So Harrison Burke came to the house, did he?”

“Yes,” she said in a weak voice.

“All right, what happened?”

“He kept insisting that he wanted to see George. I told him that it would be suicidal even to go near George. He said that he wouldn’t mention my name at all. He thought that if he could go to George and explain the circumstances to him, and tell him that he was willing to do anything after he was elected George would order Frank Locke to lay off the publicity.”

“All right,” said Mason, “now we are getting someplace. He wanted to go see your husband, and you tried to keep him from doing it. Is that it?”

“Yes.”

“Why,” he asked, “did you want to keep him from doing it?”

She said slowly, “I was afraid that he would mention my name.”

“Did he?” asked Mason.

“I don’t know,” she said, and then suddenly added: “That is, of course not, he didn’t see George at all. He talked with me, and I convinced him that he mustn’t talk with George. And then he left the house.”

Perry Mason chuckled. “You thought of that trap just a little bit too late, young lady. So you don’t know whether or not he mentioned your name to George, eh?”

She said sullenly: “I told you he didn’t see him.”

“Yes,” he said, “I know, but the fact is that he did see him. He went upstairs to his study and talked with him.”

“How do you know?”

“Because,” he said, “I’ve got a theory about this thing, and I want to run it down. I’ve got a pretty good idea of what happened.”

“What did happen?” she asked.

He grinned at her.

“You know what happened,” he told her.

“No, no,” she said, “what was it that happened?”

His voice was a steady, expressionless monotone. “So Harrison Burke went upstairs and talked with your husband,” he droned. “How long was he up there?”

“I don’t know. Not over fifteen minutes.”

“That’s better. And you didn’t see him after he came down?”

“No.”

“Now, as a matter of fact,” he inquired, “was there a shot fired while Harrison Burke was up there, and then did he run down the stairs, and out of the house without saying anything to you?”

She shook her head emphatically. “No,” she said, “Burke left before my husband was shot.”

“How long before?”

“I don’t know, perhaps fifteen minutes. Perhaps longer. Perhaps not quite so long.”

“And now,” he pointed out, “Harrison Burke can’t be found.”

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I said. He can’t be found. He doesn’t answer his telephone. He isn’t at his residence.”

“How do you know?”

“I kept trying to get him on the telephone, and I sent detectives out to his residence.”

“Why did you do that?”

“Because I knew he was going to be implicated in the shooting.”

She widened her eyes again. “How could that be?” she asked. “Nobody knows that he was out at the house except us. And of course we wouldn’t tell, because that would make the situation that much worse for everybody. He left before the other man came, who fired the shot.”

Perry Mason held her eyes in a steady gaze. “It was his gun that fired the shot,” he said, slowly.

She stared at him, her eyes startled.

“What makes you say that?” she asked.

“Because,” he told her, “there was a number on the gun. That number can be traced from the factory to the wholesaler, from the wholesaler to the retailer, and from the retailer to the man who bought the gun. It was a fellow named Pete Mitchell, who lives at thirteen twentytwo West Sixtyninth Street, and was a close friend of Harrison Burke’s. The police are rounding up Mitchell, and when they get him, he’ll have to explain what he did with the gun. That is, that he gave it to Burke.”

She put a hand to her throat.

“How can they trace guns like that?”

“There’s a record kept of everything.”

“I knew that we should have done something with that gun,” she said almost hysterically.

He said, “Yes, and then you would have put your head in the noose. You’ve got yourself to think of. Your own position in this is none too pretty. You want to save Burke, of course, if you can. But the thing that I’m trying to bring out is that if Burke did the thing, you’d better come clean and tell me. Then, if we can keep Burke out of it, we will. But I don’t want you to get in the position where they build up a case against you, while you’re trying to shield Burke.”

She started to pace the floor, twisting her handkerchief in her fingers.

“Oh, my God!” she said. “Oh, my God! Oh, my God!”

“I don’t know whether or not it’s ever occurred to you,” he said, “but there’s a penalty for being an accessory after the fact, or for compounding a felony. Now, we don’t either one of us want to get in that position. What we want to do is to find out who did this thing, and find it out before the police do. I don’t want them to frame a murder charge on you, and I don’t want them to frame one on me. If Burke is guilty, the thing to do is to get in touch with Burke, and get him to surrender himself, and rush the case through to a trial before the District Attorney’s office can get too much evidence. I’m going to take steps to see that Locke keeps quiet, and call off this blackmail article in Spicy Bits.”

She stared at him for a moment, and then asked, “How are you going to do that?”

He smiled at her. “In this game,” he said, “I’m the one that has to know everything. The less you know, the less you stand a chance of telling.”

“You can trust me. I can keep a secret,” she told him.

“You’re a good liar,” he said judiciously, “if that’s what you mean. But this is once where you won’t have to lie, because you won’t know what’s going on.”

“But Burke didn’t do it,” she insisted.

He frowned at her.

“Now listen,” he said, “that’s the reason I wanted to get in touch with you. If Burke didn’t do it, who did?”

She shifted her eyes. “I told you some man had a conference with my husband. I don’t know who he was. I thought it was you. It sounded like your voice.”

He got to his feet, and his face darkened.

“Listen,” he said, “if you go trying that kind of a game on me, I’ll throw you to the wolves. You’ve tried that game once. That’s enough.”

She started to cry and sobbed. “I cccan’t help it. You asked me. There’s nobody listening. I ttttold you who it wwwas. I heard your vvvoice. I won’t tttell the pppolice, not even if they tttorture me!”

He took her by the shoulders and slammed her down on the bed. He pulled her hands from her face and stared at her eyes. There was no trace of tears in them.

“Now listen,” he said, “you didn’t hear my voice, because I wasn’t there at all. And cut out that sobbing act—unless you’ve got an onion in your handkerchief!”

“Then it was somebody whose voice sounded like yours,” she insisted.

He scowled at her.

“Are you in love with Burke?” he asked. “And trying to put me in a position where you can throw me over in case I can’t square the thing for Burke?”

“No. You wanted me to tell the truth, and I’m telling it.”

“I’m tempted to get up and walk out on you, and leave you with the whole mess on your hands,” he threatened.

She said, demurely, “Then, of course, I’d have to tell the police whose voice it was I heard in that room.”

“So that’s your little game, eh?”

“I haven’t any game. I’m telling the truth.” Her voice was sweet, but she didn’t meet his eyes.

Mason sighed. “I never went back on a client yet, guilty or innocent,” he said. “I’m trying to remember that. But, by God! It’s a temptation to walk out on you!”

She sat on the bed and twisted her handkerchief about her fingers.

In a moment he began to talk, “On my way back down the hill, after I’d left your house, I stopped to talk with the clerk in the drug store where you telephoned to me. He was watching you when you went in the telephone booth, which was only natural. A woman in evening clothes, with a man’s coat on, who is sopping wet, and goes into a telephone booth, in an all night drug store, after midnight, is naturally going to attract some attention. Now this clerk told me that you called two telephone numbers.”

Wideeyed she looked at him, but she said nothing.

“Who did you call besides me?” he asked.

“Nobody,” she said, “the clerk’s mistaken.”

Perry Mason put on his hat and pulled it low down over his forehead. He turned to Eva Belter and said savagely, “I’m going to get you out of this somehow. I don’t know just how. But I’m going to get you out of it. And, by God, it’s going to cost you money!”

He jerked open the door, went out into the hall, and slammed the door behind him. The first light of dawn was coloring the eastern sky.