JК
The Case of the Caretakers Cat :: Гарднер Эрл Стенли
Страница: 12 из 146"
A tall man with dark skin, smoldering black eyes and hair which had been carefully marcelled, smiled with that oily affability which speaks of poise rather than sincerity. A large creamcolored Stetson hat was held in his left hand.
"And this is Frank Oafley. Frank Oafley is the other grandson, Counselor."
Oafley was yellowhaired and thicklipped. His face seemed unable to change its expression. His eyes had the peculiar watery blue tint of raw oysters. He had no hat.
He said nothing.
"My secretary, Miss Street," Perry Mason remarked. "If there's no objection, she'll be here during the conference and take such notes as I may wish."
Shuster chuckled moistly. "And if there is any objection, I suppose she'll stay here anyway, eh? Ha, ha, ha. I know you, Counselor. Remember, it isn't as though you were dealing with someone who didn't know you. I know you well. You're a fighter. You're to be reckoned with. It's a matter of principle with my clients. They can't knuckle under to a servant. But they've got a fight on their hands. I told them you were a fighter, I warned them. They can't say I didn't warn them!"
"Sit down," Mason said.
Shuster nodded to his clients, indicating the chairs which they were to take. He sank in the big overstuffed leather chair himself and seemed almost lost in the space of it. He crossed his legs, pulled down his cuffs, adjusted his tie, beamed at Mason and said, "You can't make it stick. It's a matter of principle with us. We'll fight to the last ditch. But it's a serious matter, all right."
"What's a serious matter?" Mason asked.
"Your contention about that being a condition in the will."
"And what's the matter of principle?" Mason inquired.
"Why," Shuster remarked, showing surprise, "the cat, of course. We can't stand it. But, more than that, we can't stand to have this caretaker start dictating. He's too officious already. You understand, when a person can't discharge his hired help, it doesn't take long for that help to get completely out of hand."
"Has it ever occurred to you," Mason asked, letting his eyes shift from Shuster's face to the faces of the two grandchildren, "that you folks are making a mountain out of a molehill? Why don't you let poor Ashton keep his cat? The cat won't last forever and Ashton won't either. There's no reason for spending a lot of money on lawyers, and…"
"Not so fast, Counselor, not so fast," Shuster broke in, sliding forward on the smooth leather of the chair until he sat on the very edge of it. "It's going to be a hard fight; it's going to be a bitter fight.
A tall man with dark skin, smoldering black eyes and hair which had been carefully marcelled, smiled with that oily affability which speaks of poise rather than sincerity. A large creamcolored Stetson hat was held in his left hand.
"And this is Frank Oafley. Frank Oafley is the other grandson, Counselor."
Oafley was yellowhaired and thicklipped. His face seemed unable to change its expression. His eyes had the peculiar watery blue tint of raw oysters. He had no hat.
He said nothing.
"My secretary, Miss Street," Perry Mason remarked. "If there's no objection, she'll be here during the conference and take such notes as I may wish."
Shuster chuckled moistly. "And if there is any objection, I suppose she'll stay here anyway, eh? Ha, ha, ha. I know you, Counselor. Remember, it isn't as though you were dealing with someone who didn't know you. I know you well. You're a fighter. You're to be reckoned with. It's a matter of principle with my clients. They can't knuckle under to a servant. But they've got a fight on their hands. I told them you were a fighter, I warned them. They can't say I didn't warn them!"
"Sit down," Mason said.
Shuster nodded to his clients, indicating the chairs which they were to take. He sank in the big overstuffed leather chair himself and seemed almost lost in the space of it. He crossed his legs, pulled down his cuffs, adjusted his tie, beamed at Mason and said, "You can't make it stick. It's a matter of principle with us. We'll fight to the last ditch. But it's a serious matter, all right."
"What's a serious matter?" Mason asked.
"Your contention about that being a condition in the will."
"And what's the matter of principle?" Mason inquired.
"Why," Shuster remarked, showing surprise, "the cat, of course. We can't stand it. But, more than that, we can't stand to have this caretaker start dictating. He's too officious already. You understand, when a person can't discharge his hired help, it doesn't take long for that help to get completely out of hand."
"Has it ever occurred to you," Mason asked, letting his eyes shift from Shuster's face to the faces of the two grandchildren, "that you folks are making a mountain out of a molehill? Why don't you let poor Ashton keep his cat? The cat won't last forever and Ashton won't either. There's no reason for spending a lot of money on lawyers, and…"
"Not so fast, Counselor, not so fast," Shuster broke in, sliding forward on the smooth leather of the chair until he sat on the very edge of it. "It's going to be a hard fight; it's going to be a bitter fight.