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The Case of the Caretakers Cat :: Гарднер Эрл Стенли
Страница: 19 из 146"
"All right, suppose you come in."
"I think I can work it to better advantage if you'll join me," Drake said. "I'm down on the corner of Spring and Melton Streets. There's a waffle joint down here and we can have a bite to eat. I haven't had any dinner and my stomach thinks I'm on a hunger strike."
Mason frowningly regarded the will on his desk.
"Okay," he said, "I'll come down."
He switched out the lights, took a cab to the place Drake had indicated, and stared into the detective's popeyes. "You look as though you had something up your sleeve, Paul. There's a catlickingthecream expression on your face."
"Is there? I could use a little cream."
"What's new?"
"I'll tell you after we eat. I refuse to talk this stuff on an empty stomach… My God, Perry, snap out of it. You'd think this was another murder case, the way you're prowling around on it. It's just a case involving a damned cat. I'll bet you didn't get over fifty dollars out of it as a fee, did you?"
Mason laughed, and said, "Ten, to be exact."
"There you are," Drake remarked, as though addressing an imaginary audience.
"The fee has nothing to do with it," Mason said. "A lawyer has a trust to his client. He can set any fee he pleases. If the client doesn't pay it, the lawyer doesn't need to take the business; but if a client pays it, it doesn't make any difference whether it's five cents or five million dollars. The lawyer should give the client everything he has."
"You couldn't practice law on that sort of theory unless you were a damned individualist, Perry… Here's the waffle joint. Come on in."
Mason stood in the doorway, looking dubiously into the lighted interior. A young woman, with dark hair, laughing eyes, and full, red lips, was presiding over a battery of waffle irons. The only customer in the place paid his check. She rang up the money in the cash register, flashed him a bright smile, and started wiping off the counter.
"I don't think I want a waffle," Mason said.
The detective, taking him by the arm, gently pushed him through the door, saying, "Sure, you want a waffle."
They seated themselves at the counter. Dark eyes flashed to their faces as the full, red lips gave a quick smile.
"Two waffles," Drake said, "stripped with bacon."
The young woman's hands became a blur of swift efficiency as she poured waffle dough and spread strips of bacon on a hot plate.
"Coffee?" she asked.
"Coffee," Drake said.
"Now?" she asked.
"Now.
"All right, suppose you come in."
"I think I can work it to better advantage if you'll join me," Drake said. "I'm down on the corner of Spring and Melton Streets. There's a waffle joint down here and we can have a bite to eat. I haven't had any dinner and my stomach thinks I'm on a hunger strike."
Mason frowningly regarded the will on his desk.
"Okay," he said, "I'll come down."
He switched out the lights, took a cab to the place Drake had indicated, and stared into the detective's popeyes. "You look as though you had something up your sleeve, Paul. There's a catlickingthecream expression on your face."
"Is there? I could use a little cream."
"What's new?"
"I'll tell you after we eat. I refuse to talk this stuff on an empty stomach… My God, Perry, snap out of it. You'd think this was another murder case, the way you're prowling around on it. It's just a case involving a damned cat. I'll bet you didn't get over fifty dollars out of it as a fee, did you?"
Mason laughed, and said, "Ten, to be exact."
"There you are," Drake remarked, as though addressing an imaginary audience.
"The fee has nothing to do with it," Mason said. "A lawyer has a trust to his client. He can set any fee he pleases. If the client doesn't pay it, the lawyer doesn't need to take the business; but if a client pays it, it doesn't make any difference whether it's five cents or five million dollars. The lawyer should give the client everything he has."
"You couldn't practice law on that sort of theory unless you were a damned individualist, Perry… Here's the waffle joint. Come on in."
Mason stood in the doorway, looking dubiously into the lighted interior. A young woman, with dark hair, laughing eyes, and full, red lips, was presiding over a battery of waffle irons. The only customer in the place paid his check. She rang up the money in the cash register, flashed him a bright smile, and started wiping off the counter.
"I don't think I want a waffle," Mason said.
The detective, taking him by the arm, gently pushed him through the door, saying, "Sure, you want a waffle."
They seated themselves at the counter. Dark eyes flashed to their faces as the full, red lips gave a quick smile.
"Two waffles," Drake said, "stripped with bacon."
The young woman's hands became a blur of swift efficiency as she poured waffle dough and spread strips of bacon on a hot plate.
"Coffee?" she asked.
"Coffee," Drake said.
"Now?" she asked.
"Now.