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The Case of the Caretakers Cat :: Гарднер Эрл Стенли
Страница: 20 из 146"
She drew two cups of coffee, placed them, with a little pitcher of cream at each plate. She produced paper napkins, arranged silverware, put down glasses of water and butter.
Drake raised his voice, while steam simmered up from the waffle irons.
"Do you think you can bust Pete Laxter's will, Perry?"
"I don't know," Mason admitted. "There's something queer about that will. I've been stewing over the thing for three hours."
"Seems funny that he'd have disinherited his favorite grandchild," the detective went on in a loud voice. "Sam Laxter went in for bright lights, and dissipation. The old man didn't like it. Oafley is a secretive, nonsocial duck. The old man didn't care much for him. He's too damned negative."
The young woman behind the counter turned the bacon, flashed them a swift glance.
"It takes a lot to bust a will, doesn't it?" Drake persisted.
"An awful lot," Mason admitted wearily, "if you try to break it on the ground of undue influence, or unsoundness of mind. But I'm telling you, Paul, I'm going to break that will."
A plate banged down on the counter explosively. Mason raised perplexed eyes to encounter a flushed countenance, straight determined lips, blazing black eyes. "Say," the girl said, "what kind of a game is this? I'm making my own way without asking odds of anyone, and you came…"
Paul Drake waved a hand with the studied nonchalance of one who is creating a sensation, but wishes to make it appear it is all in the day's work.
"Perry," he said, "meet Winifred."
Mason's face showed such unmistakably genuine surprise that the indignation faded from Winifred Laxter's eyes. "Didn't you know?" she asked.
Mason shook his head.
She pointed to the sign on the outside of the place. "You should have known from the sign Winnie's Waffles . "
"I didn't read the sign," Mason said. "My friend brought me in here. What was the idea, Paul, trying to make a grandstand, or pull a rabbit from the hat, or something?"
Drake, caressing his coffee cup with the tips of his fingers, gave a slow smile. "I wanted you two to get acquainted. I wanted my friend here to see how you ran the place, Miss Laxter. Most people would think an heiress couldn't turn to running a waffle kitchen."
"I'm not an heiress."
"Don't be too sure," Drake told her. "This is Perry Mason, the lawyer."
"Perry Mason," she repeated slowly.
Her eyes widened slightly.
"Heard of him?" Drake asked.
"Who hasn't?" she said, and colored.
She drew two cups of coffee, placed them, with a little pitcher of cream at each plate. She produced paper napkins, arranged silverware, put down glasses of water and butter.
Drake raised his voice, while steam simmered up from the waffle irons.
"Do you think you can bust Pete Laxter's will, Perry?"
"I don't know," Mason admitted. "There's something queer about that will. I've been stewing over the thing for three hours."
"Seems funny that he'd have disinherited his favorite grandchild," the detective went on in a loud voice. "Sam Laxter went in for bright lights, and dissipation. The old man didn't like it. Oafley is a secretive, nonsocial duck. The old man didn't care much for him. He's too damned negative."
The young woman behind the counter turned the bacon, flashed them a swift glance.
"It takes a lot to bust a will, doesn't it?" Drake persisted.
"An awful lot," Mason admitted wearily, "if you try to break it on the ground of undue influence, or unsoundness of mind. But I'm telling you, Paul, I'm going to break that will."
A plate banged down on the counter explosively. Mason raised perplexed eyes to encounter a flushed countenance, straight determined lips, blazing black eyes. "Say," the girl said, "what kind of a game is this? I'm making my own way without asking odds of anyone, and you came…"
Paul Drake waved a hand with the studied nonchalance of one who is creating a sensation, but wishes to make it appear it is all in the day's work.
"Perry," he said, "meet Winifred."
Mason's face showed such unmistakably genuine surprise that the indignation faded from Winifred Laxter's eyes. "Didn't you know?" she asked.
Mason shook his head.
She pointed to the sign on the outside of the place. "You should have known from the sign Winnie's Waffles . "
"I didn't read the sign," Mason said. "My friend brought me in here. What was the idea, Paul, trying to make a grandstand, or pull a rabbit from the hat, or something?"
Drake, caressing his coffee cup with the tips of his fingers, gave a slow smile. "I wanted you two to get acquainted. I wanted my friend here to see how you ran the place, Miss Laxter. Most people would think an heiress couldn't turn to running a waffle kitchen."
"I'm not an heiress."
"Don't be too sure," Drake told her. "This is Perry Mason, the lawyer."
"Perry Mason," she repeated slowly.
Her eyes widened slightly.
"Heard of him?" Drake asked.
"Who hasn't?" she said, and colored.