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The Case of the Caretakers Cat :: Гарднер Эрл Стенли
Страница: 4 из 146If some lawyer took the case, he wouldn't know where to begin. God knows there's no precedent to guide him.
"No, Della, this is one of those cases that seems so trivial to the lawyer, but means so much to the client. A lawyer isn't like a shopkeeper who can sell his wares or not as he chooses. He holds his talents in trust for the unfortunate."
Della Street, knowing what was to come, nodded to Jackson and said, "You may ask Mr. Ashton to step in."
Jackson gave a halfhearted smile, gathered up his papers and left the room. As the door clicked shut, Della Street 's fingers closed about Perry Mason's left hand.
"You're only taking that case, Chief, because you know he can't afford to pay any other good lawyer to handle it."
Mason, grinning, replied, "Well, you must admit that a man with a shriveled leg, a crabby disposition, a Persian cat, and no money, is entitled to a break once in a while."
The sounds of a crutch and a foot alternated in the long corridor. Jackson held open the door after the manner of one who, having counseled against an unwise act, is very definitely keeping clear of the consequences.
The man who entered the room was wizened with age. He had thin lips, bushy white eyebrows, a bald head, and unsmiling features. "This is the third time I've been in to see you," he said irritably.
Mason indicated a chair. "Sit down, Mr. Ashton. I'm sorry. I've been trying a murder case. What's the name of your cat?"
"Clinker," Ashton said, sitting down in the big, overstuffed, black leather chair, standing his crutch straight in front of him, holding it with both hands.
"Why Clinker?" Mason asked.
The man's lips and eyes remained unsmiling. "A bit of humor."
"Humor?" Mason inquired.
"Yes, I used to have a job firing a boiler. Clinkers get in the way and clutter things up. When I first got the cat, I called him Clinker because he was always in the way—always cluttering things up."
"Attached to him?" Mason inquired, in a voice which was elaborately casual.
"The only friend I've got left in the world," Ashton said rather gruffly.
Mason raised his eyebrows.
"I'm a caretaker. A caretaker doesn't really work. He just keeps an eye on things. The big house has been closed up for years. The master lived in a place at Carmencita. All I did was just putter around the big place, keep up the yard and sweep off the front steps. Three or four times a year the master had the place thoroughly cleaned; the rest of the time the rooms were all shut, locked, and the shutters drawn.
"No, Della, this is one of those cases that seems so trivial to the lawyer, but means so much to the client. A lawyer isn't like a shopkeeper who can sell his wares or not as he chooses. He holds his talents in trust for the unfortunate."
Della Street, knowing what was to come, nodded to Jackson and said, "You may ask Mr. Ashton to step in."
Jackson gave a halfhearted smile, gathered up his papers and left the room. As the door clicked shut, Della Street 's fingers closed about Perry Mason's left hand.
"You're only taking that case, Chief, because you know he can't afford to pay any other good lawyer to handle it."
Mason, grinning, replied, "Well, you must admit that a man with a shriveled leg, a crabby disposition, a Persian cat, and no money, is entitled to a break once in a while."
The sounds of a crutch and a foot alternated in the long corridor. Jackson held open the door after the manner of one who, having counseled against an unwise act, is very definitely keeping clear of the consequences.
The man who entered the room was wizened with age. He had thin lips, bushy white eyebrows, a bald head, and unsmiling features. "This is the third time I've been in to see you," he said irritably.
Mason indicated a chair. "Sit down, Mr. Ashton. I'm sorry. I've been trying a murder case. What's the name of your cat?"
"Clinker," Ashton said, sitting down in the big, overstuffed, black leather chair, standing his crutch straight in front of him, holding it with both hands.
"Why Clinker?" Mason asked.
The man's lips and eyes remained unsmiling. "A bit of humor."
"Humor?" Mason inquired.
"Yes, I used to have a job firing a boiler. Clinkers get in the way and clutter things up. When I first got the cat, I called him Clinker because he was always in the way—always cluttering things up."
"Attached to him?" Mason inquired, in a voice which was elaborately casual.
"The only friend I've got left in the world," Ashton said rather gruffly.
Mason raised his eyebrows.
"I'm a caretaker. A caretaker doesn't really work. He just keeps an eye on things. The big house has been closed up for years. The master lived in a place at Carmencita. All I did was just putter around the big place, keep up the yard and sweep off the front steps. Three or four times a year the master had the place thoroughly cleaned; the rest of the time the rooms were all shut, locked, and the shutters drawn.