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The Case of the Caretakers Cat :: Гарднер Эрл Стенли
Страница: 63 из 146"
"What's happened?" Mason asked.
"A murder," she told him, and began to sob.
Mason moved over to the bed, sat down beside her and put his arm around her shoulders. The cat looked up at him appraisingly, flattened its ears slightly, then slowly relaxed, but did not resume purring.
"Now take it easy," Mason told her, "and give me the facts."
"I don't know the facts; all I know is that Douglas rang up. He was frightfully excited. He said there'd been a murder and that he wasn't going to let me get dragged into it; that he was going to skip out and that I'd never see him again. He said that I was to say nothing, and answer no question about him."
"Who was murdered?"
"He didn't say."
"How did he think you might be dragged into it?"
"Just through knowing him, I guess. It's all too silly. But I think it's all mixed up with Grandfather's death."
"When did he telephone you?"
"About fifteen minutes before I telephoned you. I tried to locate you every place I could think of—your office and your apartment. When I couldn't get any answer I decided to call Uncle Charles. He'd told me you'd telephoned him something about Sam and the district attorney, and I thought he might hear from you again."
"Did you," Mason asked, "know that your grandfather was murdered?"
She stared at him with wide eyes. "Grandfather? No."
"Did it impress you there was anything peculiar about the manner in which the house burned?"
"Why, no. The fire seemed to have centered right around Grandpa's bedroom. It was a windy night and I thought they blamed the fire on defective electric wiring."
"Let's come back to the cat for a minute," Mason said. "He's been with you ever since around eleven o'clock?"
"Yes—shortly after eleven, I guess it was."
Perry Mason nodded, picked up the cat and held it in his arms.
"Clinker," he said, "how would you like to go for a nice ride somewhere?"
"What do you mean?" Winifred asked him.
Perry Mason, holding the cat, stared steadily at her, and said slowly, "Charles Ashton was murdered sometime tonight. I don't know yet exactly what time. He was strangled, probably after he'd gone to bed. There were muddy cat tracks all over the counterpane and over the pillow; there was even a track on his forehead."
She got to her feet, staring at him with wide eyes. Then she opened bloodless lips and tried to scream.
No sound came.
Perry Mason dropped the cat to the bed, took Winifred in his arms, stroked her hair. "Take it easy," he told her.
"What's happened?" Mason asked.
"A murder," she told him, and began to sob.
Mason moved over to the bed, sat down beside her and put his arm around her shoulders. The cat looked up at him appraisingly, flattened its ears slightly, then slowly relaxed, but did not resume purring.
"Now take it easy," Mason told her, "and give me the facts."
"I don't know the facts; all I know is that Douglas rang up. He was frightfully excited. He said there'd been a murder and that he wasn't going to let me get dragged into it; that he was going to skip out and that I'd never see him again. He said that I was to say nothing, and answer no question about him."
"Who was murdered?"
"He didn't say."
"How did he think you might be dragged into it?"
"Just through knowing him, I guess. It's all too silly. But I think it's all mixed up with Grandfather's death."
"When did he telephone you?"
"About fifteen minutes before I telephoned you. I tried to locate you every place I could think of—your office and your apartment. When I couldn't get any answer I decided to call Uncle Charles. He'd told me you'd telephoned him something about Sam and the district attorney, and I thought he might hear from you again."
"Did you," Mason asked, "know that your grandfather was murdered?"
She stared at him with wide eyes. "Grandfather? No."
"Did it impress you there was anything peculiar about the manner in which the house burned?"
"Why, no. The fire seemed to have centered right around Grandpa's bedroom. It was a windy night and I thought they blamed the fire on defective electric wiring."
"Let's come back to the cat for a minute," Mason said. "He's been with you ever since around eleven o'clock?"
"Yes—shortly after eleven, I guess it was."
Perry Mason nodded, picked up the cat and held it in his arms.
"Clinker," he said, "how would you like to go for a nice ride somewhere?"
"What do you mean?" Winifred asked him.
Perry Mason, holding the cat, stared steadily at her, and said slowly, "Charles Ashton was murdered sometime tonight. I don't know yet exactly what time. He was strangled, probably after he'd gone to bed. There were muddy cat tracks all over the counterpane and over the pillow; there was even a track on his forehead."
She got to her feet, staring at him with wide eyes. Then she opened bloodless lips and tried to scream.
No sound came.
Perry Mason dropped the cat to the bed, took Winifred in his arms, stroked her hair. "Take it easy," he told her.