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The Case of the Caretakers Cat :: Гарднер Эрл Стенли
Страница: 9 из 146When we do, let me know… That's what I like about the law business, Della—it's so damned diversified… A caretaker's cat!"
He chuckled.
Della Street closed her notebook, started toward her own office, paused at the window to look down at the busy street. "You saved him two hundred and forty dollars," she said, her eyes aimlessly watching the snarl of city traffic, "and he didn't even thank you."
A breath of wind, blowing in through the open window stirred her hair. She bent forward from the waist, leaning out to catch the breeze, filling her lungs with the fresh air.
"Probably he's just peculiar," Mason said. "He certainly is a shriveledup specimen… Don't lean too far out there, Della… You must remember he likes animals, and he's not a young man any more. Regardless of what age he claims, he must be more than seventyfive…"
Della Street straightened. With a quick twist of her lithe body, she turned to face Perry Mason. She was frowning. "It might interest you to know," she said, "that someone is shadowing your catloving client."
Perry Mason shoved back his chair as he got to his feet, strode across the office. He braced himself with one arm on the window ledge, the other around Della Street 's waist. Together, they stared down at the street.
"See?" he said. "That man with the light felt hat. He darted out of a doorway… See, he's getting into that car."
"One of the new Pontiacs," Mason said speculatively. "What makes you think he was following Ashton?"
"The way he acted. I'm certain of it. He jumped out of the doorway… See, the car's barely crawling along—just to keep Ashton in sight."
Ashton hobbled around the corner, to the left. The car followed him, apparently crawling in low gear.
Mason, watching the car in frowning speculation, said, "A million dollars in cash is a whale of a lot of money."
Chapter 2
Morning sun, streaming in through the windows of Perry Mason's private office, struck the calfskin bindings on the shelved law books and made them seem less grimly foreboding.
Della Street, opening the door from her office, brought in a file of mail and some papers. Perry Mason folded the newspaper he had been reading, as Della Street seated herself, pulled out the sliding leaf of the desk, and held her fountain pen poised over an open notebook.
"Lord, but you're chockful of business," Perry Mason complained. "I don't want to work. I want to let down and play hookey. I want to do something I shouldn't.
He chuckled.
Della Street closed her notebook, started toward her own office, paused at the window to look down at the busy street. "You saved him two hundred and forty dollars," she said, her eyes aimlessly watching the snarl of city traffic, "and he didn't even thank you."
A breath of wind, blowing in through the open window stirred her hair. She bent forward from the waist, leaning out to catch the breeze, filling her lungs with the fresh air.
"Probably he's just peculiar," Mason said. "He certainly is a shriveledup specimen… Don't lean too far out there, Della… You must remember he likes animals, and he's not a young man any more. Regardless of what age he claims, he must be more than seventyfive…"
Della Street straightened. With a quick twist of her lithe body, she turned to face Perry Mason. She was frowning. "It might interest you to know," she said, "that someone is shadowing your catloving client."
Perry Mason shoved back his chair as he got to his feet, strode across the office. He braced himself with one arm on the window ledge, the other around Della Street 's waist. Together, they stared down at the street.
"See?" he said. "That man with the light felt hat. He darted out of a doorway… See, he's getting into that car."
"One of the new Pontiacs," Mason said speculatively. "What makes you think he was following Ashton?"
"The way he acted. I'm certain of it. He jumped out of the doorway… See, the car's barely crawling along—just to keep Ashton in sight."
Ashton hobbled around the corner, to the left. The car followed him, apparently crawling in low gear.
Mason, watching the car in frowning speculation, said, "A million dollars in cash is a whale of a lot of money."
Chapter 2
Morning sun, streaming in through the windows of Perry Mason's private office, struck the calfskin bindings on the shelved law books and made them seem less grimly foreboding.
Della Street, opening the door from her office, brought in a file of mail and some papers. Perry Mason folded the newspaper he had been reading, as Della Street seated herself, pulled out the sliding leaf of the desk, and held her fountain pen poised over an open notebook.
"Lord, but you're chockful of business," Perry Mason complained. "I don't want to work. I want to let down and play hookey. I want to do something I shouldn't.