The Case of the Howling Dog   ::   Гарднер Эрл Стенли

Perry Mason stepped back into the shadows of the hallway.

"Got a Chinese cook working here, haven't you? Fellow named Ah Wong?"

"Yes."

"All right, get him. We want to see him."

"He's in the kitchen."

"All right, go ahead and get him. Tell him we want to see him."

"But who are you?"

"We're officers — immigration officers. We're checking up on the Chinks. We've got a hot tip he's an illegal entry. Go and get him."

"I'll tell him," she said, and turning on her heel, almost ran past Perry Mason.

The three men, heedless of Mason's presence, walked closely behind her.

After a moment, Perry Mason turned and followed them through the living room, dining room, and into the kitchen. He paused in the serving pantry, and heard the voices of the officers.

"All right, Ah Wong," said one of the men, "where's your certificate? You catchum chuck jee?"

"No savvy," said the Chinese.

"Oh, yes, you savvy," said the man. "Where your papers? Where your chuck jee? You heap catchum plenty fast."

"Heap no savvy," said the Chinese, with a wail of despair in his voice.

There was a goodnatured laugh, the sound of a scuffle, then the man's voice said: "All right, Ah Wong, you come along with us. You show us where you sleep. You show us your things. You savvy? We help you look for chuck jee."

"No savvy, no savvy," wailed the Chinese. "Maybe so you callum somebody make inte'plet whassa malla."

"Forget it and come along."

"No savvy. You catchum inte'pleta."

A man laughed. "He savvies, all right," he said. "Look at his face."

Perry Mason heard the housekeeper's voice raised in protest.

"Can't you wait until Mr. Foley returns? I know that he'll do anything he can for Ah Wong. He's very wealthy, and he'll pay any fine, or put up any bail…"

"Nothing doing, sister," said one of the men. "We've been looking for Ah Wong for a while and there isn't enough money in the mint to keep him here. He's in the laboring class, and he's smuggled in from Mexico. He's headed back for China right now. Come on, Ah Wong, get your things packed."

Perry Mason turned around, tiptoed back the way he had come, and let himself out the front door. He walked down the stairs from the porch to the sidewalk, walked briskly along the sidewalk until he came to the house on the north, where Arthur Cartright lived. He turned in at the cement walk which ran across a wellkept lawn, ran up the steps, to the front porch, and pressed his thumb against the button of the doorbell.