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The Case of the Howling Dog :: Гарднер Эрл Стенли
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She let her shrewd hazel eyes study him in calm appraisal.
"You know something?" she asked.
"Nothing much," he told her. "It's just a hunch. I think something's going to break."
"You mean in that Cartright case?"
He nodded.
"How about the money? Do you want that put in the bank?"
He nodded again. He arose from his chair and started pacing the office, with the restless stride of a lion pacing a cage.
"What is it?" she asked. "What's wrong?"
"I don't know," he told her, "but things don't click."
"How do you mean they don't click?"
"They don't fit together. They look all right on the surface, except for a loose joint or two, but those loose joints are significant. There's something wrong."
"Have you any idea what it is?"
"Not yet, but I'm going to have."
She walked toward the outer office, paused in the door to flash him a solicitous glance. Her eyes were warm with affection.
He was pacing the floor back and forth, thumbs thrust in the armholes of his vest, head forward, eyes staring intently at the carpet.
Chapter 7
It was ten minutes before five when Perry Mason called Pete Dorcas on the telephone.
"Perry Mason talking, Pete. How do I stand with you?"
"Not very high," said Dorcas, but there was a trace of humor in his rasping, querulous voice. "You're too damned belligerent. Any time a fellow tries to do you a favor, he gets into trouble. You get too enthusiastic over your clients."
"I wasn't enthusiastic," said Mason; "I simply claimed the man wasn't crazy."
Dorcas laughed.
"Well," he said, "you're sure right on that. The man wasn't crazy. He played things pretty foxy."
"What are you doing about it; anything?"
"No. Foley came in here all steamed up. He wanted to get warrants issued right and left; wanted to turn the universe upside down, and then he wasn't so certain that he wanted the publicity. He asked me to wait until he communicated with me again."
"Well, did you hear from him later?"
"Yes, about ten minutes ago."
"What did he say?"
"Said that his wife had sent him a telegram from some little town down the state — Midwick, I think it was, begging him not to do anything that would bring about a lot of newspaper publicity. She said it wouldn't do him any good, and would do them all a lot of harm."
"What did you do?"
"Oh, the usual thing. I pigeonholed it. It's nothing except a man's wife running off with somebody else.
She let her shrewd hazel eyes study him in calm appraisal.
"You know something?" she asked.
"Nothing much," he told her. "It's just a hunch. I think something's going to break."
"You mean in that Cartright case?"
He nodded.
"How about the money? Do you want that put in the bank?"
He nodded again. He arose from his chair and started pacing the office, with the restless stride of a lion pacing a cage.
"What is it?" she asked. "What's wrong?"
"I don't know," he told her, "but things don't click."
"How do you mean they don't click?"
"They don't fit together. They look all right on the surface, except for a loose joint or two, but those loose joints are significant. There's something wrong."
"Have you any idea what it is?"
"Not yet, but I'm going to have."
She walked toward the outer office, paused in the door to flash him a solicitous glance. Her eyes were warm with affection.
He was pacing the floor back and forth, thumbs thrust in the armholes of his vest, head forward, eyes staring intently at the carpet.
Chapter 7
It was ten minutes before five when Perry Mason called Pete Dorcas on the telephone.
"Perry Mason talking, Pete. How do I stand with you?"
"Not very high," said Dorcas, but there was a trace of humor in his rasping, querulous voice. "You're too damned belligerent. Any time a fellow tries to do you a favor, he gets into trouble. You get too enthusiastic over your clients."
"I wasn't enthusiastic," said Mason; "I simply claimed the man wasn't crazy."
Dorcas laughed.
"Well," he said, "you're sure right on that. The man wasn't crazy. He played things pretty foxy."
"What are you doing about it; anything?"
"No. Foley came in here all steamed up. He wanted to get warrants issued right and left; wanted to turn the universe upside down, and then he wasn't so certain that he wanted the publicity. He asked me to wait until he communicated with me again."
"Well, did you hear from him later?"
"Yes, about ten minutes ago."
"What did he say?"
"Said that his wife had sent him a telegram from some little town down the state — Midwick, I think it was, begging him not to do anything that would bring about a lot of newspaper publicity. She said it wouldn't do him any good, and would do them all a lot of harm."
"What did you do?"
"Oh, the usual thing. I pigeonholed it. It's nothing except a man's wife running off with somebody else.