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The Case of the Howling Dog :: Гарднер Эрл Стенли
Страница: 48 из 146She went with them when they left."
"How about the Chinese cook?"
"He's a new addition. They picked him up here."
Perry Mason shrugged his broad shoulders.
"The whole thing sounds goofy," he said. "I'll tell you a lot more about it tonight, however. You'd better be in your office, Paul, so I can call you if I want any information.
"Okay," Drake told him, "and I don't mind telling you that I'm going to have men outside, watching the house. You know, we've got a tail on Foley, and I'm just going to double it, so that if there's any trouble, all you've got to do is to kick out a window, or something, and the men will come in."
Perry Mason shook his head with the impatient gesture of a prizefighter shaking hair from in front of his eyes.
"Hell!" he said. "There isn't going to be any trouble."
Chapter 8
The big house silhouetted itself against the starstudded sky. There was a wind blowing from the south, with a hint of dampness, giving promise of a cloudiness later on in the evening.
Perry Mason looked at the luminous dial of his wristwatch. It was exactly eightthirty.
He glanced behind him to see the tail light of the taxicab vanishing around a corner. He saw no trace of any watchers who were on duty. With steady, purposeful steps, he climbed the stairs from the cement walk to the porch, and walked to the front door of the house.
Perry Mason found the doorbell, pressed his thumb against it.
There was no answer.
He waited a moment, then rang again, with the same result.
Perry Mason looked at his watch, frowned impatiently, took a few steps along the porch, paused, came back, and pounded on the door. There was still no answer.
Perry Mason stepped to the door, looked down the corridor and saw a light coming from the door of the library. He pushed his way down the corridor and knocked on the library door.
There was no answer.
He turned the knob and shoved the door open.
The door moved some eighteen inches, then struck against something — an object which was heavy, yet yielding.
Perry Mason eased through the opening in the door, stared at the object which had blocked the door. It was a police dog, lying on his side, with a bullet hole in his chest and another in his head. Blood had trickled from the bullet wounds, along the floor, and when Mason had pushed the door open, moving the body, the stains had smeared over the hardwood floor.
Mason raised his head and looked around the library. At first he saw nothing.
"How about the Chinese cook?"
"He's a new addition. They picked him up here."
Perry Mason shrugged his broad shoulders.
"The whole thing sounds goofy," he said. "I'll tell you a lot more about it tonight, however. You'd better be in your office, Paul, so I can call you if I want any information.
"Okay," Drake told him, "and I don't mind telling you that I'm going to have men outside, watching the house. You know, we've got a tail on Foley, and I'm just going to double it, so that if there's any trouble, all you've got to do is to kick out a window, or something, and the men will come in."
Perry Mason shook his head with the impatient gesture of a prizefighter shaking hair from in front of his eyes.
"Hell!" he said. "There isn't going to be any trouble."
Chapter 8
The big house silhouetted itself against the starstudded sky. There was a wind blowing from the south, with a hint of dampness, giving promise of a cloudiness later on in the evening.
Perry Mason looked at the luminous dial of his wristwatch. It was exactly eightthirty.
He glanced behind him to see the tail light of the taxicab vanishing around a corner. He saw no trace of any watchers who were on duty. With steady, purposeful steps, he climbed the stairs from the cement walk to the porch, and walked to the front door of the house.
Perry Mason found the doorbell, pressed his thumb against it.
There was no answer.
He waited a moment, then rang again, with the same result.
Perry Mason looked at his watch, frowned impatiently, took a few steps along the porch, paused, came back, and pounded on the door. There was still no answer.
Perry Mason stepped to the door, looked down the corridor and saw a light coming from the door of the library. He pushed his way down the corridor and knocked on the library door.
There was no answer.
He turned the knob and shoved the door open.
The door moved some eighteen inches, then struck against something — an object which was heavy, yet yielding.
Perry Mason eased through the opening in the door, stared at the object which had blocked the door. It was a police dog, lying on his side, with a bullet hole in his chest and another in his head. Blood had trickled from the bullet wounds, along the floor, and when Mason had pushed the door open, moving the body, the stains had smeared over the hardwood floor.
Mason raised his head and looked around the library. At first he saw nothing.