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The Case of the Howling Dog :: Гарднер Эрл Стенли
Страница: 9 из 146Have you got a car, or do we go in a taxicab?"
"We go in a taxicab," Cartright told him. "I'm too nervous to drive."
Chapter 2
Pete Dorcas uncoiled his lean length from behind a battered desk, stared at Arthur Cartright with steely eyes, and acknowledged Perry Mason's introduction with the usual formula of pleasure. He half turned and indicated a short, paunchy individual, whose face held what seemed, at first glance, to be merely bubbling good nature. Only a second glance disclosed the wary watchfulness which lurked back of the twinkle in the gray eyes.
"Meet Mr. Cooper," he said, "my assistant."
The paunchy individual smiled his pleasure, came forward and shook hands with Cartright. The twinkling eyes studied Cartright's face in swift appraisal. The man held Cartright's hand for an appreciable interval after he had completed the perfunctory handshake.
"Well," said Mason, "I guess we're all ready to go; is that right?"
"All ready," said Dorcas, sitting down back of his desk.
He was tall, lean, high checked and baldheaded, and there was a mental alertness about him which made his audience restless.
"It's about a dog," said Perry Mason. "Clinton Foley, residing at 4889 Milpas Drive, his house adjoining that of Mr. Cartright here, has a police dog that howls."
"Well," said Dorcas, grinning, "if a dog is entitled to one bite, he should be entitled to one howl."
Arthur Cartright did not smile. His hand shot to his pocket, pulled out a package of cigarettes, then, after a moment's hesitation, dropped the package back in the pocket.
Cooper's twinkling eyes, watching Cartright in constant appraisal, lost their expression of bubbling good humor for a moment, then once more started to twinkle.
"This man has got to be arrested," said Cartright. "The howling has got to be stopped. You hear? It's got to be stopped!"
"Sure," said Perry Mason, "that's what we're here for, Cartright. Go ahead and tell them your story."
"There's no story to tell; the dog howls, that's all."
"Constantly?" asked Cooper.
"Constantly. That is, I don't mean constantly, I mean he howls regularly at intervals, you know the way a dog howls. Damn it! No dog howls all the time. He howls, and then he stops, and then he howls again."
"What makes him howl?" asked Cooper.
"Foley makes him howl," said Cartright positively.
"And why?" asked Cooper.
"Because he knows it gets my goat. Because he knows it gets his wife's goat. It means a death in the neighborhood, and his wife is sick.
"We go in a taxicab," Cartright told him. "I'm too nervous to drive."
Chapter 2
Pete Dorcas uncoiled his lean length from behind a battered desk, stared at Arthur Cartright with steely eyes, and acknowledged Perry Mason's introduction with the usual formula of pleasure. He half turned and indicated a short, paunchy individual, whose face held what seemed, at first glance, to be merely bubbling good nature. Only a second glance disclosed the wary watchfulness which lurked back of the twinkle in the gray eyes.
"Meet Mr. Cooper," he said, "my assistant."
The paunchy individual smiled his pleasure, came forward and shook hands with Cartright. The twinkling eyes studied Cartright's face in swift appraisal. The man held Cartright's hand for an appreciable interval after he had completed the perfunctory handshake.
"Well," said Mason, "I guess we're all ready to go; is that right?"
"All ready," said Dorcas, sitting down back of his desk.
He was tall, lean, high checked and baldheaded, and there was a mental alertness about him which made his audience restless.
"It's about a dog," said Perry Mason. "Clinton Foley, residing at 4889 Milpas Drive, his house adjoining that of Mr. Cartright here, has a police dog that howls."
"Well," said Dorcas, grinning, "if a dog is entitled to one bite, he should be entitled to one howl."
Arthur Cartright did not smile. His hand shot to his pocket, pulled out a package of cigarettes, then, after a moment's hesitation, dropped the package back in the pocket.
Cooper's twinkling eyes, watching Cartright in constant appraisal, lost their expression of bubbling good humor for a moment, then once more started to twinkle.
"This man has got to be arrested," said Cartright. "The howling has got to be stopped. You hear? It's got to be stopped!"
"Sure," said Perry Mason, "that's what we're here for, Cartright. Go ahead and tell them your story."
"There's no story to tell; the dog howls, that's all."
"Constantly?" asked Cooper.
"Constantly. That is, I don't mean constantly, I mean he howls regularly at intervals, you know the way a dog howls. Damn it! No dog howls all the time. He howls, and then he stops, and then he howls again."
"What makes him howl?" asked Cooper.
"Foley makes him howl," said Cartright positively.
"And why?" asked Cooper.
"Because he knows it gets my goat. Because he knows it gets his wife's goat. It means a death in the neighborhood, and his wife is sick.