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The Case of the Velvet Claws :: Гарднер Эрл Стенли
Страница: 145 из 149”
The detective went through the door as Perry Masonsaid to the telephone, “Send him in, Della. Drake is leaving.”
A moment after Mason had hung up the telephone the door opened, and Harrison Burke came into the room. His face was wreathed in smiles.
“Wonderful detective work, Mr. Mason,” he said. “Simply wonderful. The papers are full of it. They predicted that Griffin would confess before noon today.”
“He confessed early this morning,” Mason said. “Sit down.”
Harrison Burke fidgeted, moved over to a chair, and sat down.
“The District Attorney,” he said, “is very friendly to me. My name is not being released to the press. The only newspaper which knows the facts is that scandal sheet.”
“You mean Spicy Bits?” asked Mason.
“Yes.”
“All right, what about it?”
“I want you to be sure that my name is kept out of that paper.”
“You’d better see Eva Belter,” the lawyer told him. “She’s going to be handling the estate.”
“How about the will?”
“The will doesn’t make any difference. Under the laws of this state a person can’t inherit, under a will or otherwise, from one who has been murdered by his own hand. Eva Belter might not have been able to make her claim to the estate stand up. She was disinherited under George Belter’s will. But because Griffin can’t take under that will, the property will be returned to the estate, and Eva Belter will take, not under the will, but as a wife, being the sole surviving heir at law.”
“Then she will be in control of the paper?”
“Yes.”
“I see,” said Harrison Burke, putting his fingertips together. “Do you know what the police are doing about her? I understood she was in custody.”
“She was released almost an hour ago,” the lawyer said.
Harrison Burke looked at the telephone. “May I use your telephone, counselor?”
Mason shoved it across the desk to him.
“Just tell my secretary what number you want,” said the attorney.
Harrison Burke nodded, held the receiver with that air of calm dignity which made it seem that he was posing for a photograph. He gave Della Street a number, then waited patiently. After a moment the receiver made squawking sounds, and Harrison Burke said, “Is Mrs. Belter there?”
The receiver made noise again.
Harrison Burke’s voice was oily in its unctuous modulations.
The detective went through the door as Perry Masonsaid to the telephone, “Send him in, Della. Drake is leaving.”
A moment after Mason had hung up the telephone the door opened, and Harrison Burke came into the room. His face was wreathed in smiles.
“Wonderful detective work, Mr. Mason,” he said. “Simply wonderful. The papers are full of it. They predicted that Griffin would confess before noon today.”
“He confessed early this morning,” Mason said. “Sit down.”
Harrison Burke fidgeted, moved over to a chair, and sat down.
“The District Attorney,” he said, “is very friendly to me. My name is not being released to the press. The only newspaper which knows the facts is that scandal sheet.”
“You mean Spicy Bits?” asked Mason.
“Yes.”
“All right, what about it?”
“I want you to be sure that my name is kept out of that paper.”
“You’d better see Eva Belter,” the lawyer told him. “She’s going to be handling the estate.”
“How about the will?”
“The will doesn’t make any difference. Under the laws of this state a person can’t inherit, under a will or otherwise, from one who has been murdered by his own hand. Eva Belter might not have been able to make her claim to the estate stand up. She was disinherited under George Belter’s will. But because Griffin can’t take under that will, the property will be returned to the estate, and Eva Belter will take, not under the will, but as a wife, being the sole surviving heir at law.”
“Then she will be in control of the paper?”
“Yes.”
“I see,” said Harrison Burke, putting his fingertips together. “Do you know what the police are doing about her? I understood she was in custody.”
“She was released almost an hour ago,” the lawyer said.
Harrison Burke looked at the telephone. “May I use your telephone, counselor?”
Mason shoved it across the desk to him.
“Just tell my secretary what number you want,” said the attorney.
Harrison Burke nodded, held the receiver with that air of calm dignity which made it seem that he was posing for a photograph. He gave Della Street a number, then waited patiently. After a moment the receiver made squawking sounds, and Harrison Burke said, “Is Mrs. Belter there?”
The receiver made noise again.
Harrison Burke’s voice was oily in its unctuous modulations.