The Case of the Velvet Claws   ::   Гарднер Эрл Стенли

The butler stepped into the room, and said: “I beg your pardon, but Mr. Belter doesn’t seem to know you. Could you tell me what it was you wanted to see him about?”

Mason looked at the man’s eyes, and said, shortly, “No.”

The butler waited a moment, thinking that Mason might add to the comment, then, as nothing was said, turned and went back up the stairs. This time he was gone three or four minutes. When he returned, his face was wooden.

“Please step this way,” he said. “Mr. Belter will see you.”

Mason followed the man up the stairs and into a sitting room which was evidently one of a suite which opened from the hallway, taking up an entire wing of the house. The room was furnished with an eye to comfort and none for style. The chairs were massive and comfortable. No attempt had been made to follow any particular scheme of decoration, and the room radiated a masculinity which was untempered by feminine taste.

A door to an inner room swung open, and a big man stood on the threshold.

Perry Mason had a chance to look past this man, into the room from which he had emerged. It was a room fitted up as a study with book cases lining the walls, a massive desk and swivel chair in one corner, and, beyond that, a glimpse of a tiled bathroom.

The man stepped into the room and pulled the door closed behind him.

He was a huge bulk of a man with a face that was fat and pasty. There were puffs under his eyes. His chest was deep and his shoulders very broad. His hips were narrow, and Mason had the impression that the legs were probably thin. It was the eyes that commanded attention. They were hard as diamonds and utterly cold.

For a second or two the man stood near the door, staring at Mason. Then he walked forward, and his gait strengthened the impression that his legs were taxed to capacity to carry about the great weight of his torso.

Mason surmised that the man was somewhere in the late forties, and there was that in his manner which indicated he was completely cruel and ruthless in his dealings.

Standing, Mason was a good four inches shorter than this man, although his shoulders were as broad.

“Mr. Belter?” he asked.

The man nodded, planted his feet wide apart, and stared at Mason.

“What do you want?” he snapped.

Mason said, “I’m sorry to come to your house, but I wanted to talk over a matter of business.”

“What about?”

“About a certain story that Spicy Bits threatens to publish. I don’t want it published.”

The diamondhard eyes never so much as changed expression.