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The Case of the Velvet Claws :: Гарднер Эрл Стенли
Страница: 36 из 149Spicy Bits is going to publish the whole thing and demand that you be taken before the Coroner’s Jury and the Grand Jury and made to tell what you know, and who was with you.”
Harrison Burke’s face turned a sickly gray. He leaned forward on his desk as though he wanted support for his arms and shoulders.
“What?” he asked.
“You heard what I said.”
“But,” said Burke, “I never knew. She never told me. That is, this is the first I knew about it. I’m sure there must be some mistake.”
“All right,” said Mason. “Guess again. There isn’t any mistake.”
“How does it happen that I hear of this through you?”
“Because,” said Mason, “the lady probably doesn’t want to go near you. She’s got herself to think about, and she’s trying to work her way out of it. I’m doing the best I can, and it takes money. She’s probably not the kind that would call on you for a campaign contribution. I am.”
“You want money?” asked Burke.
“What the hell did you think I wanted?”
Harrison Burke seemed to be getting the full significance of his predicament in a series of waves which penetrated his consciousness, one at a time.
“My God!” he said. “It would ruin me!”
Perry Mason said nothing.
“Spicy Bits can be bought off,” continued the politician. “I don’t know just how they work it. It’s some kind of a deal by which you buy advertising space and then don’t live up to the contract. They have a clause in there for liquidated damages, I understand. You’re a lawyer. You should know about that. And you should know how to handle it.”
“Spicy Bits can’t be bought off now,” said Mason. “In the first place they wanted too much money. And in the second place, they’re out for blood now. It’s a question of no quarter given, and no quarter asked.”
Harrison Burke drew himself up. “My dear man,” he said, “I think you are entirely mistaken. I see no reason why the paper should adopt that attitude.”
Mason grinned at him, “You don’t?”
“Certainly not,” said Burke.
“Well, it happens that the power behind the throne in that paper, the man who really owns it, is George C. Belter. And the woman you were out with is his wife, who was contemplating suing him for divorce. Think that over.”
Burke’s face was the color of putty.
“That’s impossible,” he said. “Belter wouldn’t be mixed up in anything like that. He’s a gentleman.”
“He may be a gentleman, but he owns the sheet,” said Mason.
Harrison Burke’s face turned a sickly gray. He leaned forward on his desk as though he wanted support for his arms and shoulders.
“What?” he asked.
“You heard what I said.”
“But,” said Burke, “I never knew. She never told me. That is, this is the first I knew about it. I’m sure there must be some mistake.”
“All right,” said Mason. “Guess again. There isn’t any mistake.”
“How does it happen that I hear of this through you?”
“Because,” said Mason, “the lady probably doesn’t want to go near you. She’s got herself to think about, and she’s trying to work her way out of it. I’m doing the best I can, and it takes money. She’s probably not the kind that would call on you for a campaign contribution. I am.”
“You want money?” asked Burke.
“What the hell did you think I wanted?”
Harrison Burke seemed to be getting the full significance of his predicament in a series of waves which penetrated his consciousness, one at a time.
“My God!” he said. “It would ruin me!”
Perry Mason said nothing.
“Spicy Bits can be bought off,” continued the politician. “I don’t know just how they work it. It’s some kind of a deal by which you buy advertising space and then don’t live up to the contract. They have a clause in there for liquidated damages, I understand. You’re a lawyer. You should know about that. And you should know how to handle it.”
“Spicy Bits can’t be bought off now,” said Mason. “In the first place they wanted too much money. And in the second place, they’re out for blood now. It’s a question of no quarter given, and no quarter asked.”
Harrison Burke drew himself up. “My dear man,” he said, “I think you are entirely mistaken. I see no reason why the paper should adopt that attitude.”
Mason grinned at him, “You don’t?”
“Certainly not,” said Burke.
“Well, it happens that the power behind the throne in that paper, the man who really owns it, is George C. Belter. And the woman you were out with is his wife, who was contemplating suing him for divorce. Think that over.”
Burke’s face was the color of putty.
“That’s impossible,” he said. “Belter wouldn’t be mixed up in anything like that. He’s a gentleman.”
“He may be a gentleman, but he owns the sheet,” said Mason.