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The Case of the Velvet Claws :: Гарднер Эрл Стенли
Страница: 4 из 149“All right,” he said. “Now we’ve wasted enough time with preliminaries. Get down to earth, and tell me what it is you want. Tell me first who you are and how you happened to come to me. Maybe it’ll make it easier for you if you start in that way.”
She began to speak rapidly, as though she had rehearsed what she was saying.
“I am married. My name is Eva Griffin, and I reside at 2271 Grove Street. I have trouble that I can’t very well discuss with the attorneys who have heretofore represented me. A friend who asked her name withheld, told me about you. She said that you were more than a lawyer. That you went out and did things.”
She was silent for a moment, and then asked: “Is it true?”
Perry Mason nodded his head.
“I suppose so,” he said. “Most attorneys hire clerks and detectives to work up their cases, and find out about the evidence. I don’t, for the simple reason that I can’t trust any one to do that sort of stuff in the kind of cases I handle. I don’t handle very many, but when I do I’m well paid, and I usually give good results. When I hire a detective, he’s hired to get just one fact.”
She nodded quickly and eagerly. Now that the ice was broken, she seemed eager to go on with her story.
“You read in the paper about the holdup at the Beechwood Inn last night? There were some guests, you know, in the main dining room, and some in the private dining rooms. A man tried to hold up the guests, and somebody shot him.”
Perry Mason nodded. “I read about it,” he said.
“I was there.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Know anything about who did the shooting?”
She lowered her eyes for a moment, and then raised them to his. “No,” she said.
He looked at her, narrowed his eyes and scowled.
She met the stare for a second or two, then lowered her eyes.
Perry Mason continued to wait as though she had not answered his question.
After a moment she raised her eyes once more, and fidgeted uneasily in the chair. “Well,” she said, “if you’re going to be my attorney, I should tell you the truth. Yes.”
Mason’s nod seemed more of satisfaction than affirmation.
“Go on,” he told her.
“We tried to get out, and couldn’t. The entrances were all watched. It seems somebody had put through a call to the police department before the shooting, just when the holdup started. Before we could get out, the police had the place sewed up.”
“Who is ‘we’?” he asked.
She began to speak rapidly, as though she had rehearsed what she was saying.
“I am married. My name is Eva Griffin, and I reside at 2271 Grove Street. I have trouble that I can’t very well discuss with the attorneys who have heretofore represented me. A friend who asked her name withheld, told me about you. She said that you were more than a lawyer. That you went out and did things.”
She was silent for a moment, and then asked: “Is it true?”
Perry Mason nodded his head.
“I suppose so,” he said. “Most attorneys hire clerks and detectives to work up their cases, and find out about the evidence. I don’t, for the simple reason that I can’t trust any one to do that sort of stuff in the kind of cases I handle. I don’t handle very many, but when I do I’m well paid, and I usually give good results. When I hire a detective, he’s hired to get just one fact.”
She nodded quickly and eagerly. Now that the ice was broken, she seemed eager to go on with her story.
“You read in the paper about the holdup at the Beechwood Inn last night? There were some guests, you know, in the main dining room, and some in the private dining rooms. A man tried to hold up the guests, and somebody shot him.”
Perry Mason nodded. “I read about it,” he said.
“I was there.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Know anything about who did the shooting?”
She lowered her eyes for a moment, and then raised them to his. “No,” she said.
He looked at her, narrowed his eyes and scowled.
She met the stare for a second or two, then lowered her eyes.
Perry Mason continued to wait as though she had not answered his question.
After a moment she raised her eyes once more, and fidgeted uneasily in the chair. “Well,” she said, “if you’re going to be my attorney, I should tell you the truth. Yes.”
Mason’s nod seemed more of satisfaction than affirmation.
“Go on,” he told her.
“We tried to get out, and couldn’t. The entrances were all watched. It seems somebody had put through a call to the police department before the shooting, just when the holdup started. Before we could get out, the police had the place sewed up.”
“Who is ‘we’?” he asked.