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The Case of the Velvet Claws :: Гарднер Эрл Стенли
Страница: 7 из 149“When you find out how much it’s going to take to keep the thing secret, you can get in touch with me.”
“How do I get in touch with you?”
“You put a personal in the Examiner: ‘E. G. Negotiations ready to conclude,’ and you sign that with your initials. Then I’ll come to your office.”
“I don’t like it,” he said. “I never like to pay blackmail. I’d rather work some other way around it.”
“What other way would there be?” she asked.
He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. Sometimes there are other ways.”
She said, hopefully: “I can tell you one thing about Frank Locke. There’s something in his past life that he’s afraid of. I don’t know exactly what it is. I think perhaps he was sent to prison once, or something of that sort.”
He looked at her.
“You seem to know him pretty well.”
She shook her head. “I never saw him in my life.”
“How do you know so much about him?”
“I told you you weren’t to ask me that.”
He drummed again with his powerful fingers on the edge of the desk.
“Can I say that I am representing Harrison Burke?” he asked.
She shook her head emphatically.
“You can’t say that you’re representing anybody. That is, you can’t use any names. You know how to handle that. I don’t.”
“When do you want me to start in?”
“Right away.”
Perry Mason pressed a button on the side of his desk. After a moment or two, the door to the outer office opened and Della Street came in carrying a notebook.
The woman in the chair sat back with a detached, impersonal air; the manner of one whose business is not to be discussed in any way before servants.
“You wanted something?” asked Della Street.
Perry Mason reached in the upper righthand drawer of his desk, and took out a letter.
“This letter,” he said, “is all right, with the exception of one thing that I want in it. I’ll write that in in pen and ink. And then you can retype the letter. I’m going to be out on important business for the rest of the day. And I don’t know just when I’ll be back to the office.”
Della Street asked: “Can I get in touch with you anywhere?”
He shook his head. “I’ll get in touch with you,” he said.
He drew the letter toward him and scribbled on the margin. She hesitated for a moment, then walked around the desk so that she could look over his shoulder.
“How do I get in touch with you?”
“You put a personal in the Examiner: ‘E. G. Negotiations ready to conclude,’ and you sign that with your initials. Then I’ll come to your office.”
“I don’t like it,” he said. “I never like to pay blackmail. I’d rather work some other way around it.”
“What other way would there be?” she asked.
He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. Sometimes there are other ways.”
She said, hopefully: “I can tell you one thing about Frank Locke. There’s something in his past life that he’s afraid of. I don’t know exactly what it is. I think perhaps he was sent to prison once, or something of that sort.”
He looked at her.
“You seem to know him pretty well.”
She shook her head. “I never saw him in my life.”
“How do you know so much about him?”
“I told you you weren’t to ask me that.”
He drummed again with his powerful fingers on the edge of the desk.
“Can I say that I am representing Harrison Burke?” he asked.
She shook her head emphatically.
“You can’t say that you’re representing anybody. That is, you can’t use any names. You know how to handle that. I don’t.”
“When do you want me to start in?”
“Right away.”
Perry Mason pressed a button on the side of his desk. After a moment or two, the door to the outer office opened and Della Street came in carrying a notebook.
The woman in the chair sat back with a detached, impersonal air; the manner of one whose business is not to be discussed in any way before servants.
“You wanted something?” asked Della Street.
Perry Mason reached in the upper righthand drawer of his desk, and took out a letter.
“This letter,” he said, “is all right, with the exception of one thing that I want in it. I’ll write that in in pen and ink. And then you can retype the letter. I’m going to be out on important business for the rest of the day. And I don’t know just when I’ll be back to the office.”
Della Street asked: “Can I get in touch with you anywhere?”
He shook his head. “I’ll get in touch with you,” he said.
He drew the letter toward him and scribbled on the margin. She hesitated for a moment, then walked around the desk so that she could look over his shoulder.