The Case of the Velvet Claws   ::   Гарднер Эрл Стенли

Perry Mason wrote on the letter:

He took a blotter, blotted the note, and handed it to Della Street.

“Have that attended to right away,” he said, “so that I can sign it before I go out.”

She took the letter casually. “Very well,” she said, and left the office.

Perry Mason turned to the woman. “I’ve got to know something about how high I can go on this thing,” he told her.

“What would you consider reasonable?” she asked.

“Nothing at all,” he said crisply. “I don’t like to pay money for blackmail.”

“I know,” she remarked, “but you must have had some experience.”

“Spicy Bits,” he told her, “will charge everything they think the traffic will bear. What I’m trying to get at is how much will it bear? If they want too much I’ll try stalling them along. If they are willing to be reasonable, I can handle it quickly.”

“You’ve got to handle it quickly.”

“Well,” he said, “we’re getting away from the question. How much?”

“I could raise five thousand dollars,” she ventured.

“Harrison Burke is in politics,” he told her. “From all I can hear, he isn’t in politics for his health. He runs with the reform crowd, and that makes his patronage all the more valuable to the other crowd.”

“What are you getting at?” she asked him.

“I’m getting at the fact that Spicy Bits probably won’t consider five thousand a drop in the bucket.”

“I could raise nine or perhaps ten,” she said, “in a pinch.”

“It’ll be a pinch,” he told her.

She bit her lower lip between her teeth.

“Suppose something turns up and I need to communicate with you without waiting for the ad to be published in the paper?” he asked. “Where can I get in touch with you?”

She shook her head swiftly and positively.

“You can’t. That’s one thing that we’ve got to have understood. Don’t try to reach me at my address. Don’t try to telephone me. Don’t try to find out who my husband is.”

“You’re living with your husband?”

She snapped him a swift look.

“Of course I am, otherwise where would I get the money?”

There was a knock at the outer door of the office, and Della Street thrust her head and shoulders into the room.

“I have that matter attended to so you can sign the letter any time you want, Mr. Mason,” she said.

Perry Mason got to his feet, looked meaningly at the woman.

“All right, Mrs. Griffin. I’ll do the best I can.