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The Case of the Velvet Claws :: Гарднер Эрл Стенли
Страница: 9 из 149”
She arose from her chair, took a step toward the door, paused, and looked at the money on the table.
“Do I get a receipt for the money?” she asked.
“You do if you want it.”
“I think I would like to have it.”
“Of course,” he said, meaningly, “if you would like to have in your purse, a receipt made out to Eva Griffin for a retainer, and signed by Perry Mason, it’s quite all right with me.”
She frowned, and then said: “Don’t make it that way. Make a receipt to the effect that the holder of this receipt has paid you the amount mentioned, as a retainer.”
He scowled, scooped up the money with his swiftly competent hands, and beckoned to Della Street.
“Here, Della,” he said, “take this money. Give Mrs. Griffin a ledger page, and make a receipt to the effect that the account listed in our ledger, under that page number, is credited with five hundred dollars. Mark on the receipt that that amount is by way of retainer.”
“Can you tell me what your total fees will be?” asked the woman.
“It’ll depend on the amount of the work,” he said. “They’ll be high, but fair. And they’ll depend on results.”
She nodded, hesitated a moment, and then said: “I guess that’s all I have to do in here.”
“My secretary will give you the receipt,” he told her.
She smiled at him. “Good day.”
“Good day,” he said.
She paused at the door of the outer office, to turn and look back at him.
He was standing with his back to her, his hands thrust in his pockets, looking out of the window.
“This way, please,” said Della Street, and closed the door.
Perry Mason continued to stare out at the street for some five minutes. Then the door from the outer office opened once more, and Della Street came into the office.
“She’s gone,” she said.
Mason whirled to face her.
“Why did you think she was phony?” he asked.
Della Street stared him steadily in the eye.
“That woman,” she said, “spells trouble to me.”
He shrugged his broad shoulders.
“To me, she’s five hundred dollars cash for a retainer. And another fifteen hundred by way of a fee when I get the thing squared up.”
The girl said, with some feeling: “She’s phony, and she’s crooked. She’s one of those wellkept little minxes that would doublecross anybody in order to take care of herself.”
Perry Mason surveyed her appraisingly.
She arose from her chair, took a step toward the door, paused, and looked at the money on the table.
“Do I get a receipt for the money?” she asked.
“You do if you want it.”
“I think I would like to have it.”
“Of course,” he said, meaningly, “if you would like to have in your purse, a receipt made out to Eva Griffin for a retainer, and signed by Perry Mason, it’s quite all right with me.”
She frowned, and then said: “Don’t make it that way. Make a receipt to the effect that the holder of this receipt has paid you the amount mentioned, as a retainer.”
He scowled, scooped up the money with his swiftly competent hands, and beckoned to Della Street.
“Here, Della,” he said, “take this money. Give Mrs. Griffin a ledger page, and make a receipt to the effect that the account listed in our ledger, under that page number, is credited with five hundred dollars. Mark on the receipt that that amount is by way of retainer.”
“Can you tell me what your total fees will be?” asked the woman.
“It’ll depend on the amount of the work,” he said. “They’ll be high, but fair. And they’ll depend on results.”
She nodded, hesitated a moment, and then said: “I guess that’s all I have to do in here.”
“My secretary will give you the receipt,” he told her.
She smiled at him. “Good day.”
“Good day,” he said.
She paused at the door of the outer office, to turn and look back at him.
He was standing with his back to her, his hands thrust in his pockets, looking out of the window.
“This way, please,” said Della Street, and closed the door.
Perry Mason continued to stare out at the street for some five minutes. Then the door from the outer office opened once more, and Della Street came into the office.
“She’s gone,” she said.
Mason whirled to face her.
“Why did you think she was phony?” he asked.
Della Street stared him steadily in the eye.
“That woman,” she said, “spells trouble to me.”
He shrugged his broad shoulders.
“To me, she’s five hundred dollars cash for a retainer. And another fifteen hundred by way of a fee when I get the thing squared up.”
The girl said, with some feeling: “She’s phony, and she’s crooked. She’s one of those wellkept little minxes that would doublecross anybody in order to take care of herself.”
Perry Mason surveyed her appraisingly.