"The Case of the Caretaker's Cat" - читать интересную книгу автора (Гарднер Эрл Стенли)

Chapter 4

The office workers had long since gone home. Perry Mason, his thumbs tucked in the armholes of his vest, paced the floor steadily. On the desk in front of him was a copy of the Last Will and Testament of Peter Laxter.

The telephone rang. Mason scooped the receiver to his ear, and heard Paul Drake's voice saying, "Have you had anything to eat?"

"Not yet. I don't care much about eating when I'm thinking."

"How'd you like to listen to a report?" the detective asked.

"Swell."

"It isn't complete yet, but I've got most of the high spots."

"All right, suppose you come in."

"I think I can work it to better advantage if you'll join me," Drake said. "I'm down on the corner of Spring and Melton Streets. There's a waffle joint down here and we can have a bite to eat. I haven't had any dinner and my stomach thinks I'm on a hunger strike."

Mason frowningly regarded the will on his desk.

"Okay," he said, "I'll come down."

He switched out the lights, took a cab to the place Drake had indicated, and stared into the detective's popeyes. "You look as though you had something up your sleeve, Paul. There's a catlickingthecream expression on your face."

"Is there? I could use a little cream."

"What's new?"

"I'll tell you after we eat. I refuse to talk this stuff on an empty stomach… My God, Perry, snap out of it. You'd think this was another murder case, the way you're prowling around on it. It's just a case involving a damned cat. I'll bet you didn't get over fifty dollars out of it as a fee, did you?"

Mason laughed, and said, "Ten, to be exact."

"There you are," Drake remarked, as though addressing an imaginary audience.

"The fee has nothing to do with it," Mason said. "A lawyer has a trust to his client. He can set any fee he pleases. If the client doesn't pay it, the lawyer doesn't need to take the business; but if a client pays it, it doesn't make any difference whether it's five cents or five million dollars. The lawyer should give the client everything he has."

"You couldn't practice law on that sort of theory unless you were a damned individualist, Perry… Here's the waffle joint. Come on in."

Mason stood in the doorway, looking dubiously into the lighted interior. A young woman, with dark hair, laughing eyes, and full, red lips, was presiding over a battery of waffle irons. The only customer in the place paid his check. She rang up the money in the cash register, flashed him a bright smile, and started wiping off the counter.

"I don't think I want a waffle," Mason said.

The detective, taking him by the arm, gently pushed him through the door, saying, "Sure, you want a waffle."

They seated themselves at the counter. Dark eyes flashed to their faces as the full, red lips gave a quick smile.

"Two waffles," Drake said, "stripped with bacon."

The young woman's hands became a blur of swift efficiency as she poured waffle dough and spread strips of bacon on a hot plate.

"Coffee?" she asked.

"Coffee," Drake said.

"Now?" she asked.

"Now."

She drew two cups of coffee, placed them, with a little pitcher of cream at each plate. She produced paper napkins, arranged silverware, put down glasses of water and butter.

Drake raised his voice, while steam simmered up from the waffle irons.

"Do you think you can bust Pete Laxter's will, Perry?"

"I don't know," Mason admitted. "There's something queer about that will. I've been stewing over the thing for three hours."

"Seems funny that he'd have disinherited his favorite grandchild," the detective went on in a loud voice. "Sam Laxter went in for bright lights, and dissipation. The old man didn't like it. Oafley is a secretive, nonsocial duck. The old man didn't care much for him. He's too damned negative."

The young woman behind the counter turned the bacon, flashed them a swift glance.

"It takes a lot to bust a will, doesn't it?" Drake persisted.

"An awful lot," Mason admitted wearily, "if you try to break it on the ground of undue influence, or unsoundness of mind. But I'm telling you, Paul, I'm going to break that will."

A plate banged down on the counter explosively. Mason raised perplexed eyes to encounter a flushed countenance, straight determined lips, blazing black eyes. "Say," the girl said, "what kind of a game is this? I'm making my own way without asking odds of anyone, and you came…"

Paul Drake waved a hand with the studied nonchalance of one who is creating a sensation, but wishes to make it appear it is all in the day's work.

"Perry," he said, "meet Winifred."

Mason's face showed such unmistakably genuine surprise that the indignation faded from Winifred Laxter's eyes. "Didn't you know?" she asked.

Mason shook his head.

She pointed to the sign on the outside of the place. "You should have known from the sign Winnie's Waffles. "

"I didn't read the sign," Mason said. "My friend brought me in here. What was the idea, Paul, trying to make a grandstand, or pull a rabbit from the hat, or something?"

Drake, caressing his coffee cup with the tips of his fingers, gave a slow smile. "I wanted you two to get acquainted. I wanted my friend here to see how you ran the place, Miss Laxter. Most people would think an heiress couldn't turn to running a waffle kitchen."

"I'm not an heiress."

"Don't be too sure," Drake told her. "This is Perry Mason, the lawyer."

"Perry Mason," she repeated slowly.

Her eyes widened slightly.

"Heard of him?" Drake asked.

"Who hasn't?" she said, and colored.

"I wanted to ask you some questions about your grandfather," Mason said. "I employed Mr. Drake to locate you."

She opened the waffle iron, took out two crisply brown waffles. Moving with swift efficiency, she poured melted butter on the waffles, set out a pitcher of syrup, handed each a waffle and strips of goldenbrown bacon on a side dish.

"A little more coffee?" she asked.

"No, this will be fine," Mason assured her.

He put syrup on the waffle, cut into it, and his face showed surprise as he conveyed a piece to his mouth.

Paul Drake, at his side, chuckled and said, "I don't know what the case is worth to you, Perry, but these waffles are a pretty good fee in themselves."

"Where did you learn how to make these waffles?" the lawyer wanted to know.

"I studied cooking, and Grandpa used to like these waffles. When I found myself out on my own, I figured it would be a good plan to make waffles. Things are rather quiet now, but an hour ago there was a rush, and after the theater, there'll be another big rush. Then, of course, there's a big trade in the morning."

"Who handles the morning trade?" Mason asked.

"I do."

"And the aftertheater trade?"

She nodded. "I'm working for myself, not employing anyone, so there's no law to keep me from working as long as I want to."

Drake nudged Mason's leg under the table and said, out of the side of his mouth, "Get a load of the bird looking in the window."

Mason raised his eyes.

Nat Shuster, his lips twisted back from his separated teeth, was jerking his head up and down in an effusive salutation. As soon as he realized Mason had seen him, he walked on past the window.

Mason saw the puzzled expression on Winifred Laxter's face.

"Know him?" he asked.

"Yes. He's a customer. Been eating here for two or three days now. He had me sign a paper tonight."

Mason slowly placed his knife and fork by the side of his plate. "Oh," he said, "he had you sign a paper, did he?"

"Yes. He said he was a friend and that he knew I'd want to help carry out Grandfather's intentions; that even if I hadn't been remembered in the will, he knew that I'd be broadminded enough to realize Grandpa could do what he wanted to with his property; that unless the other two grandchildren could cut some red tape, they'd have to wait quite a while to get everything cleaned up, but I could cut some of the red tape and help them out if I'd sign a paper."

"What sort of a paper was it?"

"I don't know. It was something that said I knew Grandpa wasn't crazy, that I was satisfied with the will and wouldn't do anything to contest it… But of course I wouldn't have done that anyway."

Drake looked at Perry Mason significantly.

"Did he pay you anything?" Mason asked.

"He insisted on giving me a dollar. He walked out and left it on the counter. I laughed at him and told him I didn't want anything at all; but he said I'd have to take the dollar to make it legal. He was very nice. He said he liked the waffles and was going to advertise the place among his friends and send me a lot of customers."

Perry Mason started in once more on his waffle. "Yes," he said slowly, "he would."

Winifred Laxter rested her hands on the shelf supporting the battery of waffle irons. "I take it," she said, "I've been trimmed. Is that right?"

Mason looked searchingly into her eyes. Drake was the one who answered the question. He nodded and said, "In a big way."

Winifred leaned closer to them. "Okay. Now let me tell you something. I don't care. I knew Sam Laxter had sent that fellow in here, and had a pretty good idea he was a lawyer. I knew he was trying to get me to sign away something, and I knew he was doing that because he was afraid I could make trouble.

"Now, I don't know what you two are in here for, but probably you're trying to line me up so you can start a lawsuit, so let's come out in the open and understand each other. Then you can enjoy eating your waffles a lot more.

"Grandfather wasn't a fool. He knew what he was doing. He decided to leave his property to the two boys. That's swell. It suits me right down to the ground. We, all three of us, had been living with him for years. We'd grown accustomed to having him pay our bills. We didn't worry about money. We didn't care whether there was a depression, unemployment, or panic. Grandpa had his money, and he had it in cold cash. He dished it out to us generously.

"What was the result? We were out of touch with the world. We didn't know what was going on and we didn't care. We were young people who might just as well have been retired and living in an institution for the aged and infirm.

"I had a couple of boy friends who were rushing me to death. I couldn't decide which I liked the better. They were both perfectly swell. Sometimes I thought I liked one; sometimes I thought I liked the other. Then Grandfather died. I was disinherited. I had to get out and get to work. I picked up this business and began to learn about life. I've seen more people, made more contacts, had more fun living and working in this place than I ever had being the pampered pet of a rich granddad. And I'm finished with all of the petty jealousies and intrigue of the two grandsons who were afraid I was going to get all of the property. One of my boy friends decidedly lost interest in me as soon as he found out I wasn't going to have a million dollars or so in my own name. The other one is tickled to death because he wants to support me.

"Now then, figure that out, and see if you think I'm going to walk into court, drag out a lot of dirt about Grandpa and the other two grandchildren, and either wake up with a headache or with a slice of property that I don't want."

Perry Mason slid his coffee cup across the counter.

"Give me another cup of coffee, Winnie, and I'll send all of my friends in here."

Her flashing eyes stared steadily into the lawyer's for a moment; then, recognizing a kindred spirit, she broke into a light laughter and said, "I'm glad you understand. I was afraid you wouldn't."

Paul Drake cleared his throat. "Look here, Miss Laxter, it's all right for you to feel that way, but don't forget you may not always feel that way. Money is hard to get. You've been tricked into signing something we could set aside…"

Winifred handed Perry Mason a full coffee cup, and said to him significantly, "Tell your boy friend what it's all about, will you?"

Mason interrupted Paul Drake by placing a hand on Paul's arm, digging in with his powerful fingers. "Paul, you don't get the sketch. You're too damned commercial. Why not forget about money and laugh at life? It isn't the future that counts; it's the present. It isn't what you save; it's what you make, and the way you make it."

Winifred nodded. The detective shrugged his shoulders, and said, "It's your funeral."

Perry Mason finished his waffle, eating slowly and appreciatively. "You're going to make a success," he said, as he pushed back his empty plate.

"I've already made a success; I'm finding myself. The bill is eighty cents."

Mason handed her a dollar bill. "Put the change under the plate, if you will, please," he said, grinning. "How did you and Ashton get along?"

"Ashton's a great old crab," she laughed, manipulating the cash register.

Mason remarked with studied carelessness, "Too bad he's going to lose his cat."

Winifred paused, the change drawer open, her hand held poised over it. "What do you mean, he's going to lose his cat?"

"Sam won't let him keep the cat."

"But he has to under the will. He has to keep Ashton employed as a caretaker."

"But not the cat."

Dismay showed on Winifred's face. "Do you mean to say he isn't going to let Ashton keep Clinker?"

"That's it."

"But he can't put Clinker out."

"He says he's going to poison him."

Mason nudged Drake surreptitiously, started toward the door.

"Wait a minute," she called. "We've got to do something about that. He can't get by with that. Why, that's outrageous!"

"We'll see what we can do," Mason promised.

"But look here. You must do something. Perhaps I can do something. Where can I reach you?"

Perry Mason gave her one of his cards, and said, "I'm Ashton's lawyer. If you think of anything that will help, let me know. And don't sign any more papers."

The door from the street opened. A young man of medium build smiled at Winifred Laxter, then regarded Perry Mason with a level, appraising stare, shifted his eyes to Paul Drake and suddenly became hostile.

He was a head shorter than the tall detective, but he pushed up in front of him belligerently, stared at him steadily with gray eyes that didn't so much as flicker. "Say," he demanded, "what's your game?"

Drake remarked casually, "Just eating waffles, Buddy. Don't quarrel with the cash customers."

"He's all right, Doug," Winifred said.

"How do you know he's all right?" the young man resorted, without taking his eyes from Paul Drake. "He hunted me up this afternoon with a stall about going into the contracting business and wanting to have someone who knew architecture work with him. I hadn't talked with him five minutes before I found out he didn't know a single thing about contracting. I think he's a detective."

Drake, smiling, said, "You're a better detective than I am a contractor. You've guessed right. So what?"

The young man turned to Winifred. "Shall I throw him out, Winnie?" he asked.

She laughed. "It's all right, Doug. Shake hands with Perry Mason, a lawyer. You've heard of him. This is Douglas Keene, Mr. Mason."

The young man's expression changed. "Perry Mason," he said. "Oh…"

Mason's hand found Keene 's right hand and pumped it up and down. "Glad to know you, Keene," Mason said. "Shake hands with Paul Drake."

As Mason released his grip of Keene 's hand, Drake grabbed it. "Okay, Buddy," he said, "no hard feelings. It's all in the day's work."

The steady gray eyes surveyed the two men thoughtfully. The first diffidence gave place to a very evident determination.

"Let's find out if it's all right," he said. "I've got something to say about this. Winifred and I are engaged. She's going to marry me. If I could support her I'd marry her tomorrow, but I can't support her and I won't let her support me. I'm an architect, and you know it takes a while for a young architect to get started. You just don't begin making money right away. But the country needs architects today more than ever. With credit inflated and more and more young families and more and more babies, it's only a question of time before I'll be sitting pretty."

Mason surveyed the youthful enthusiasm of the young man's face and nodded.

Paul Drake said, "Yeah… a couple of years." He said it tonelessly.

"And don't think I'm waiting for business to pick up, either," Keene said. "I'm working in a service station, and darned glad to get the job. Today the big boss was through. He stopped at the service station without anyone knowing who he was. And when he left he gave me his card and a pat on the back for the way I was handling the trade."

"Good boy," Mason told him.

"I'm just telling you fellows this," Keene said, "so you'll know where I stand, because I'm going to find out where you stand."

Mason glanced over at Winifred Laxter. Her eyes were absorbed in Douglas Keene. Her face was flushed with pride.

Keene took a step backward, so that he was between both men and the door.

"Now then," he said, "I've put my cards on the table and you chaps are going to put yours on the table. Peter Laxter died. He didn't leave Winifred a cent. So far as I'm concerned, I'm glad he didn't. She doesn't need his money. She's better off now than she was when she was living with him.

"I'm going to support her. I don't want any of her grandfather's money and she doesn't need any of her grandfather's money, but I don't like the idea of you birds trying to slip something over on her."

Mason's hand dropped to the young man's shoulder. "We're not trying to slip anything over on her," he said.

"What are you hanging around here for, then?"

"I want to get information," Mason said, "so I can represent a client."

"Who's the client?"

Mason grinned. "Believe it or not, but the client's a cat."

"A what?"

Winifred interrupted. "It's Charlie Ashton, Doug—you know, the boys have to keep him on as caretaker, but Sam has threatened to poison the cat, and Mr. Mason's representing Ashton, trying to fix things up so he can keep the cat."

Keene 's jaw set grimly. "Do you mean to say that Sam Laxter threatens to poison Clinker?"

She nodded.

"Well, I'll be damned," Keene said slowly. He turned to Perry Mason. "Listen," he said, "I was going to keep out of that, but if Sam's pulling stuff like that, ask him what became of the Koltsdorf diamonds."

Winifred said sharply, "Doug!"

He swung to face her. "Don't stop me," he said. "You don't know what I know. I know stuff about Sam that's going to come out. No, don't worry, Winnie, I'm not going to bring it out; I'm going to keep out of it. It's Edith DeVoe. She…"

Winifred interrupted him firmly. "Mr. Mason is only interested in the cat, Doug."

Keene laughed, a quick, nervous laugh. "I'm sorry. Guess I got pretty well worked up. I can't stand the idea of anyone poisoning an animal, and when it comes down to brass tacks, Clinker is worth a dozen Sam Laxters. Oh, well, I'll keep out of it."

Paul Drake casually seated himself on one of the stools.

"What's going to come out about Sam Laxter?" he asked.

Mason dropped his hand to the detective's shoulder. "Wait a minute, Paul. These people have shot square with us; let's shoot square with them."

He turned to Winifred. "Do you want to give us any information?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I want to keep out of it and I want Doug to keep out of it."

Mason took Drake's arm and literally pushed him along the passageway between the booths on one side and the stools on the other. "Come on, Paul," he said.

As the outer door closed behind them Winifred's eyes flashed them a smile. She waved her arm.

"What did you do that for?" Drake protested. "That fellow knows something. He's been talking with Edith DeVoe."

"Who's Edith DeVoe?"

"She's the nurse who lived there in the house. I had a hunch she might know something."

Mason, staring moodily up and down the street, said, "If I catch Shuster hanging around here, I'm going to punch his face. Can you imagine the damn shyster going in and taking advantage of the kid and getting her to sign a paper like that?"

Drake said, "It's his style. What can you do now? You haven't got any client who can bust the will. That will's just as good as gold, isn't it?"

"I've got a cat for a client," Mason said grimly.

"Can a cat contest a will?"

Mason's face showed the determination of a born fighter. "Damned if I know," he said. "Come on, we're going to see Edith DeVoe."

"But you can't contest a will unless you're representing an interested party. Two of the interested parties take under the will and the other one has signed away her rights," the detective protested.

"I've told you before," Mason said, "that I never hit where the other man's expecting the punch."