The Case of the Velvet Claws

Chapter 20

Morning sun streamed through the windows of Perry Mason’s office. He sat at his desk, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep, looking across at Paul Drake.

“Well,” said Paul Drake, “I got the lowdown on it.”

“Shoot,” Perry Mason told him.

“He caved in aboutsix o’clock this morning,” the detective said. “They worked on him all night. Norma Veitch tried to go back on her story when she saw that he was going to sit tight. It was the housekeeper that broke him down. She’s peculiar. She would have hung out until the end of the world if her daughter hadn’t cracked and spilled the beans.”

“So she worked againstGriffin finally, eh?” asked the lawyer.

“Yes, that’s the fu

“How about Eva Belter?” asked Mason. “I’ve got a writ of habeas corpus out for her.”

“You won’t need it. I think they turned her loose aboutseven o’clock. Do you suppose she’ll come here?”

Mason shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps she’ll be grateful,” he said, “perhaps not. The last time I saw her she was cursing me.”

The door in the outer office made a sound as it opened, then clicked back into place.

“Thought that door was locked,” said Paul Drake.

“Maybe it’s the janitor,” said Mason.

Drake got to his feet, gained the door of the private office in three swift strides, jerked the door open, looked out, and gri

Della Street’s voice came through from the outer office. “Good morning, Mr. Drake. Is Mr. Mason in there?”

“Yes,” said Drake, and closed the door.

He looked at his wristwatch and then at the lawyer. “Your secretary comes to work early,” he said.

“What time is it?”

“Noteight o’clock yet.”

“She’s not due until nine,” Mason said. “I didn’t want to bother her. She’s had so much work piled on her in this case. So I worked out the application for a writ of habeas corpus on the typewriter myself. I got a judge to sign it aboutmidnight, and had it served.”

“Well, they turned her loose,” the detective said. “You wouldn’t have needed the writ.”

“It’s better to have them when you don’t need them than to need them when you haven’t got them,” Perry Mason said grimly.

Once more the outer door opened and closed. In the quiet of the building the sound came through to the i

The business street below the office had not yet taken on its rumble of sounds, and the words were audible to the detective. He got to his feet. “I’m on my way, Perry,” he said. “Just dropped in to tell you that Griffin has confessed and that they’ve turned your client loose.”

“Thanks for the information, Paul,” the lawyer remarked, then indicated a door which led to the corridor. “You can go out that way, Paul.”

The detective went through the door as Perry Mason said to the telephone, “Send him in, Della. Drake is leaving.”

A moment after Mason had hung up the telephone the door opened, and Harrison Burke came into the room. His face was wreathed in smiles.

“Wonderful detective work, Mr. Mason,” he said. “Simply wonderful. The papers are full of it. They predicted that Griffin would confess before noon today.”

“He confessed early this morning,” Mason said. “Sit down.”

Harrison Burke fidgeted, moved over to a chair, and sat down.

“The District Attorney,” he said, “is very friendly to me. My name is not being released to the press. The only newspaper which knows the facts is that scandal sheet.”

“You mean Spicy Bits?” asked Mason.

“Yes.”

“All right, what about it?”

“I want you to be sure that my name is kept out of that paper.”

“You’d better see Eva Belter,” the lawyer told him. “She’s going to be handling the estate.”

“How about the will?”

“The will doesn’t make any difference. Under the laws of this state a person can’t inherit, under a will or otherwise, from one who has been murdered by his own hand. Eva Belter might not have been able to make her claim to the estate stand up. She was disinherited under George Belter’s will. But because Griffin can’t take under that will, the property will be returned to the estate, and Eva Belter will take, not under the will, but as a wife, being the sole surviving heir at law.”

“Then she will be in control of the paper?”

“Yes.”

“I see,” said Harrison Burke, putting his fingertips together. “Do you know what the police are doing about her? I understood she was in custody.”

“She was released almost an hour ago,” the lawyer said.

Harrison Burke looked at the telephone. “May I use your telephone, counselor?”

Mason shoved it across the desk to him.

“Just tell my secretary what number you want,” said the attorney.

Harrison Burke nodded, held the receiver with that air of calm dignity which made it seem that he was posing for a photograph. He gave Della Street a number, then waited patiently. After a moment the receiver made squawking sounds, and Harrison Burke said, “Is Mrs. Belter there?”

The receiver made noise again.

Harrison Burke’s voice was oily in its unctuous modulations. “When she comes in,” he said, “would you mind telling her that the person who was to let her know when the shoes that she ordered came in, telephoned, and said that he had her size in stock now, and that she could get them whenever she was ready.”

He smiled into the transmitter, nodded his head once or twice as though he had been addressing an invisible audience, replaced the receiver with meticulous precision, and pushed the telephone back across the desk.

“Thank you, counselor,” he said. “I am more deeply grateful to you than I can well express. My entire career was in jeopardy, and I feel that it was through your efforts that a very grave wrong was averted.”

Perry Mason grunted an inarticulate comment.

Harrison Burke stood to his full height, smoothed down his vest, and thrust out his chin.

“When one is devoting one’s life to public work,” he said in his booming voice, “one naturally makes political enemies who will stoop to any form of trickery in order to achieve their ends. Under the circumstances, any little i

Perry Mason got to his feet so abruptly that the swivel chair was pushed back until it slammed against the wall.

“You can save that,” he said, “for somebody that wants to hear it. As far as I’m concerned Eva Belter is going to pay me five thousand dollars. I am going to suggest to her that about half of this amount should come from you.”

Harrison Burke recoiled before the grim savagery of the attorney’s tone.

“But, my dear sir,” he protested, “My dear sir! You weren’t representing me. You were merely representing her upon a murder charge, a misunderstanding which might have had the most serious consequences to her. I was involved only incidentally, and as a friend…”

“I’m just telling you,” said Perry Mason, “what my advice is going to be to my client. And, as you may remember, she is now the owner of Spicy Bits. Whatever Spicy Bits publishes or doesn’t publish is going to be up to her. I don’t think that I need to detain you any longer, Mr. Burke.”

Harrison Burke gulped uncomfortably, started to say something, thought better of it, started to hold out his right hand, caught the glint in Perry Mason’s eyes, brought the hand to his side, and said, “Oh, yes, of course. Thank you, counselor. I wanted to drop in and express my appreciation.”

“Not a bit,” said Perry Mason. “Don’t mention it, and you can get out to the corridor through that door.”

He stood still at his desk, watching the back of the politician as it passed through the door and into the corridor. Then, as the door shut, he stood grimly staring at it, his eyes coldly antagonistic.

The door from the i

“Please,” she said, “I’m so sorry.”

He started at the sound of her voice, turned, and looked down into the moist eyes. For several seconds they looked at each other, saying nothing. Her hands clung to his shoulders frantically, as though she were clinging to something that was being pulled from her grasp.

“I should have known better, chief. I read the papers this morning, and felt so low that…”

His long arm circled her shoulders, and scooped her to him. His lips pressed down to hers.

“Forget it, kid,” he said in gruff tenderness.

“Why didn’t you explain?” she asked chokingly.

“It wasn’t that,” he said slowly, choosing the words, “it was the fact that it needed an explanation that hurt.”

“Never, never, never, so long as I live, will I ever doubt you again.”

There was a cough in the doorway. U

“Pardon me,” she said in icy tones, “if I seem to intrude but I am very anxious to see Mr. Mason.”

Della Street flung herself away from Perry Mason with flaming cheeks, and surveyed Eva Belter with eyes that had lost their tenderness and flashed with rage.

Perry Mason looked at the woman steadily. He seemed not in the least disturbed.

“All right,” he told her, “come in and sit down.”

“You might,” she said, in acid tones, “wipe the lipstick off your mouth.”

Perry Mason stared steadily at her.

“That lipstick,” he said, “can stay there. What is it you want?”

Her eyes softened, and she moved toward him.

“I wanted to tell you,” she said, “how much I misunderstood you, how much it meant to me…”