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“Make another receipt,” said Mason, “to this woman. Make it the same way you made the other one, with reference to a ledger page. This is for four hundred and seventy-five dollars, and it’s on account.”
Eva Belter passed the money over toMason. He took it and gave it to Della Street.
The two women maintained toward each other that air of aloof hostility which characterizes two dogs walking stiff-legged, one around the other.
Della Street held her chin high, as she took the money, and returned to the outer office.
“She’ll give you a receipt,” said Perry Mason, “as you go out. How about getting in touch with you?”
She said, quickly enough: “That’s all right. Ring the house. Ask for my maid and tell her that you’re the cleaner. Tell her you can’t find the dress I inquired about. I’ll explain to her, and she’ll pass the message on to me. Then I’ll call you.”
Mason laughed.
“You’ve got that down pat,” he said. “You must have used it often.”
She looked up at him, and her blue eyes set in a wide stare of tearful i
“I’m sure,” she said, “I don’t know what you mean.”
Mason pushed back his swivel chair, got to his feet, and walked around the desk.
“In the future,” he told her, “you can save yourself the trouble of putting on that baby stare with me if you want to. I think we understand each other pretty well. You’re in a jam and I’m trying to get you out.”
She got to her feet slowly, looked into his eyes, and suddenly put her hands on his shoulders.
“Somehow,” she said, “you inspire me with confidence. You’re the only man I ever knew who could stand up to my husband. I feel as though I could cling to you and you’d protect me.”
She tilted back her face so that her lips were close to his, and her eyes were staring into his. Her body was quite close to his.
He took her elbow in his long, strong fingers and turned her away from him.
“I’ll protect you,” he said, “just as long as you pay cash.”
She squirmed around so that she was facing him again.
“Don’t you ever think of anything except money?” she asked.
“Not in this game.”
“You’re all I’ve got to depend on,” she wailed. “Everything in the world. You’re all that stands between me and utter ruin.”
“That,” he said coolly, “is my business. It’s what I’m here for.”
As he talked, he had been walking with her toward the door of the outer office. As he put his right hand on the knob, she twisted around so that she was free of his grip.
“Very well,” she said, “and thank you.”
Her tone was formal, almost frigid. She walked through the office door and into the outer office.
Perry Mason closed the door behind her. He went to his desk, picked up the telephone and when he heard Della Street’s voice, said, “Give me an outside line, Della.”
He gave the number of Drake’s Detective Bureau, asked for Paul Drake, and got him on the line.
“Listen, Paul,” he said, “this is Perry. I’ve got a job for you. You’ve got to handle it quickly. Frank Locke, down at Spicy Bits, is a devil with the women. He’s got a jane over at the Wheelright Hotel that he’s ru
“Two hundred dollars,” said Paul Drake’s voice. “And another two hundred dollars at the end of the week, if I work on it that long.”
“I don’t think I can pass this on to my client,” said Mason.
“Make it three twenty-five in all, then, and use me right if you find you can put it in on the expense account later.”
“Okay,” said Mason. “Get started.”
“Wait a minute. I was just going to call you anyway. I see a big Lincoln is parked down here in front of the building, with a chauffeur sitting at the wheel. I have a hunch that it’s the same car that your mysterious lady friend used for a get-away the other day. Do you want me to chase it down? I took the license number as I came up.”
“No,” said Mason. “That’s okay. I’ve got her tagged. Forget about her and start in on this Locke business.”
“All right,” said Drake, and hung up.
Perry Mason dropped the receiver into place.
Della Street stood in the doorway.
“She gone?” asked Mason.
Della Street nodded.
“That woman’s going to make you trouble,” she said.
“You told me that before,” said Mason.
“All right, I’m telling it to you again.”
“Why?” said Mason.
“I don’t like the way she looks,” said Della Street. “And I don’t like the way she acts toward a working girl. She’s got that snobby complex.”
“Lots of people are like that, Della.”
“I know, but she’s different. She doesn’t know what honesty means. She loves trickery. She’d turn on you in a second if it would be to her advantage.”
Perry Mason’s face was thoughtful.
“It wouldn’t be to her advantage,” he remarked, his voice preoccupied.
Della Street stared at him for a moment, then softly closed the door and left him alone.
Chapter 6
Harrison Burke was a tall man who cultivated an air of distinction. His record in Congress had been mediocre, but he had identified himself as “The Friend of the People” by sponsoring legislation which a clique of politicians pushed through the house, knowing that it would never pass the upper body, or, if it did, that it would be promptly vetoed by the President.
He was pla
He looked at Perry Mason, his eyes shrewd, and appraising, and remarked: “But I don’t understand what you’re driving at.”
“All right,” Mason said, “if I’ve got to hand it to you straight from the shoulder, I’m talking about the night of the Beechwood stick-up, and your presence in the I
Harrison Burke winced as though he had been struck a blow. He took a deep breath that was a gasp, then deliberately set his face in lines that he doubtless thought were wooden.
“I think,” he said in his deep, booming voice, “that you have been misinformed. And inasmuch as I am exceedingly busy this afternoon, I will have to ask you to excuse me.”
Perry Mason’s expression was a mixture of disgust and resentment. Then he took a step toward the politician’s desk and stared down at the man’s face.