The Case of the Velvet Claws

“Well, that’s all right,” Mason remarked, casually. “I’ll call again.”

“You haven’t any message to leave with me?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he told her, “except that I’ll call again,” and he hung up.

He called back the number ofDrake’s Detective Bureau and got Paul Drake on the telephone.

“Don’t make any cracks where anybody can hear you, Paul,” said Mason, “because I have an idea a lot of people would like to ask me some questions that I’d rather not answer right now. You know who this is.”

“Yeah,” replied Drake, “I got some fu

“Shoot,” said Mason.

“I went out to this chap’s house. The one on West Sixty-ninth Street, and I found something fu

“Go on,” Mason told him.

“This bird got a telephone call from somebody a little after midnight, and told his wife that he was called out of town on important business. He seemed pretty much frightened. He put some things in a suitcase, and, about quarter to one, an automobile drove by for him, and he got in and left. He told his wife that he’d get in touch with her and let her know where he was. This morning she received a telegram saying: ‘All right. Don’t worry. Love.’, and that’s all she knows. Naturally she was a bit worried.”

“That’s fine,” Mason said.

“Does it mean anything to you?” asked Drake.

“I think it does,” said Mason. “I’ve got to think it over a bit. I think it means a whole lot. Have you got anything new on Locke?”

Drake’s voice showed animation. “I haven’t found out what you want to know yet, Perry. But I think I’m on the tracks of it all right. You remember this jane at the Wheelright Hotel? This Esther Linten?”

“Yeah,” said Mason. “What about her?”

“Well,” said Drake, “it’s a fu

Mason whistled.

“That’s not all,” went on Drake. “She’s getting some regular sugar from Locke. There’s a check that goes through every two weeks, and it’s a check that doesn’t come from Locke himself. It comes from a special account that Spicy Bits keeps in a downtown bank. We managed to get the cashier at the hotel to talk. The kid has been cashing the checks through the hotel regularly.”

“Can you trace her back to Georgia and find out what she’s been mixed up in?” Mason asked. “Maybe she hasn’t changed her name.”

“That’s what we’re working on now,” Drake said. “I’ve got the Georgia agency working on it. I told them to send me a wire just as soon as they had anything that looked definite, and not to wait until they had run it down, but to keep reporting progress.”

“That’s fine,” Mason said. “Can you tell me where Frank Locke was last night?”

“Every minute of the time. We had a shadow on that boy that stuck to him all evening. Do you want a complete report?”

“Yes,” said Mason. “Right away.”

“Where shall I send it?”

“Make sure that your messenger isn’t followed, and is somebody you can trust. Have him drop in at the Hotel Ripley, and leave it at the desk for Fred B. Johnson of Detroit.”

“Fine,” said Drake. “Keep in touch with me. I may want to get you.”

“Okay,” agreed Mason, and hung up.

He went at once to the Hotel Ripley, and asked at the desk if there was anything for Mr. Johnson. Upon being advised that there was not, he went up to 518 and tried the door. It was unlocked. He walked in.

Eva Belter sat on the edge of the bed, smoking. There was a highball glass in front of her on the stand by the bed. The whiskey bottle stood beside the glass. It was about a third empty.

In the overstuffed chair sat a big man with wavering eyes, who looked uncomfortable.

Eva Belter said, “I’m glad you came. You wouldn’t believe me, so I brought you some proof.”

“Proof of what?” asked Mason. He was staring at the big man who had risen from the overstuffed chair, and was regarding Mason from embarrassed eyes.

“Proof of the fact that the will’s a forgery,” she said. “This is Mr. Dagett. He’s the cashier at the bank where George handled all of his business. He knows a good deal about George’s private affairs. He says it’s not his writing.”

Dagett bowed and smiled. “You’re Mr. Mason,” he said, “the attorney? I’m glad to meet you.”

He did not offer to shake hands.

Mason planted his feet wide apart, and looked into the uncomfortable eyes of the big man.

“Never mind squirming around,” he said. “She’s got some hold on you or you wouldn’t be here at this hour of the morning. Probably you ring up the maid and leave a message about a hat or something. I don’t give a damn about that. What I want now are the straight facts. Never mind what she wants you to say. I’m telling you you’re giving her the most help by being on the square. Is this thing on the level?”

The banker’s face changed color. He took a half stride toward the lawyer, then stopped, took a deep breath, and said: “You mean about the will?”

“About the will,” said the lawyer.

“It is,” said Dagett. “I’ve examined that will carefully. It’s a forgery. And the remarkable thing about it is that it’s not a very good forgery at that. If you’ll study it closely, you can see that the character of the handwriting broke down once or twice in it. It’s as though some one tried to make a hasty forgery, and became fatigued during the process.”

Mason snapped, “Let me see that will.”

Eva Belter passed it over.

“How about another highball, Charlie?” she asked the banker, and tittered.

Dagett shook his head, savagely. “No,” he said, vehemently.

Mason examined the will carefully. His eyes narrowed. “By God!” he said. “You’re right!”

“There can be no question of it,” Dagett told him.

Mason turned to him sharply, “You’re willing to go on the stand and testify?” he asked.

“Good heavens, no! But you don’t need me! It’s self-evident.”

Perry Mason stared at him. “All right,” he said. “That’s all.”

Dagett walked to the door, flung it open and hurried out of the room.

Mason fastened his eyes on Eva Belter.

“Listen,” he said, “I told you you could meet me here to talk things over, but I didn’t want you to stick around the room. Don’t you realize what a position we’d be in if they discovered us here in one room at this hour of the morning?”

She shrugged her shoulders.

“We’ve got to take some risks,” she said, “and I wanted you to talk with Mr. Dagett.”

“How did you get him?” he asked.

“Called him on the telephone and told him to come over, it was important. And it wasn’t nice of you to say the things you did to him. It was naughty!”

She giggled with alcoholic mirth.

“You know him pretty well?” asked Mason.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

He stood staring at her. “You know damned well what I mean. You called him Charlie.”

“Certainly,” she said. “That’s his first name. He’s a friend of mine, as well as George’s.”

“I see,” said Mason.

He went to the telephone and called his office.