Read Online The Case of the Counterfeit Eye by Erle Stanley Gardner - Free Book Online
Authors: Erle Stanley Gardner
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in the room."
"The same shells I took from Dick, including the empty cartridge?"
"Yes."
"Did you ever know," Mason asked, "that the police can tell from an examination of bullets whether a bullet has been fired from a certain gun?"
"No, can they?"
"And did you ever know that the police can develop latent finger-prints on that gun, and that when they do, they will find yours and Dick's and mine?"
"Good God, no!"
"You," Mason told her, "are either one of the cleverest women I've met in a long time, or one of the dumbest."
"I don't know about criminal matters," she said. "I wouldn't know anything about them."
"Look here," Perry Mason said, staring steadily at her, "did you think that Hartley Basset had gone out, or did you know that he was lying in there dead?"
"Why, I thought he'd gone out, of course. I tell you I saw him run out… I thought it was he."
"Now, this girl is your daughter-in-law?"
"Yes, she married Dick. But you mustn't say anything about that marriage."
"Why not? What's wrong with it?"
"Please," she said, "don't ask all those questions now. I'll tell you later."
"Now, listen," Mason said grimly, "there's going to be a lot of questions asked you tonight. Are you ready to answer them?"
"I don't know… No, I can't answer questions."
"Why?"
"Because I don't know what to say."
"When will you know what to say?"
"After I've talked with Dick again. I must talk with him once more."
Mason tapped her knee with his forefinger.
"Did you kill him?" he asked.
"No."
"Did Dick?"
"No."
"Why do you want to talk with Dick then?"
"Because I'm afraid they'll find out who did kill him… Oh, I can't talk about it. Please leave me alone."
"Just one question," Mason said, "and tell me the God's truth. Did you kill him?"
"No."
"Can you prove you didn't if it comes to a pinch?"
"Yes. I think so."
"All right. There's only one way to keep the police and the newspaper people from turning you wrong side out. Tell them you are too upset to answer questions. They'll go right ahead and ask them anyway. Then you start in getting hysterical. Tell them any, thing. Contradict yourself every few minutes. Say you saw your husband an hour before the shooting, then say it was a week before the shooting – that you can't remember having seen him for a month. Make wild statements. Say there were voices that warned him that the serpent said he would be killed.
"In other words act crazy. Let your voice get more and more shrill. Keep telling them absurdities. Make a nuisance of yourself. Scream, shout, laugh, have hysterics. Do you understand?"
"Yes'" she said; "I think I do. But won't it be dangerous?"
"Of course, it'll be dangerous, but not half as dangerous as trying to explain things and getting caught in a police trap. Remember now, don't do this unless you're innocent and can prove yourself innocent if it comes to a show-down. And don't be conservative in your statements. Make them sound so absurd you'll seem either drunk or crazy, and throw in a lot of screams and laughter.
"In that way they'll figure you're a nuisance and you'll rate a hypodermic. After they've once drugged you, you play possum. When you wake up, pretend to be groggy. Talk thick. Slur your words together, close your eyes and drop off to sleep between words.
"That'll stall 'em along until I can get a line on…"
The door opened. Sergeant Holcomb of the Homicide Squad jerked his head to Perry Mason.
"You," he said.
Mason strolled nonchalantly into the room.
"What do you know about this?"
"Nothing very much."
"You never do," Holcomb said wearily. "Suppose you tell us how much 'not very much' is?"
"I came out here," Perry Mason said, "to take up a business matter with Hartley Basset."
"What was the business matter?"
"It related to a matter of accounting between Basset and a former employee."
"Who was the former employee?"
"My client."
"What's his name?"
"I'll have to get his permission before I can tell you that."
"What did you do when
"The same shells I took from Dick, including the empty cartridge?"
"Yes."
"Did you ever know," Mason asked, "that the police can tell from an examination of bullets whether a bullet has been fired from a certain gun?"
"No, can they?"
"And did you ever know that the police can develop latent finger-prints on that gun, and that when they do, they will find yours and Dick's and mine?"
"Good God, no!"
"You," Mason told her, "are either one of the cleverest women I've met in a long time, or one of the dumbest."
"I don't know about criminal matters," she said. "I wouldn't know anything about them."
"Look here," Perry Mason said, staring steadily at her, "did you think that Hartley Basset had gone out, or did you know that he was lying in there dead?"
"Why, I thought he'd gone out, of course. I tell you I saw him run out… I thought it was he."
"Now, this girl is your daughter-in-law?"
"Yes, she married Dick. But you mustn't say anything about that marriage."
"Why not? What's wrong with it?"
"Please," she said, "don't ask all those questions now. I'll tell you later."
"Now, listen," Mason said grimly, "there's going to be a lot of questions asked you tonight. Are you ready to answer them?"
"I don't know… No, I can't answer questions."
"Why?"
"Because I don't know what to say."
"When will you know what to say?"
"After I've talked with Dick again. I must talk with him once more."
Mason tapped her knee with his forefinger.
"Did you kill him?" he asked.
"No."
"Did Dick?"
"No."
"Why do you want to talk with Dick then?"
"Because I'm afraid they'll find out who did kill him… Oh, I can't talk about it. Please leave me alone."
"Just one question," Mason said, "and tell me the God's truth. Did you kill him?"
"No."
"Can you prove you didn't if it comes to a pinch?"
"Yes. I think so."
"All right. There's only one way to keep the police and the newspaper people from turning you wrong side out. Tell them you are too upset to answer questions. They'll go right ahead and ask them anyway. Then you start in getting hysterical. Tell them any, thing. Contradict yourself every few minutes. Say you saw your husband an hour before the shooting, then say it was a week before the shooting – that you can't remember having seen him for a month. Make wild statements. Say there were voices that warned him that the serpent said he would be killed.
"In other words act crazy. Let your voice get more and more shrill. Keep telling them absurdities. Make a nuisance of yourself. Scream, shout, laugh, have hysterics. Do you understand?"
"Yes'" she said; "I think I do. But won't it be dangerous?"
"Of course, it'll be dangerous, but not half as dangerous as trying to explain things and getting caught in a police trap. Remember now, don't do this unless you're innocent and can prove yourself innocent if it comes to a show-down. And don't be conservative in your statements. Make them sound so absurd you'll seem either drunk or crazy, and throw in a lot of screams and laughter.
"In that way they'll figure you're a nuisance and you'll rate a hypodermic. After they've once drugged you, you play possum. When you wake up, pretend to be groggy. Talk thick. Slur your words together, close your eyes and drop off to sleep between words.
"That'll stall 'em along until I can get a line on…"
The door opened. Sergeant Holcomb of the Homicide Squad jerked his head to Perry Mason.
"You," he said.
Mason strolled nonchalantly into the room.
"What do you know about this?"
"Nothing very much."
"You never do," Holcomb said wearily. "Suppose you tell us how much 'not very much' is?"
"I came out here," Perry Mason said, "to take up a business matter with Hartley Basset."
"What was the business matter?"
"It related to a matter of accounting between Basset and a former employee."
"Who was the former employee?"
"My client."
"What's his name?"
"I'll have to get his permission before I can tell you that."
"What did you do when
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