Read Online The Case of the Velvet Claws by Erle Stanley Gardner - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Erle Stanley Gardner
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recognize my voice all right."
Mason said calmly, "Yes. I know all that. What was the name you gave me the first time you came to the office?"
"Griffin!" she shrieked.
"Okay," said Mason. "Coming out."
He climbed into his clothes, slipped a revolver in his hip pocket, pulled on a raincoat, and a cap which came down low over his forehead, switched out the lights, and left the apartment. His car was in the garage, and he nursed it into action; moved out into the rain before the motor was fully warmed.
The car spat and back-fired as he turned the corner. Mason kept the choke out and stepped on the gas. Rain whipped against the windshield. Little geysers of water mushroomed up from the pavement where the big drops splashed down were turned to brilliance by the illumination of his headlights.
Mason ignored the possibility of any other traffic on the road as he swept past the intersections with increasing speed. He turned to the right on Griswold Avenue, and ran for a mile and a half before he slowed down and commenced to look for lights.
He saw her standing in front of a drug store. She had on a coat and no hat, and was heedless of the rain, which had soaked her hair thoroughly. Her eyes were wide and scared.
Perry Mason swung into the curb and brought the car to a stop.
"I thought you'd never get here," she said, as he opened the door for her.
She climbed in, and Perry saw that she wore an evening gown, satin shoes, and a man's coat. She was soaking wet and water trickled down to the floorboards of the car.
"What's the trouble?" Perry Mason asked.
She stared at him with her white, wet face, and said, "Drive out to the house, quick!"
"What's the trouble?" he repeated.
"My husband's been murdered," she wailed.
Mason snapped on the dome light in the car.
"Don't do that!" she said.
He looked at her face. "Tell me about it," he said, calmly.
"Will you get this car started?"
"Not until I know the facts," he replied, almost casually.
"We've got to get there before the police do."
"Why have we?"
"Because we've got to."
Mason shook his head. "No," he said, "we're not going to talk to the police until I know exactly what happened."
"Oh," she said, "it was terrible!"
"Who killed him?"
"I don't know."
"Well, what do you know?"
"Will you turn off that damned light?" she snapped.
"After you've finished telling me what happened," he persisted.
"What do you want it on for?"
"The better to see you with, my dear," he said, but there was no humor in his voice. His manner was grim.
She sighed wearily. "I don't know what happened. I think it was somebody that he'd been blackmailing. I could hear their voices from the upper floor. They were very angry. I went to the stairs to listen."
"Could you hear what was being said?"
"No," she said, "just words and the tone. I could hear that they were cursing. Every once in a while there would be a word. My husband was using that cold, sarcastic tone that he gets when he's fighting mad. The other man had his voice raised, but he wasn't shouting. He was interrupting my husband every once in a while."
"Then what happened?"
"Then I crept up the stairs because I wanted to hear what was being said." She paused, catching her breath.
"All right," pressed Mason, "go on. What happened then?"
"And then," she said, "I heard the shot and the sound of a falling body."
"Just the one shot?"
"Just the one shot, and the sound of the body falling. Oh, it was terrible! It jarred the house."
"All right," said Mason. "Go on from there. Then what did you do?"
"Then," she said, "I turned and ran. I was afraid."
"Where did you run?"
"To my room."
"Did anybody see you?"
"No, I don't think so."
"Then what did you do?"
"I waited there a minute."
"Did you hear anything?"
"Yes, I heard the man who had fired the shot run down the stairs and out of the house."
"All right," Mason said insistently, "then what happened?"
"Then," she said, "I decided that I must go and see George and see what
Mason said calmly, "Yes. I know all that. What was the name you gave me the first time you came to the office?"
"Griffin!" she shrieked.
"Okay," said Mason. "Coming out."
He climbed into his clothes, slipped a revolver in his hip pocket, pulled on a raincoat, and a cap which came down low over his forehead, switched out the lights, and left the apartment. His car was in the garage, and he nursed it into action; moved out into the rain before the motor was fully warmed.
The car spat and back-fired as he turned the corner. Mason kept the choke out and stepped on the gas. Rain whipped against the windshield. Little geysers of water mushroomed up from the pavement where the big drops splashed down were turned to brilliance by the illumination of his headlights.
Mason ignored the possibility of any other traffic on the road as he swept past the intersections with increasing speed. He turned to the right on Griswold Avenue, and ran for a mile and a half before he slowed down and commenced to look for lights.
He saw her standing in front of a drug store. She had on a coat and no hat, and was heedless of the rain, which had soaked her hair thoroughly. Her eyes were wide and scared.
Perry Mason swung into the curb and brought the car to a stop.
"I thought you'd never get here," she said, as he opened the door for her.
She climbed in, and Perry saw that she wore an evening gown, satin shoes, and a man's coat. She was soaking wet and water trickled down to the floorboards of the car.
"What's the trouble?" Perry Mason asked.
She stared at him with her white, wet face, and said, "Drive out to the house, quick!"
"What's the trouble?" he repeated.
"My husband's been murdered," she wailed.
Mason snapped on the dome light in the car.
"Don't do that!" she said.
He looked at her face. "Tell me about it," he said, calmly.
"Will you get this car started?"
"Not until I know the facts," he replied, almost casually.
"We've got to get there before the police do."
"Why have we?"
"Because we've got to."
Mason shook his head. "No," he said, "we're not going to talk to the police until I know exactly what happened."
"Oh," she said, "it was terrible!"
"Who killed him?"
"I don't know."
"Well, what do you know?"
"Will you turn off that damned light?" she snapped.
"After you've finished telling me what happened," he persisted.
"What do you want it on for?"
"The better to see you with, my dear," he said, but there was no humor in his voice. His manner was grim.
She sighed wearily. "I don't know what happened. I think it was somebody that he'd been blackmailing. I could hear their voices from the upper floor. They were very angry. I went to the stairs to listen."
"Could you hear what was being said?"
"No," she said, "just words and the tone. I could hear that they were cursing. Every once in a while there would be a word. My husband was using that cold, sarcastic tone that he gets when he's fighting mad. The other man had his voice raised, but he wasn't shouting. He was interrupting my husband every once in a while."
"Then what happened?"
"Then I crept up the stairs because I wanted to hear what was being said." She paused, catching her breath.
"All right," pressed Mason, "go on. What happened then?"
"And then," she said, "I heard the shot and the sound of a falling body."
"Just the one shot?"
"Just the one shot, and the sound of the body falling. Oh, it was terrible! It jarred the house."
"All right," said Mason. "Go on from there. Then what did you do?"
"Then," she said, "I turned and ran. I was afraid."
"Where did you run?"
"To my room."
"Did anybody see you?"
"No, I don't think so."
"Then what did you do?"
"I waited there a minute."
"Did you hear anything?"
"Yes, I heard the man who had fired the shot run down the stairs and out of the house."
"All right," Mason said insistently, "then what happened?"
"Then," she said, "I decided that I must go and see George and see what
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