"No, he was lying and shivering. I spoke to him two or three times, and he didn't seem to take any interest. He seemed in sort of a stupor."
Foley nodded, turned to Pemberton.
"Mrs. Benton," he said, "this is Mr. Pemberton, a deputy sheriff, and this is Mr. Perry Mason, a lawyer. These gentlemen are investigating a charge that has been made by neighbors."
"A charge by neighbors?" asked Mrs. Benton, stepping back, and letting her eyes grow wide with surprise.
"Yes, a charge that we're maintaining a nuisance here."
"How's that?" she inquired.
"About the dog," Foley said. "There's a claim made that..."
"Just a moment," said Pemberton. "Let me do the talking, please."
The young woman looked at Pemberton, then at Foley. Foley nodded, and Pemberton said: "This dog is a police dog whose name is Prince?"
"Yes, sir."
"And he lives here in the house?"
"Yes, sir, of course. He's Mr. Foley's dog."
"How long has he been here?"
"We've been here for about a year."
"And the dog has been with you all of that time?"
"Yes, sir."
"Now, has the dog been howling?"
"Howling? No, sir. He barked once yesterday when a peddler came to the door, but there hasn't been any howling."
"How about nights? Has he done any howling at night?"
"No, sir."
"Barking?"
"No, sir."
"You're certain about that?"
"Of course, I'm certain."
"Has the dog been acting strangely?"
"Well," she said, "he looked to me as though he'd been poisoned, and I tried to give him some salt. That's what Mr. Foley told me to do under those circumstances. Perhaps I shouldn't have done it. Perhaps he was just having some sort of a spasm, but..."
"That isn't what I mean," said Pemberton. "I mean has the dog shown any unusual symptoms, aside from this matter of poisoning?"
"No, sir."
Pemberton turned to Perry Mason.
"Suppose there's any chance this client of yours tried to poison the dog, Mason?"
"Not a chance in the world," said Perry Mason positively.
"Understand," said Foley hastily, "I'm not making any accusations against Mr. Cartright. I don't think he's the type that would poison a dog - however, he's really not responsible."
"Well," said the young woman positively, "I don't know where he got it from, but somebody gave him some poison. I'm willing to swear to that. He was a sick dog until after I gave him the salt, and then he got better."
"What does salt do?" asked Pemberton of Foley.
"It's a powerful and immediate emetic," Foley said.
Pemberton looked back at the girl.
"And you're willing to swear that the dog hasn't been howling?"
"Of course I am."
"If he had howled, would you have heard him?"
"Yes."
"Where do you sleep, in the house?"
"Yes, on the upper floor."
"And who else is in the house?"
"There's Ah Wong, the cook, but he sleeps out over the garage. And then there's Mrs. Foley."
"I think, officer," said Foley, "that it will, perhaps, be better for you to talk with my wife, and she can tell you..."
"I beg your pardon," said Mrs. Benton, "I didn't want to tell you in front of these gentlemen, but your wife isn't here."
Foley stared at her with eyes that showed incredulous surprise.
"Isn't here?" he said. "Good heavens, girl, she couldn't have gone out! She's recovering from influenza."
"Nevertheless, she went out," said Mrs. Benton.
"How did she go? The cars aren't gone."
"In a taxi."
"Good heavens!" said Foley. "The woman will kill herself. What's the idea of going out when she's just recovering from influenza?"
"I don't know, sir."
"Did she say where she was going? Was she going shopping, calling, or what? Did she receive any messages? Was there something urgent? Come on, speak up! Don't be so mysterious."
"She left you a note, sir."
"A note?"
"Yes."
"Where is it?"
"Upstairs in her room. She left it on the dresser and asked me to see that you received it."
Foley stood staring at the woman, his forehead puckered, his eyes suddenly hard.
"Look here," he said, "you're keeping something from me."
The young housekeeper lowered her eyes.
"She took a suitcase with her," she said.
"A suitcase?" Foley exclaimed. "Was she going to a hospital?"
"I don't know. She didn't say. She simply left the note."
Foley looked at the deputy sheriff.
"May I be excused for a moment?" he asked.
"Certainly," said Pemberton, "go right ahead."
Foley strode into the house. Perry Mason looked at Mrs. Benton, studying her face closely.
"Was there," he asked, "some trouble between you and Mrs. Foley immediately prior to her departure?"
The young woman drew herself up and stared at him in haughty insolence.
"I don't know who you are," she said, "but I do know that I don't have to answer your absurd questions or your dirty insinuations," and she turned and flounced into the house.
Pemberton grinned over at Perry Mason and bit the end off a cigar.
"That," he said, "for you."
"The girl's tried to make herself up as ugly as possible," Mason said, frowning, "but she's rather young to be a housekeeper, and there's just a chance that while Mrs. Foley was ill in bed, there might have been some developments which brought about the woman's sudden departure."
"Not gossiping, are you, Mason?" asked Pemberton.
"No," said Mason gravely, "I'm speculating, that's all."
"Why speculate?"
"Because," said Perry Mason, "when a man makes an accusation against my client, claiming my client's insane, that man has got to be prepared to have a fight on his hands."
The back door opened, and Mrs. Benton came out.
"I'm sorry," she said. "Mr. Foley wants you to come in. I shouldn't have got mad and walked away. Will you excuse it?"
"Don't mention it," said Bill Pemberton. "The fault was ours," and he looked at Perry Mason.
"I came out here," said Perry Mason, "to get information, and to see that my client had a square deal."
"No," said Bill Pemberton slowly, "we came out here to see if the dog had been howling. That's about as far as I figure we're going to pry into the situation here."
Perry Mason said nothing.
The young woman led them through the back door, into a kitchen. A small, slender Chinese, attired in a cook apron, regarded them with glittering, beady eyes.
"Whassa malla?" he asked.
"We're trying to find out about the dog..." Perry Mason began, but was interrupted by Pemberton.
"Just a moment, Mason, please," he said; "let me handle this. I understand handling these Chinks pretty well."
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Ah Wong."
"You cook here?"
"I cook."
"You savvy him one piecie dog?"
"Heap savvy."
"You hear dog makum noise? Hearum make howl at night?"
The Chinese shook his head slowly.
"Dog no howl?" asked Pemberton.
"No howl," said the Chinese.
Pemberton shrugged his shoulders.
"Shucks," he said, "that's all we need. You can see for yourself, Mason, how it is. Your man just went off his nut, that's all."
"Well," Perry Mason told him, "I'd have asked the questions of this Chinese boy in a little different way."
"That's all right," Pemberton said, "I know how to handle them. Had lots of experience on lottery cases. You've got to talk to them that way. They don't savvy any other kind of lingo. It's the way they talk an
d the way they learn English. That's the way you get the facts out of them. You go ahead and spout a lot of language they don't understand, and they'll say yes, every time, and not know what they're saying yes to."
"I think," said Mrs. Benton, "that Mr. Foley would like to have you gentlemen wait in the library, if you care to. He'll be with you in just a moment."
She held open the door of the kitchen, and the two men walked through a serving pantry, a dining room, a living room, turned to the left and entered a library, the walls of which were lined with books. There was a huge table running down the center of the room, deep leather chairs, each with a floor lamp by it, and tall windows, with heavy drapes which could be pulled along poles by an ingenious cord arrangement, so as to shut out every bit of outside light.
"I think," said Mrs. Benton, "that if you will just be seated..."
A door opened explosively, and Clinton Foley stood on the threshold, his face twisting with emotion, his eyes glittering. A paper was in his hand.
"Well," he said, "it's all over. You don't need to worry about the dog."
The deputy sheriff puffed on his cigar complacently.
"I quit worrying about him as soon as I talked with this girl and the Chink cook," he said. "We're going over and see Cartright now."
Foley laughed, and his laugh was harsh and metallic. At the sound of that laugh, Bill Pemberton took the cigar from his lips, and stared with a perplexed frown.
"Something wrong?" he asked.
"My wife," said Clinton Foley, drawing himself up with some dignity, "has seen fit to run away. She has left with another man."
Pemberton said nothing. Perry Mason stood with feet wide apart, staring from Foley to the young housekeeper, then glancing at Pemberton.
"It may interest you gentlemen to know," said Foley, speaking with the ponderous dignity of one who is trying to conceal his emotions, "that the object of her affections, the man who has supplanted me in her life, is none other than the gentleman who lived next door - our esteemed contemporary, Mr. Arthur Cartright, the man who made all of the hullabaloo about the howling dog, in order to get me before the police authorities, so that he could carry out his scheme of running away with my wife."
Perry Mason said in an undertone to Pemberton: "Well, that shows the man isn't crazy; he's crazy like a fox."
Foley came striding into the room, glowering at Perry Mason.
"That will do, sir," he said. "You are here by sufferance only. You will keep your remarks to yourself."
Perry Mason made no move, but with his feet planted apart, shoulders squared, eyes staring in somber appraisal at the man, said slowly: "I'm here to represent my client. You made the accusation that he was crazy and offered to produce evidence. I'm here to see the thing is handled in such a manner that his interests are protected. You can't bluff me a damn bit."
Clinton Foley seemed beside himself. He drew back his right hand, his mouth was twisting and quivering.
Bill Pemberton stepped forward hastily.
"There, there," he said soothingly, "let's not fly off the handle, Foley."
Foley took a deep breath, controlled himself by an effort, just when it seemed he was about to swing his fist at Perry Mason's jaw.
Perry Mason stood perfectly still, not budging so much as an inch.
Foley turned slowly to Pemberton and said in a low, choking voice:
"There's something we can do with swine like that; can't we get out a warrant for his arrest?"
"I think you can," said Pemberton. "But that's up to the district attorney. How do you know she went with him?"
"She says so in this note," said Foley. "Here, read it."
He thrust it into Pemberton's hands, and abruptly turned away, walking to the other end of the room. He lit a cigarette with a hand that trembled, bit his lip, then took a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose violently.
Mrs. Benton remained in the room, making no excuses, giving no explanations. Twice she looked long and intently toward Clinton Foley, but Foley had turned his back and was standing at the window, staring out with unseeing eyes.
Perry Mason moved forward and peered over Pemberton's shoulder, as the deputy sheriff unfolded the note. Pemberton shifted so that Mason could not see the note, and Mason good-naturedly put a hand on Pemberton's shoulder, turned him back. "Be a sport," he said.
Pemberton made no further effort to conceal the contents of the letter. Perry Mason read it at the same time Pemberton read it.
The note was in ink and read:
"DEAR CLINTON:
"It is with greatest reluctance that I take the step I am about to take. I know your pride and how much you dislike publicity. I have tried to do this in such a manner that you will be hurt as little as possible. After all, you have been good to me. I thought that I loved you. Up until a few days ago I was absolutely sincere in that belief, then I found out who our next door neighbor was. At first, I was angry, or thought I was angry. He was spying on me with glasses. I should have told you, but something led me to keep it from you. I wanted to see him, and when you were gone I arranged an interview.
"Clinton, there's no use keeping up the pretense any longer. I can't stay with you. I really don't love you; it was just a fascination of the moment - something that has worn itself out.
"You are just a big magnetic animal. You can't overlook a woman, any more than a moth can overlook a flame. I know of the things that have happened right here in the house, and I don't blame you because I don't think you are to blame. I don't think you can help it, but I do know that I don't love you any more. I don't think I ever did. I think it was simply that fascination, that peculiar hypnotic charm which you exercise over women. At any rate, I am going away with him, Clinton.
"I am doing it in such a way that you will be spared any publicity. I am not even telling Thelma Benton where I am going. She only knows that I am taking a suitcase and going away. You can tell her that I have gone to visit some of my relatives, if you wish. If you don't give the affair any publicity, you can rest assured that I will not.
"In your way, you have been good to me. You have gratified my every material wish. The only thing that you can't give me is the love of a true man, nor can you satisfy that hunger in my soul which only he can satisfy. I am going with him, and know that I will be happy.
"Please try to forget me. Believe me,
"Your sincere well-wisher,
"EVELYN"
Mason spoke in a low voice.
"She doesn't mention Cartright's name," he said.
"No," Pemberton said, "but she mentions him as being the man next door."
"And," said Perry Mason, in the same low tone, "there's something else about that letter that..."
Foley abruptly whirled from the window. The tragic grief which had seemed to affect him so strongly, was gone. There was cold, purposeful rage in his voice and manner.
"Look here," he said, "I'm a wealthy man. I'm willing to give every goddamned cent I've got to have that hound brought to justice. He's crazy, and my wife is crazy. They're both of them crazy. That man's broken up my home; he's accused me of crime; he's tricked me, trapped me, and betrayed me, and, by God, he's going to pay for it! I want you to catch him, and I want him prosecuted on every count you can bring up - violation of ordinances, crossing state lines, or anything else. Spare no expense. I'll pay the bill, no matter what it is."
"Okay," said Bill Pemberton, folding the letter and handing it back to Foley. "I'll go back and make a report. You'd better come back with me. You can talk with Pete Dorcas. Dorcas can figure out some charges to put against this man. Then you can hire some private detective agency, if you want to spend some money."
"I wonder," said Perry Mason, "if there's a telephone here I could use?"
Foley looked at him with cold fury.
"You can use the telephone," he said, "and then you can get out."
"Thanks for the invitation," said Perry Mason calmly, "I'll use the telephone anyway."
CHAPTER V
PERRY MASON got Della Street on the telephone.
"Mason talking, Della," he said. "I'm out at Clinton Foley's house. He's the one who owns the dog that Cartright was complaining about. Did you get any word from Cartright?"
The Case Of The Howling Dog pm-4 Page 5
