"Are you going to let them do that?"
"Do what?"
"Arrest Mrs. Forbes?"
"I can't help it. They've already arrested her."
"You know what I mean. Are you going to let them charge her with murder and keep her in jail while her trial's coming up?"
"I can't help it."
"Yes, you can, too, you know you can."
"How?"
"You know as well as I do," she said, getting to her feet and pushing the paper across the surface of her desk, "that Arthur Cartright is the man who killed Clinton Foley, or Clinton Forbes, if you want to call him by his real name.
"Well," said Perry Mason, smiling, "how well do you know it?"
"I know it so well that there even isn't any use talking about it."
"Well, then," he said, "why talk about it?"
She shook her head. "Look here, Chief," she said; "I've got confidence in you. I know you always do the square thing. You can make all the wise cracks you want to, but you still can't convince me that it's right to let this woman stay in jail, just so Arthur Cartright can get a good head start on the police. It's bound to come out sooner or later. Why not give this woman a break and let it come out now? Cartright's had plenty of head start, and, after all, you're almost compounding a felony, being an accessory to the murder."
"In what way?" he asked.
"Withholding from the police the information you have about Mr. Cartright. You know perfectly well that he intended to murder Clinton Foley."
"That doesn't mean anything," Perry Mason said slowly. "He might have intended to murder him, but that doesn't mean he did murder him. You can't accuse a man of murder without some evidence."
"Evidence!" she exclaimed. "What more evidence do you want? The man came in here and almost told you in so many words that he intended to commit a murder. Then he sends you a letter which shows he has perfected his plans and is intending to take action. Then he disappears completely, and the man who has wronged him is found murdered."
"Haven't you got the cart before the horse?" Perry Mason asked. "Shouldn't you say that he murdered the man and then disappeared, if you wanted to make a good case of it? Doesn't it sound rather strange to say that he disappeared, and that the man he had a grudge against was murdered after his disappearance, instead of before?"
"That's all right for you to talk that way to a jury," she said, "but you're not fooling me any. The fact that the man made his will and sent you the money showed that he was intending to take the final step in his campaign. You know what that final step was, as well as I do. He had been watching and spying on the man who broke up his home, waiting for an opportunity to make his presence known to the woman in the case. That opportunity came. He took the woman away from the house and put her in a safe place. Then he came back, did the job, and joined the woman."
"You forget," Perry Mason told her, "that everything I know came to me in the nature of a professional confidence. That is, all the statements Cartright made."
"That all may be," she said, "but you don't have to sit back and let an innocent woman be accused of crime."
"I'm not letting her be accused of crime," he retorted.
"Yes, you are," she said. "You've advised her not to talk. She wants to tell her story, but she doesn't dare to, because you've told her not to talk. You're representing her, and yet you're letting her be wronged, just so this other client of yours can make good his escape."
Perry Mason sighed, smiled, shook his head.
"Let's talk about the weather," he said. "It's more tangible."
She moved over toward him, and her eyes were indignant.
"Perry Mason," she said, "I worship you. You've got more brains and more ability than any other man I know. You've done things that have been simply marvelous, and now you're doing something that is just a plain, downright injustice. You're putting a woman on the spot, just so you can protect Cartright's interests. They're going to catch him sooner or later, and they're going to try him, and you figure that if you can make the police get off on the wrong scent in the meantime, you've strengthened Cartright's case."
"Would you believe me," he asked, "if I told you you were all wet?"
"No," she said. "Because I know I'm not."
He stood staring down at her, chin thrust forward aggressively, eyes smoldering.
"Della," he said, "the police could have built up a good case of circumstantial evidence against Cartright, if they knew as much as we know. But don't ever fool yourself that they can't build up a good case of circumstantial evidence against Bessie Forbes."
"But," she said, "you talk only of cases. Arthur Cartright is guilty. Bessie Forbes is innocent."
He shook his head patiently, doggedly.
"Listen, Della," he said; "you're trying to take in too much territory. Remember that I'm a lawyer. I'm not a judge, and I'm not a jury. I only see that people are represented in court. It's the function of the lawyer for the defense to see that the facts in favor of the defendant are presented to the jury in the strongest possible light. That's all he's supposed to do. It's the function of the district attorney to see that the facts in favor of the prosecution are presented to the jury in the most favorable light. It's the function of the judge to see that the rights of the parties are properly safeguarded, that the evidence is introduced in a proper and orderly manner; and it's the function of the jury to determine who is entitled to a verdict. I'm a lawyer, that's all. It's up to me to present the interests of my clients to the best of my ability, so that the best possible case can be made out. That's my sworn duty. That's all I'm supposed to do.
"If you'll stop and analyze the whole system of justice that we have built up, you'll find that there's nothing else for a lawyer to do. Lots of times the lawyer for the defendant gets a little too clever, and people condemn him. They overlook the fact that the district attorney is as clever a lawyer as the state can find. And the lawyer for the defense has to counteract the vigor of the prosecution by putting up as shrewd and plausible a defense as he can. That's the theory under which our constitutional rights are given to the people."
"I know all that," she said, "and I understand how often the ordinary layman gets a false idea of what it's all about. He doesn't understand just what an attorney is supposed to do, or just why it's so necessary that he does it. But that still doesn't answer the question in this case."
Perry Mason extended his right hand, clenched it, opened it, and then clenched it again.
"Della," he said, "I hold in that hand the weapon which will strike the chains from the wrists of Bessie Forbes, and send her out into the world a free woman, but I have got to use that weapon in a certain way. I have got to strike at just the right time, and in just the right manner. Otherwise, I will simply dull the edge of my weapon and leave the woman worse off than she is now."
Della Street looked at him with eyes that contained a glint of admiration.
"I love to hear you talk that way," she said. "It thrills me when that tone comes into your voice."
"All right," he said, "keep it under your hat. I hadn't intended to tell you - now you know."
"And you promise me you're going to use that weapon?" she asked.
"Of course I'm going to use it," he said. "I'm representing Bessie Forbes, and I'm going to see that she gets the best I can give her."
"But," she said, "why not strike now? Isn't it easier to beat a case before it's been built up?"
He shook his head patiently.
"Not this case, Della," he said. "It's a stronger case against her than any one realizes. That is, a shrewd man can make a strong case of it. I don't dare to strike until I know the full strength of that case. I can only strike once. I've got to do it so dramatically that it will make the one blow sufficient. I've got to get the public interested in Bessie Forbes first. I've got to build up sympathy for her.
"Do you know what it means to build up sympathy for a woman who is charged with murder? If you get off on the wrong f
oot, the newspapers send special reporters out to interview her as a tiger woman, as a lioness. They write columns of drivel about the feline grace with which she moves, the leonine glint that comes in her eyes, the hidden ferociousness which lurks under a soft exterior.
"Right now I'm making a bid for public interest. I'm making a bid for public sympathy. I want the public to read the newspapers and realize that here is a woman of refinement who has been thrown in jail, charged with murder; who can establish her innocence, and who wants to do it, but who is prevented by the orders of an attorney."
"That will make sympathy for the woman, all right," Della Street pointed out, "but it's going to put you in a bad light. The public will think you're simply grandstanding for the purpose of getting a big fee out of the trial."
"That's what I want the public to think," he told her.
"It's going to hurt your reputation."
He laughed mirthlessly.
"Della," he said, "just a moment ago you were picking on me because I wasn't doing enough for the woman. Now you've switched around and are jumping on me because I'm doing too much."
"No," she said, "that isn't right. You can do it in another way. You don't need to sacrifice your reputation in order to protect her."
He moved toward the inner office.
"I wish to God I didn't," he said, "but there's no other way. Get Paul Drake on the 'phone and tell him to come in here; I want to see him."
Della Street nodded, but made no move toward the switchboard until after Perry Mason had closed the door of his inside office. Then she picked up the telephone.
Perry Mason flung his hat on the top of a bookcase and started pacing the floor. He was still pacing the floor when Della Street opened the door and said: "Here's Paul Drake."
"Send him in," Mason told her.
Paul Drake regarded Perry Mason with eyes that held his usual lazy twinkle.
"Gosh, guy," he drawled, "don't you ever sleep?"
"Why?" asked Perry Mason.
"I crossed your back trail last night. Or rather, my men did," Drake told him.
"I got a couple of hours sleep," Mason said, "and a good Turkish bath and a shave. That's all I need when I'm working on a case."
"Well," said Drake, dropping into a big leather chair and sliding his knees around so that his legs hung over the arm, "give me a cigarette and tell me what's new."
Mason handed him a package of cigarettes, held a match for him.
"You want lots of service," he said.
"So do you," Drake remarked. "You've got every private detective agency in the country boiling in a turmoil. I've had more telegrams of misinformation and immaterial facts than you could digest in a week."
"Have you found any trace of Arthur Cartright or Paula Cartright?" asked Mason.
"Not a trace. They've vanished from the face of the earth. What's more, we've covered every taxicab agency in the city, talked with every taxicab driver, and we can't find any one who made the trip out to 4889 Milpas Drive that morning, when Mrs. Cartright left Foley's place."
"You don't know what kind of a taxicab it was?"
"No. Thelma Benton says it was a taxicab. She's certain of that, but we can't find the taxicab."
"Perhaps the driver is lying," Mason said.
"Perhaps, but it isn't likely."
Mason sat down behind his desk and made drumming motions with his fingers on the surface of the desk.
"Paul," he said, "I can beat that case against Bessie Forbes."
"Of course you can," Drake told him. "All you've got to do is to let the woman tell her story. What's the idea of keeping her silent? That's a dodge that's used only by guilty people or hardened criminals."
"I want to make certain that your men can't find Cartright before I have her tell her story," Perry Mason said.
"What's that got to do with it?" asked Drake. "Do you think Cartright is guilty and you want to make certain he's where the police can't find him before you let police attention get diverted from Bessie Forbes?"
Perry Mason made no answer to the question, but sat silent. After a moment he started pounding gently with his right fist on the desk.
"Paul," he said, "I can bust that case wide open. But in order to do it I've got to strike at the psychological moment. I've got to build up public interest, and I've got to get a dramatic tension built up, and then I've got to strike so fast that the district attorney can't think up the answer before the jury brings in a verdict."
"You mean that woman is going to trial?"
"I mean," said Perry Mason, "she's got to go to trial."
"But the district attorney doesn't want to try her. He's not certain he's got a case. He wants her to tell her story. That's all he wants."
Perry Mason spoke slowly and emphatically. "That woman," he said, "has got to be tried, and, of course, she's got to be acquitted. But it won't be easy."
"I thought you said you could bust the case wide open."
"I can, if I can strike at the right time and in the right manner, but I've got to be spectacular about it."
"Why not try to get her off on her preliminary examination?
"No, I'm going to consent that she be bound over for trial, and I'm going to ask for an immediate trial."
Paul Drake blew out cigarette smoke and regarded the lawyer quizzically.
"What's this weapon you've got that you're holding back?" he asked.
"You probably wouldn't think much of it if I told you," said Mason.
"Well you might try me."
"I'm going to," Mason said, "because I've got to. That weapon is a howling dog."
Paul Drake whipped the cigarette from his lips with a gesture of swift surprise, and stared at Perry Mason with eyes that had lost their twinkle of lazy humor.
"For heaven sake," he said, "are you still harking back to that howling dog?"
"Yes," Mason said.
"Shucks, that's out of the case long ago. The dog's dead, and it didn't howl."
Perry Mason said, doggedly, "I want to establish the fact that the dog did howl."
"But what difference does it make?"
"A lot of difference."
"It's just a silly superstition anyway," Paul Drake said. "Nothing that would have bothered anybody in particular, except a person who was mentally weak, like this man Cartright."
"I have got to establish," said Perry Mason doggedly and determinedly, "that the dog did howl. I have got to prove it by evidence. The only evidence that I dare to rely on is that of Ah Wong, the Chinese cook."
"But Wong says the dog didn't howl."
"Wong has got to tell the truth," said Perry Mason. "Have they deported him yet?"
"They're leaving with him today."
"All right," said Perry Mason. "I'm going to get out a subpoena naming him as a witness and hold him here. Then I want you to get some clever Chinese interpreter. I want you to impress upon that interpreter the necessity of getting Ah Wong to admit that the dog did howl."
"You mean you want him to say the dog howled whether the dog howled or not?"
"I mean," said Perry Mason, "that I want Ah Wong to tell the truth. That dog howled. I want to establish it. But don't get me wrong. If the dog didn't howl, I want Ah Wong to say so. But I'm satisfied the dog did howl, and I want to prove that he did."
"Okay," said Drake, "I think I can attend to that. I know some of the fellows in the immigration office."
"One other point," said Perry Mason. "I think it would be a good thing to spring it on Ah Wong that Clinton Foley, or Forbes, whichever you want to call him, was responsible for the arrest of Ah Wong. I think it might be a good idea to get that thing impressed pretty strongly on the oriental mind."
"I get you," said Paul Drake. "I haven't the faintest idea of what you're getting at, but I don't suppose that makes any difference. What else do you want?"
"I want," said Perry Mason slowly, "to find out everything I can about that dog."
"What do you mean?"
&nb
sp; "I want to find out how long Clinton Forbes had owned that dog. I want to find out about the dog's habits. I want you to chase back over the dog's entire life and find out if he was ever known to howl at night.
"Now, when Clinton Foley first took that house at 4889 Milpas Drive, he had the police dog. Find out how long he'd had it, where he got it, how old the dog was. Find out everything about it, and, particularly, about the howling."
"I've already got some of that information," the detective said. "Forbes had had the dog for years. When Forbes left Santa Barbara he took the dog with him. That was one of the things he couldn't bear to leave behind. He was attached to the dog - so was his wife, for that matter."
The Case Of The Howling Dog pm-4 Page 14
