Harrison Burke blinked. “How much do you think it will cost?” he inquired, cautiously.
“I want fifteen hundred dollars now, and if I get you out of it, it’s going to cost you more.”
Burke wet his lips with the tip of his tongue. “I’ll have to think it over,” he said. “If I’m going to raise any money, I’ll have to make some arrangements to get it. You come back tomorrow morning, and I’ll let you know.”
“This thing is moving fast,” Mason told him. “There’ll be a lot of water go under the bridge between now and tomorrow morning.”
“Come back in two hours, then,” said Burke.
Mason looked at the man and said, “All right. Listen, here’s what you’re planning to do. You’re going to look me up. I’ll tell you in advance what you’ll find. You’ll find that I’m a lawyer that has specialized in trial work, and in a lot of criminal work. Every fellow in this practice cultivates some sort of a specialty. I’m a specialist on getting people out of trouble. They come to me when they’re in all sorts of trouble, and I work them out. Most of my cases never come to court.
“If you look me up through some family lawyer or some corporation lawyer, he’ll probably tell you that I’m a shyster. If you look me up through some chap in the District Attorney’s office, he’ll tell you that I’m a dangerous antagonist but he doesn’t know very much about me. If you look me up through a bank you won’t find out a damned thing.”
Burke opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it and was silent.
“Now maybe that information will cut down the amount of time you’re going to take to look me up,” went on Mason. “If you call up Eva Belter, she’ll probably be sore because I came to you. She wants to handle it all by herself. Or else she’s never thought of you. I don’t know which. If you call her up, ask for her maid and leave some message with the maid about a dress or something. Then she’ll call you back.”
Harrison Burke looked surprised.
“How did you know that?” he asked.
“That’s the way she gets her messages,” said Mason. “Mine’s to tell about a dress. What’s yours?”
“About the delivery of shoes,” Harrison Burke blurted.
“It’s a good system,” Mason said, “providing she doesn’t get her wearing apparel mixed. And I’m not so sure about her maid.”
Burke’s reserve seemed to have melted.
“The maid,” he said, “doesn’t know anything. She simply delivers the message. Eva keeps the code. I didn’t know that she had any one else who used that sort of a code.”
Perry Mason laughed.
“Be your age,” he said.
“As a matter of fact,” said Harrison Burke, with dignity, “Mrs. Belter called me on the telephone not over an hour ago. She said that she was in serious difficulties and had to raise a thousand dollars at once. She wanted me to help her. She didn’t say what the money was for.”
Mason whistled.
“Well,” he said, “that makes it different. I was afraid she wasn’t going to make you kick in. I don’t care how you come through, but I think you should help carry the load. I’m working for you just as much as I am for her, and it’s a fight that’s running into money.”
Burke nodded. “Come back in half an hour,” he said, “and I’ll let you know.”
Mason moved toward the door. “All right,” he remarked, “make it half an hour then. And you’d better get the money in cash. Because you won’t want to have any checks going through your bank account, in case there should be any publicity about what I’m doing or whom I’m representing.”
Burke pushed back his chair, and made a politician’s tentative motion of extending his hand. Perry Mason did not see the hand, or, if he did, he did not bother to acknowledge it, but strode toward the door.
“Half an hour,” he said, on the threshold, and slammed the door behind him.
As he put his hand on the door catch of his automobile, a man tapped him on the shoulder.
Mason turned.
The man was a heavyset individual with impudent eyes.
“I want an interview, Mr. Mason,” he said.
“Interview?” said Mason. “Who the hell are you?”
“I’m Crandall,” said the man. “A reporter for Spicy Bits. We’re interested in the doings of prominent people, Mr. Mason. And I’d like an interview with you as to what you discussed with Harrison Burke.”
Slowly, deliberately, Perry Mason took his hand from the automobile door catch, turned around on his heel, and surveyed the man.
“So,” he said, “that’s the kind of tactics you folks are going to use, is it?”
Crandall continued to stare with his impudent eyes.
“Don’t get hard,” he said, “because it won’t buy you anything.”
“The hell it won’t,” said Perry Mason. He measured the distance, and slammed a straight left full into the grinning mouth. Crandall’s head shot back. He staggered for two steps, then went down like a sack of meal.
Passing pedestrians paused to stare, and collected in a little group.
Mason paid no attention to them, but turned, jerked open the door of his machine, got in, slammed the door shut, stepped on the starter, and pushed the car out into traffic.
From a nearby drug store, he called Harrison Burke’s office.
When he had Burke on the line, he said, “Mason talking, Burke. Better not go out. And better get somebody to act as a bodyguard. The paper we talked about has got a couple of strong arm men sticking around, ready to muscle into your business in any way that’ll do the most damage. When you get that money for me, send it over to my office by messenger. Get somebody you can trust and don’t tell them what’s in the package. Put it in a sealed envelope, as though it might be papers.”
Harrison Burke started to say something.
Perry Mason savagely slammed the receiver on the hook, strode out of the telephone booth and into his car.
Chapter 7
A storm was whipping up from the southeast. Slow, leaden clouds drifted across the night sky, and bombarded the ground with great mushrooms of spattering water.
Wind was tugging at the corners of the apartment house where Perry Mason lived. A window was open only about half an inch at the bottom, but enough wind came through that opening to billow the curtains and keep them flapping.
Mason sat up in bed and groped for the telephone in the dark. He found the instrument, put it to his ear and said, “Hello.”
The voice of Eva Belter sounded swift and panicstricken over the wire.
“Thank God I’ve got you! Get in your car and come at once! This is Eva Belter.”
Perry Mason was still sleepy.
“Come where?” he said. “What’s the matter?”
“Something awful has happened,” she said. “Don’t come to the house. I’m not there.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m down at a drug store onGriswold Avenue. Drive out the Avenue and you’ll see the lights in the drug store. I’ll be standing in front of it.”
Perry Mason was getting his faculties together.
“Listen,” he said, “I’ve answered night calls before, where people have been trying to take me for a ride. Let’s make sure that there isn’t anything phony about this.”
She screamed at him over the telephone.
“Oh, don’t be so damned cautious! Come out here at once. I tell you I’m in serious trouble. You can 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?”