It needed but one look at the bulging eyes and protruding tongue to enable these experts in homicide to realize the manner in which the man had died.
Burger whirled to Glassman.
"Keep the people out of this room," he warned. "Get the homicide squad on the telephone. Don't let Sam Laxter out of your sight until this thing has been cleaned up. I'll stay here and look around. Get started!"
Glassman whirled, thrust his shoulder against Perry Mason. "On your way," he said.
Mason left the room. Glassman slammed the door shut. "Let me get to the telephone. Oafley, don't try to leave the place."
"Why should I try to leave the place?" Oafley demanded indignantly.
"Don't make any statements! Don't make any statements! Don't make any statements!" Shuster pleaded hysterically. "Keep quiet! Let me do the talking. Can't you understand? It's a murder! Don't talk with them. Don't have anything to do with them. Don't…"
Glassman stepped forward belligerently. "You can either keep your face closed," he said, "or I'll button up your lips so they'll stay shut for a while."
Shuster scuttled away from him like a squirrel climbing a tree, chattering continuously. "No statement. No statement at all. Can't you understand that I'm your lawyer? You don't know what these people have said about you. You don't know what accusations they've made. Keep quiet. Let me do the talking for you."
"There's no necessity for such talk," Oafley said to Shuster. "I'm just as anxious to help clean this thing up as the officers are. You're hysterical. Shut up!"
The party climbed the stairs. Perry Mason, dropping behind, put his lips close to Paul Drake's ear. "Stick around, Paul," he said, "and see what happens. Get an eyeful if you can and an earful if you can't."
"You're ducking?" Drake asked.
"I'm ducking," Mason said.
At the head of the stairs leading from the cellar, Glassman hurried toward a telephone. Perry Mason turned to the right, crossed a kitchen, unlocked a door, crossed a screened porch, descended a flight of stairs, and found himself in the rainy night.
Chapter 8
The electric sign bearing the legend " Winnie's Waffles" was dark. a night light burned over the door. perry mason tried the knob. The door opened. Mason closed the door behind him, walked down the passageway, between counter and booths, until he came to a swinging open door. The room was dark. He heard the sound of a woman sobbing. Mason said, "Hello," and a light switch clicked. A table lamp, with a rose silk shade, gave soft illumination.
A single bed sat against the wall. There were two chairs, a table and a bookcase made by the simple expedient of nailing the wooden cases in which canned goods came into tiers and giving them coats of enamel. The homemade bookcase was well filled with books. A corner of the room had been curtained off to form a closet. A door stood partially open and through it Mason could see the gooseneck connection of a shower. A few framed pictures hung on the wall, and the place, despite the cheapness of its furnishings, had a comfortable, homelike atmosphere. On the table, turned so it faced the bed, was a large framed photograph of Douglas Keene.
Winifred Laxter sat on the bed. Her eyes were red from tears. A big Persian cat sprawled contentedly at her side, its head resting against her leg. It was purring audibly. As the light switched on, the cat turned with that peculiar writhing motion common to felines, and stared at Perry Mason with bright, hard eyes. Then it closed its eyes, stretched out its forepaws, yawned, and once more began to purr.
"What's the trouble?" Mason asked.
The girl indicated the telephone with a little hopeless gesture, as though that gesture explained everything. "And I thought I could laugh at life," she said.
Mason drew up a chair and sat down. He recognized that she was near hysteria, and made his voice casual. "Nice cat."
"Yes, it's Clinker."
Mason raised his eyebrows.
"Doug went out and got it."
"Why?"
"Because he was afraid Sam would poison it."
"When?"
"Around ten o'clock. I sent him."
"Did he talk with Ashton?" Mason asked, making his voice sound elaborately casual.
"No. Ashton wasn't there."
"Mind if I smoke?"
"I'd like one myself. You must think I'm an awful baby."
Mason took a cigarette case from his pocket, gravely proffered her one and held a match to the end of the cigarette, when she had placed it between her lips.
"Not at all," he said, lighting his own cigarette. "Pretty lonesome here, isn't it?"
"It hadn't been; it will be."
"Tell me about it any time you're ready," he invited.
"I'm not ready yet." Her voice was stronger now, but there was still that overtone of near hysteria. "I've been sitting here in the dark too long, thinking, thinking…"
"Quit thinking," he said. "Let's just talk. What time did Douglas Keene leave Ashton's place?"
"Around eleven I think. Why?"
"He was there about an hour?"
"Yes."
"Waiting for Ashton to come in?"
"I believe so."
"And then he brought the cat here to you?" Mason asked.
"Yes."
"Let's see—when did it start raining? Before eleven or after eleven?"
"Oh, earlier than that—around nine, anyway."
"Can you tell exactly what time it was when Douglas brought you the cat? Have you any way of fixing it definitely?"
"No. I was cooking waffles for the aftertheater trade. Why are you asking me all these questions?"
"I was just trying to make conversation," Mason remarked casually. "You feel as though I'm too much of a stranger to confide in me right now. I'm trying to put you at your ease. Did one of the servants let Douglas in?"
"You mean to the town house? No. I gave Doug my key. I didn't want Sam to know I was taking the cat. Grandfather had given me a key to the house. I'd never turned it back—in fact, I guess there was no one to turn it back to."
"Why didn't you let Ashton know you'd taken the cat? Won't he be worried?"
"Oh, but he knew Doug was coming after Clinker," she said.
"How did he know?"
"I telephoned him."
"When?"
"Before he went out."
"What time did he go out?"
"I don't know, but I talked with him over the telephone and we decided, everything considered, that it might be best for me to keep Clinker for a while. He said he'd be there when Doug arrived, and told me to give Doug my key so Sam wouldn't know."
"But Ashton wasn't there when Douglas arrived?"
"No. Doug waited an hour. Then he took the cat and left."
Mason, leaning back in the chair, studied the cigarette smoke which spiraled upward.
"Clinker always sleeps on Ashton's bed, doesn't he?"
"Yes."
"Any other cats there?"
"Around the house you mean?"
"Yes.