"
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 goodnaturedly 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 wellwisher,
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.