The Case of the Caretakers Cat   ::   Гарднер Эрл Стенли

They want city stuff and lots of it."

"And they object to the cat?"

"Sam Laxter does. He's the executor."

"Specifically, what form has his objection taken?"

"He's told me to get rid of the cat or he'll poison it."

"Has he given any reason?"

"He doesn't like cats. He doesn't like Clinker especially. I sleep in the basement. I keep the basement window open. Clinker jumps in and jumps out—you know how a cat is—you can't keep him shut up all the time. With my leg the way it is, I don't walk around much. Clinker has to get out some. When it's raining, he gets his feet dirty. Then he jumps in through the window, and gets my bed muddy."

"The window is over your bed?" Mason inquired.

"That's right, and the cat sleeps on my bed. It has for years. It hasn't bothered anyone. Sam Laxter says it runs up the laundry bill, getting the bedspreads all mussed up… Laundry bills! He throws away enough in one night at a night club to pay my laundry bills for ten years!"

"Rather a free spender?" Mason asked goodnaturedly.

"He was—he isn't so much now."

"No?" Mason inquired.

"No, he can't get the money."

"What money?"

"The money the master left."

"I thought you said he left it share and share alike to the two grandchildren."

"He did—what they've been able to find."

"They haven't been able to find it all?" Mason asked, interested.

"A bit before the fire," Ashton said, as though the recital gave him great satisfaction, "the master made a complete cleanup. He cashed in something over a million dollars. No one knows what he did with that money. Sam Laxter says he buried it somewhere, but I know the master better than that. I think he put it in a safety deposit box under an assumed name. He didn't trust the banks. He said that when times were good, the banks loaned his money and made a profit on it, and when times were bad, they told him they were sorry they couldn't get it back. He lost some money in a bank a couple of years ago. Once was enough for the master."

"A million dollars in cash?" Mason asked.

"Of course it was in cash," Ashton snapped. "What else would he take it in?"

Perry Mason glanced at Della Street.

"How about Winifred—you say she's disappeared?"

"Yes, she pulled out. I don't blame her. The others treated her shameful."

"How old are the grandchildren?"

"Sam's twentyeight; Frank Oafley's twentysix; Winifred's twentytwo—and a beauty! She's worth all the rest put together. Six months ago the master made a will leaving her everything and cutting off the other two grandchildren with ten dollars each. Then two days before he died, he made this new will."

Mason frowned, and said, "That's hard on Winifred."

Ashton grunted, said nothing.

"Just how much money did you plan to spend in enforcing your rights to keep Clinker?" Mason asked speculatively.

Ashton whipped a billfold from his pocket, pulled out a sheaf of bills.

"I'm not a piker," he said. "Good lawyers come high. I don't want anything but the best. How much is it goin' to cost?"

Mason stared at the thick bundle of bills.

"Where did you get all that money?" he asked curiously.

"Saved it. I don't have any expenses, and I've been saving my salary for twenty years. I've put it in giltedged stuff—stuff that the master recommended—and when the master cashed in, I cashed in."

"On Mr. Laxter's advice?" Mason asked, eyeing his client curiously.

"If you want to put it that way."

"And you're willing to spend your money to keep your cat?"

"I'm willing to spend a reasonable amount of it; I'm not going to throw it away. But I know it costs money to get a good lawyer, and I know I'm not going to get a poor lawyer."

"Suppose," Mason said, "I should tell you it was going to cost you five hundred dollars by way of retainer?"

"That's too much," Ashton said irritably.

"Suppose I should say two hundred and fifty dollars?"

"That's reasonable. I'll pay it."

Ashton started counting bills.

"Wait a minute," Mason said, laughing. "Perhaps it won't be necessary to spend any large amount of money. I was just trying to determine exactly how attached you were to the cat."

"I'm plenty attached to him. I'd spend any reasonable amount to put Sam Laxter in his place, but I'm not going to be stuck."

"What are Laxter's initials?" Mason asked.

"Samuel C."

"Perhaps," Mason told him, "a letter will be all that's necessary. If that's the case, it isn't going to cost you much."

He turned to Della Street.

"Della," he said, "take a letter to Samuel C. Laxter, 3824 East Washington Street. Dear Sir: Mr. Ashton has consulted me—no, wait a minute, Della, better put his initials in there—I've got them here on the memo—Charles Ashton, that's it—has consulted me with reference to his rights under the will of the late Peter Laxter. Under the provisions of that will, you were obligated to furnish Mr. Ashton with a position as caretaker during the period of his ability to work in that capacity.

"It is only natural that Mr. Ashton should wish to keep his cat with him. A caretaker is entitled to pets. This is particularly true in the present case, because the pet was maintained during the testator's lifetime.

"In the event that you should injure Mr. Ashton's pet, it will be necessary for me to contend that you have breached a condition of the will and have, therefore, forfeited your inheritance."

Perry Mason grinned at Della Street. "That should throw a scare into him," he remarked. "If he thinks he's fighting over his entire inheritance instead of just a cat, he'll decide not to take any chances."

He turned to Ashton, nodded reassuringly. "Leave ten dollars with the bookkeeper as a retainer. She'll give you a receipt. If anything develops I'll write to you. If you find out anything, ring up this office and ask for Miss Street—she's my secretary. You can leave any message with her. That's all for the present."

Ashton's gnarled hands tightened about the crutch. He pulled himself to his feet, slipped the crutch under his arm. Without a word of thanks or farewell, he hobbledybanged from the office.

Della Street looked at Perry Mason with surprised eyes.

"Is it possible," she asked, "that this grandson might forfeit his inheritance if he threw out the cat?"

"Stranger things have happened," he answered. "It depends on the wording of the will. If the provision about the caretaker is a condition to the vesting of the inheritance, I might be able to make it stick. But, you understand, all I'm doing now is throwing a scare into Mr. Samuel C. Laxter. I think we'll hear from that gentleman in person.