The Case of the Caretakers Cat   ::   Гарднер Эрл Стенли

I've been fighting over corpses for so long, a good live cat will be a welcome diversion from…"

The door opened. A blonde with wide blue eyes said in a lifeless voice, "Mr. Shuster, Mr. Laxter, Mr. Oafley."

The three men pushed the doorway into the room. Shuster, smallboned and active, was in the lead, bustling about like a sparrow peering under dead leaves. "Good morning, Counselor, good morning, good morning. Going to be warm today, isn't it?" He bustled across the room, hand outstretched. His lips twisted back, disclosing a mouthful of teeth, between each of which was a welldefined space.

Mason, seeming to tower high above the little man, extended a reluctant hand and said, "Now let's get these people straight. Which is Laxter and which is Oafley?"

"Yes, yes, yes, of course, of course," Shuster said. "This is Mr. Laxter—Mr. Samuel C. Laxter. He's the executor of the will—a grandson of Peter Laxter."

A tall man with dark skin, smoldering black eyes and hair which had been carefully marcelled, smiled with that oily affability which speaks of poise rather than sincerity. A large creamcolored Stetson hat was held in his left hand.

"And this is Frank Oafley. Frank Oafley is the other grandson, Counselor."

Oafley was yellowhaired and thicklipped. His face seemed unable to change its expression. His eyes had the peculiar watery blue tint of raw oysters. He had no hat.

He said nothing.

"My secretary, Miss Street," Perry Mason remarked. "If there's no objection, she'll be here during the conference and take such notes as I may wish."

Shuster chuckled moistly. "And if there is any objection, I suppose she'll stay here anyway, eh? Ha, ha, ha. I know you, Counselor. Remember, it isn't as though you were dealing with someone who didn't know you. I know you well. You're a fighter. You're to be reckoned with. It's a matter of principle with my clients. They can't knuckle under to a servant. But they've got a fight on their hands. I told them you were a fighter, I warned them. They can't say I didn't warn them!"

"Sit down," Mason said.

Shuster nodded to his clients, indicating the chairs which they were to take. He sank in the big overstuffed leather chair himself and seemed almost lost in the space of it. He crossed his legs, pulled down his cuffs, adjusted his tie, beamed at Mason and said, "You can't make it stick. It's a matter of principle with us. We'll fight to the last ditch. But it's a serious matter, all right."

"What's a serious matter?" Mason asked.

"Your contention about that being a condition in the will."

"And what's the matter of principle?" Mason inquired.

"Why," Shuster remarked, showing surprise, "the cat, of course. We can't stand it. But, more than that, we can't stand to have this caretaker start dictating. He's too officious already. You understand, when a person can't discharge his hired help, it doesn't take long for that help to get completely out of hand."

"Has it ever occurred to you," Mason asked, letting his eyes shift from Shuster's face to the faces of the two grandchildren, "that you folks are making a mountain out of a molehill? Why don't you let poor Ashton keep his cat? The cat won't last forever and Ashton won't either. There's no reason for spending a lot of money on lawyers, and…"

"Not so fast, Counselor, not so fast," Shuster broke in, sliding forward on the smooth leather of the chair until he sat on the very edge of it. "It's going to be a hard fight; it's going to be a bitter fight. I've warned my clients of that. You're a resourceful man. You're a sly man. If you don't mind the expression, I'll say you're a cunning man. Lots of us would take that as a compliment; I take that as a compliment myself. Lots of times my clients say, 'Shuster is cunning. Do I get sore? I don't! I say that's a compliment."

Della Street glanced at Perry Mason, her eyes showing amusement. Mason's face was momentarily becoming more granitehard.

Shuster went on, speaking rapidly, "I warned my clients that Winifred was going to try to break the will. I knew that she'd try it by every means in her power, but she couldn't claim the grandfather was of unsound mind, and there's no question of undue influence. So she had to get something she could tie to, and she picked on Ashton and his cat."

There was anger in Mason's voice. "Look here, Shuster, cut out this flimflamming. All I want is to have the caretaker left with his cat. Your clients don't need to spend any money fighting. The amount that it's costing just to have this conference would more than pay for all the bedspreads the cat could soil in ten years."

Shuster's head bobbed up and down eagerly. "That's what I've told them all along. Counselor. A poor compromise is better than a good lawsuit. Now, if you're willing to compromise, we are."

"On what basis?" Mason inquired.

Shuster recited his proposed compromise with a glibness which showed much rehearsal. "Winifred signs an agreement that she won't contest the will. Ashton signs a paper that he knows that the will is genuine; that it was executed by the old man when he was of sound and disposing mind and memory, and then Ashton can keep his cat."

Mason's voice was edged with irritation. "I don't know anything about Winifred," he said. "I've never met her and haven't talked with her. I can't ask her to sign anything."

Shuster glanced triumphantly at the two clients. "I told you he was clever," he said. "I told you it was going to be a fight."

"Winifred doesn't enter into it," Mason said. "Now let's come down to earth and talk sense. All I'm interested in is this damned cat."

There was a moment of silence, broken by Shuster's moist chuckle.

Sam Laxter, glancing at the growing rage of Mason's features, took a hand in the conversation. "Of course, you'll admit you threatened to invalidate my inheritance. I know that wouldn't have come from Ashton. We've been expecting Winifred to contest the will."

There was something smoothly ingratiating in his tone, a suave smirking of the vocal cords which made his voice seem like the smile of a courtesan.

"All I want," Mason said, "is to have that cat left alone."

"And you'll have Winifred sign a complete waiver?" Shuster asked.

Mason faced him. "Don't be a damn fool," he said. "I'm not representing Winifred. I haven't anything to do with her."

Shuster rubbed his hands gleefully. "We couldn't settle on any other basis. It's a matter of principle with us. Personally, I don't think that's a condition in the will, but it's open to controversy."

Mason got to his feet, like an angry bull turning to face a yapping terrier.