The Case of the Velvet Claws by Erle Stanley Gardner

shoulders.
    "Somehow," she said, "you inspire me with confidence. You're the only man I ever knew who could stand up to my husband. I feel as though I could cling to you and you'd protect me."
    She tilted back her face so that her lips were close to his, and her eyes were staring into his. Her body was quite close to his.
    He took her elbow in his long, strong fingers and turned her away from him.
    "I'll protect you," he said, "just as long as you pay cash."
    She squirmed around so that she was facing him again.
    "Don't you ever think of anything except money?" she asked.
    "Not in this game."
    "You're all I've got to depend on," she wailed. "Everything in the world. You're all that stands between me and utter ruin."
    "That," he said coolly, "is my business. It's what I'm here for."
    As he talked, he had been walking with her toward the door of the outer office. As he put his right hand on the knob, she twisted around so that she was free of his grip.
    "Very well," she said, "and thank you."
    Her tone was formal, almost frigid. She walked through the office door and into the outer office.
    Perry Mason closed the door behind her. He went to his desk, picked up the telephone and when he heard Della Street's voice, said, "Give me an outside line, Della."
    He gave the number of Drake's Detective Bureau, asked for Paul Drake, and got him on the line.
    "Listen, Paul," he said, "this is Perry. I've got a job for you. You've got to handle it quickly. Frank Locke, down at Spicy Bits, is a devil with the women. He's got a jane over at the Wheelright Hotel that he's running around with. She lives there. He drops into the barber shop once in a while and gets himself all prettied up before he takes her out on a date. He came from the South some place. I don't know just where. And he was mixed up in something when he left there. Frank Locke probably isn't his real name. I want you to put enough men on him to find out what it's all about, and do it quick. How much is it going to set me back?"
    "Two hundred dollars," said Paul Drake's voice. "And another two hundred dollars at the end of the week, if I work on it that long."
    "I don't think I can pass this on to my client," said Mason.
    "Make it three twenty-five in all, then, and use me right if you find you can put it in on the expense account later."
    "Okay," said Mason. "Get started."
    "Wait a minute. I was just going to call you anyway. I see a big Lincoln is parked down here in front of the building, with a chauffeur sitting at the wheel. I have a hunch that it's the same car that your mysterious lady friend used for a get-away the other day. Do you want me to chase it down? I took the license number as I came up."
    "No," said Mason. "That's okay. I've got her tagged. Forget about her and start in on this Locke business."
    "All right," said Drake, and hung up.
    Perry Mason dropped the receiver into place.
    Della Street stood in the doorway.
    "She gone?" asked Mason.
    Della Street nodded.
    "That woman's going to make you trouble," she said.
    "You told me that before," said Mason.
    "All right, I'm telling it to you again."
    "Why?" said Mason.
    "I don't like the way she looks," said Della Street. "And I don't like the way she acts toward a working girl. She's got that snobby complex."
    "Lots of people are like that, Della."
    "I know, but she's different. She doesn't know what honesty means. She loves trickery. She'd turn on you in a second if it would be to her advantage."
    Perry Mason's face was thoughtful.
    "It wouldn't be to her advantage," he remarked, his voice preoccupied.
    Della Street stared at him for a moment, then softly closed the door and left him alone.

6.
    Harrison Burke was a tall man who cultivated an air of distinction. His record in Congress had been mediocre, but he had identified himself as "The Friend of the People" by sponsoring legislation which a clique of politicians pushed through the house, knowing that it would never pass the upper body, or, if it did, that it