The Case of the Counterfeit Eye by Erle Stanley Gardner Page A
Authors: Erle Stanley Gardner
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time?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because Hartley Basset has been such a brute to my mother. I knew a show-down was coming sooner or later."
"Got a permit for that gun?"
"No."
"No one else saw you shoot at the can except your wife?"
"No, that's all. She's the only witness."
Mason jerked his thumb back down the corridor toward the door and said, "Get together with your mother. Make your stories air-tight."
He raised his hand to knock at the panels of the door, hesitated, lowered his hand to the knob, twisted it and jerked the door open. The same narrow-shouldered, bald-headed man whom he had seen in Basset's office earlier in the evening stared at him through huge tortoise-shell glasses, his face showing exasperation. It changed to amazement as he recognized Perry Mason.
"You saw me tonight in Basset's office," Mason said. "I'm Perry Mason, the lawyer. Your name's Colemar, isn't it?"
The expression of irritation returned to Colemar's face. "Don't lawyers knock?" he asked.
Mason started to say something, then checked himself as his eyes, drifting to the dresser, caught sight of the piece of paper on which he had penciled the telephone number of his residence and which he had given to Bertha McLane.
"What's that?" he asked.
"Is it any of your business?"
"Yes."
"It's something I picked up in the hallway," Colemar said.
"When?"
"Just now."
"What part of the hallway?"
"The head of the stairs, right by Mrs. Basset's room, if you must know. But I don't know what right you've got to…"
"Forget it," Mason said, stepping forward, picking up the paper and folding it and putting it in his pocket. "You're going to be a witness. I'm a lawyer. I might be able to help you."
"Help me?"
"Yes."
Colemar's eyebrows rose in surprise.
"Good heavens," he said, "what am I a witness to, and how can you help me?"
"You saw a woman who had been injured lying on the couch down in Mr. Basset's reception room just a few minutes ago."
"I couldn't tell whether it was a woman or a man. Someone was lying on the couch. I thought it was a man, but Edith Brite was standing in front of the couch and Mrs. Basset was very anxious that I shouldn't go near the couch. She kept pushing me away. If you're at all interested, you might care to know that I'm going to report the matter to Mr. Basset in the morning. Mrs. Basset has no right in those offices and I have. She had no right to push me away."
"Overpowered you, did she?" Mason asked sarcastically.
"You don't know that Brite woman," Colemar retorted. "She's strong as an ox and she does everything Mrs. Basset tells her to."
"You'd been out?" Mason asked.
"Yes, sir, to a picture show."
"When you came back you saw someone running down the street?"
Colemar straightened with such frosty dignity as can be mustered by a man whose shoulders have been bent over a desk during years of clerical work.
"I did," he said ominously.
Something in his tone caused Mason's eyes to narrow.
"Look here, Colemar," he said, "did you recognize that man?"
"That," Colemar said, "is something which is none of your business. That is something which I shall report to Mr. Basset. I don't wish to seem disrespectful, but I don't know your connection with Mrs. Basset and I don't know what right you have to invade my room without knocking and ask me questions. You said I was going to be a witness. What am I going to be a witness to?"
Mason heard the sound of a siren as a car rounded the corner with screaming tires. He didn't wait to answer Colemar's question but jerked the door open, sprinted down the hallway, took the stairs two at a time, jerked open the door to the porch, and crossed to the other door just as a touring car slid in close to the curb.
Mason shoved the door open. Dick Basset and his mother, engaged in a whispered conversation, jumped guiltily apart.
"Okay," Mason said, "here are the cops. Don't say anything about any trouble either one of you might have had with Hartley Basset. That line isn't going to go over
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because Hartley Basset has been such a brute to my mother. I knew a show-down was coming sooner or later."
"Got a permit for that gun?"
"No."
"No one else saw you shoot at the can except your wife?"
"No, that's all. She's the only witness."
Mason jerked his thumb back down the corridor toward the door and said, "Get together with your mother. Make your stories air-tight."
He raised his hand to knock at the panels of the door, hesitated, lowered his hand to the knob, twisted it and jerked the door open. The same narrow-shouldered, bald-headed man whom he had seen in Basset's office earlier in the evening stared at him through huge tortoise-shell glasses, his face showing exasperation. It changed to amazement as he recognized Perry Mason.
"You saw me tonight in Basset's office," Mason said. "I'm Perry Mason, the lawyer. Your name's Colemar, isn't it?"
The expression of irritation returned to Colemar's face. "Don't lawyers knock?" he asked.
Mason started to say something, then checked himself as his eyes, drifting to the dresser, caught sight of the piece of paper on which he had penciled the telephone number of his residence and which he had given to Bertha McLane.
"What's that?" he asked.
"Is it any of your business?"
"Yes."
"It's something I picked up in the hallway," Colemar said.
"When?"
"Just now."
"What part of the hallway?"
"The head of the stairs, right by Mrs. Basset's room, if you must know. But I don't know what right you've got to…"
"Forget it," Mason said, stepping forward, picking up the paper and folding it and putting it in his pocket. "You're going to be a witness. I'm a lawyer. I might be able to help you."
"Help me?"
"Yes."
Colemar's eyebrows rose in surprise.
"Good heavens," he said, "what am I a witness to, and how can you help me?"
"You saw a woman who had been injured lying on the couch down in Mr. Basset's reception room just a few minutes ago."
"I couldn't tell whether it was a woman or a man. Someone was lying on the couch. I thought it was a man, but Edith Brite was standing in front of the couch and Mrs. Basset was very anxious that I shouldn't go near the couch. She kept pushing me away. If you're at all interested, you might care to know that I'm going to report the matter to Mr. Basset in the morning. Mrs. Basset has no right in those offices and I have. She had no right to push me away."
"Overpowered you, did she?" Mason asked sarcastically.
"You don't know that Brite woman," Colemar retorted. "She's strong as an ox and she does everything Mrs. Basset tells her to."
"You'd been out?" Mason asked.
"Yes, sir, to a picture show."
"When you came back you saw someone running down the street?"
Colemar straightened with such frosty dignity as can be mustered by a man whose shoulders have been bent over a desk during years of clerical work.
"I did," he said ominously.
Something in his tone caused Mason's eyes to narrow.
"Look here, Colemar," he said, "did you recognize that man?"
"That," Colemar said, "is something which is none of your business. That is something which I shall report to Mr. Basset. I don't wish to seem disrespectful, but I don't know your connection with Mrs. Basset and I don't know what right you have to invade my room without knocking and ask me questions. You said I was going to be a witness. What am I going to be a witness to?"
Mason heard the sound of a siren as a car rounded the corner with screaming tires. He didn't wait to answer Colemar's question but jerked the door open, sprinted down the hallway, took the stairs two at a time, jerked open the door to the porch, and crossed to the other door just as a touring car slid in close to the curb.
Mason shoved the door open. Dick Basset and his mother, engaged in a whispered conversation, jumped guiltily apart.
"Okay," Mason said, "here are the cops. Don't say anything about any trouble either one of you might have had with Hartley Basset. That line isn't going to go over
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