The Case of the Howling Dog

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: