“On the street about two blocks from the house. He was walking.”

  Drake threw back his head and laughed. “Just before he arrived, my operative telephoned in a report. Remember I told you she’d been a boxer in … ”

  “Yes, I remember. What did she have to report?”

  Drake said, “She got Carl to admit he’d been in Diana’s apartment. He was boasting about how his acting had completely fooled the cops.”

  “Why did he go to the apartment, Paul?”

  “Want me to draw you a picture?”

  “You mean only that?”

  “Only that. The lad, according to reports, is a persistent wolf who relies on blackmail and strong-arm stuff to supplement his quote charm unquote. He told my operative no woman had ever successfully stood him off. He’d made wax impressions of Diana’s keys; said that after a man had hit a woman good and hard once she had an instinctive biological desire to surrender after that.”

  “Go on,” Della Street said, smiling, “this is going to be good”

  “Well,” Drake said, “my operative was reporting rather hurriedly and over the phone. She says she’ll tell me the spicy details later. But Carl thought he had a pushover there, because she was stringing him along getting information. When he really got down to brass tacks and found he hadn’t correctly appraised the situation, he decided, to fall back on physical violence. My operative thinks she has a broken knuckle. She also has his car. Carl walked home.”

  “How did Carl take it, Paul?”

  Drake said, “You should have heard the boy sobbing out his story to Lieutenant Tragg. A couple of teeth were knocked out and he lisped when he … ”

  “Someone coming,” Della Street said in a low voice.

  Mason looked up toward the man who had left a woman companion at the table and was coming toward him.

  “Shucks, Della,” Mason said, “we seem to have no privacy at all.”

  “Oh, I’ll leave if you’re going to be surly about it,” Drake grinned. “I thought perhaps Della would give me a dance before … ”

  The man stood in the entrance of the booth and cleared his throat. “You’ll pardon me for interrupting,” he said, “but you’re Perry Mason. I’ve seen you in court, and I have been trying to get you all evening. When you walked in here, I thought it was fate that had brought you here. I simply must consult you about something that bothers me, something rather mysterious, and something very important.”

  Mason smiled and shook his head. “Not until after I’ve had another cocktail, some hors d’oeuvres, some steaks, and … ”

  “I’ll wait,” the man said anxiously, “if you’ll only talk with me.”

  “And we’ll be eating garlic,” Mason warned. “What is it all about?”

  “It’s about a fish.”

  “Are you, by any chance, trying to kid me?”

  “No, no,” the man said, “a goldfish.”

  “And it’s important?”

  “Of course, it’s important. It’s driving me crazy! But don’t let me detain you now, Mr. Mason. I’ll be waiting over there with my companion, and if you’ll join us for an after-dinner brandy, I’ll give you the high lights.”

  The End

 

 

  Erle Stanley Gardner, The Case of the Black-Eyed Blonde

 

 

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