Even the walls of the corridor shook at the impact of that body as it hurtled against the door.
Mason looked back over his shoulder to see that Mrs. Kempton was keeping against the wall.
The gorilla’s long, hairy arms shot through the bars in the cage, groped in savage fury, missed them by a matter of inches.
Out in the yard the dogs began barking as though they had something treed. The sirens were sounding a continual scream of noise.
Mason opened the door, looked out, said, “Let’s make a run for it.”
They emerged on Rose Street. The night air seemed pure and sweet in their nostrils in contrast to the animal odors of the corridor with its closely packed cages.
Behind them was the blaze of light from the battery of floodlights which now illuminated every inch of the grounds. One of the dogs yelped in pain, then there was another round of excited barking.
Mason surveyed the street. Since he had left his wrist watch for the gorilla to play with he had no means of knowing how long it had been since Della had gone for the police.
“We may run into someone,” he said, “so let’s try to act like passers-by who have been attracted by the commotion. We’ll walk rapidly, but try not to run.
“Now, tell me what happened.”
“Well,” she said, “it’s a long story. There’s one matter on which I need the help of a lawyer at once, and...”
“Who killed Addicks?” Mason interrupted impatiently.
She quickened her pace.
“Hold it,” Mason ordered. “Who killed...?”
He broke off as a police car swung around the corner, two red spotlights throwing blood-red beams ahead of the car.
The headlights etched Mason and Mrs. Kempton into brilliance, then a huge searchlight pilloried them in a glare.
A siren screamed at them.
Mrs. Kempton looked at Mason in dismay.
“Stand still,” Mason said.
A voice from the police car shouted, “Get ’em up!”
Mason elevated his hands.
The police car slowed almost to a stop, drew up alongside. Mason could see the reflection of lights from the blued steel of weapons.
“What the devil’s coming off here?” a voice asked.
“I wish I knew,” Mason told them.
“Well, you should know. You were legging it away from the house just as fast as you could make it.”
Mason said, “Any time you are sufficiently satisfied that I am unarmed, I’ll reach into my pocket, bring out my billfold and show you that I am an attorney at law, and that I am the one who summoned the police.”
“By gosh, it’s Perry Mason!” another voice in the police car said. “You’ve been in that house, Mason?”
“I have been in that house,” Mason said. “I wish to report a dead man lying on a bed in a bedroom on the second floor. He has quite evidently been stabbed, and from the position of the wounds and the manner in which the handle of the knife is sticking from his back, I would say definitely that it was not suicide. Now then, I’ve made my report.”
The searchlight was clicked off. One of the officers said, “Who’s that with you?”
“Her name is Josephine Kempton,” Mason said. “She’s a client of mine, and I’ll do the talking.”
“Let’s not start that angle.”
“It’s started,” Mason told him.
“What has she got to conceal?”
“As far as I know, nothing.”
“Why doesn’t she tell her story then?”
“Because,” Mason said, “she happens to have certain rights. I want an opportunity to talk with her privately and in detail before I know what she should say and what she shouldn’t say. I might further point out that if I were the only one involved I would endeavor to ascertain the facts in the situation and make a statement which would clarify her position. However, as it happens, I am only one of two counsel.”
“Who’s the other one?”
“James Etna of Etna, Etna and Douglas.”
“Where’s he?”
“That,” Mason said, “is something we don’t know, something we’ve been trying to find out.”
“All right, get in the back of this car,” the officer said. “There’ll be another car here in a minute. If this woman isn’t going to talk, she’s going to be held as a material witness. You know that.”
“That’s quite all right,” Mason said. “You know your business, and I know mine. Hold her as a witness if you want to. She’ll talk when I tell her to. I’ll tell her to when I know what she has to say.”
One of the officers opened the back door of the automobile. “Get in there in the back seat,” he ordered. “How the devil do you get into this house? The front gate seems to be barred, and...”
“You get in by driving along this street to a door bearing the number 546. You want to be pretty careful when you go in because there are some gorillas loose in the place and they look as though they might be belligerent.”
“Isn’t this the devil of an assignment,” one officer complained to the other. “Where’s car nineteen?”
“Here it comes.”
Another police car swung in at the opposite entrance of Rose Street, and came toward them. Its siren, which had been screaming in a crescendo, was now lowering to a grumbling wail.
“All right,” the driver said. “I guess I go in with nineteen. You stay here and keep an eye on these people. You’d better hand me that machine gun. This gorilla hunting is something I don’t like.”
Mason turned to Mrs. Josephine Kempton. “You heard what I said?” He inquired in a low voice.
“Yes.”
“Do you understand you’re not to talk to anybody until you have talked to me, until I have had a chance to get your whole story? You understand that?”
“Yes.”
“Can you follow those instructions? Can you keep from making any statement?”
“Certainly.”
Chapter number 8
Police cars continued to converge on the place. Officers made reports through two-way radio telephones, and a couple of squad cars came screaming to the scene.
Della Street parked Mason’s car on a side street, and came running frantically down the alley.
Mason started to get out of the police car.
“Sit right still, buddy,” the man who had been left in charge warned him.
“That’s my secretary,” Mason said. “I instructed her to call the police. Get her attention.”
The officer seemed dubious for a moment, then manipulated a switch which flashed the red spotlight on and off.
Mason, thrusting his head out of the car window, shouted, “Della, here we are, over here! Della! It’s all right!”
Della Street turned her head for a moment trying to get the direction of the voice, then seeing and correctly interpreting the flashing spotlight once more broke into a run and came up calling, “Chief, Chief, where are you?”
“Here, Della. It’s all right.”
“You this man’s secretary?” the officer asked.
“Yes.”
“She called the police,” Mason said. “She’s the one who put in the call.”
“That right?” the officer asked.
“That’s right,” Della said. “Who’s that in there with you? Oh, Mrs. Kempton. Good heavens, Chief, whatever happened? I was never so frightened in my life. I waited there for the five minutes, just as you told me to, but, believe me, I was watching the second hand on my watch, and I had the motor running, and the very second the five minutes were up I was on my way. It seemed as though I’d never get to a telephone.”
Mason said, “Don’t worry, Della. There seems to have been quite a bit of trouble inside the house. I don’t really know all that did happen. The doors of some of the cages were opened. Apparently some gorillas made their escape and were prowling through the house. I tried to get back to tell you what was going on, but one of the gorillas didn’t seem to want to be too friendly — or perhaps I should say he wanted to be more friendly.”