"Right now I'm making a bid for public interest. I'm making a bid for public sympathy. I want the public to read the newspapers and realize that here is a woman of refinement who has been thrown in jail, charged with murder; who can establish her innocence, and who wants to do it, but who is prevented by the orders of an attorney."
"That will make sympathy for the woman, all right," Della Street pointed out, "but it's going to put you in a bad light. The public will think you're simply grandstanding for the purpose of getting a big fee out of the trial."
"That's what I want the public to think," he told her.
"It's going to hurt your reputation."
He laughed mirthlessly.
"Della," he said, "just a moment ago you were picking on me because I wasn't doing enough for the woman. Now you've switched around and are jumping on me because I'm doing too much."
"No," she said, "that isn't right. You can do it in another way. You don't need to sacrifice your reputation in order to protect her."
He moved toward the inner office.
"I wish to God I didn't," he said, "but there's no other way. Get Paul Drake on the 'phone and tell him to come in here; I want to see him."
Della Street nodded, but made no move toward the switchboard until after Perry Mason had closed the door of his inside office. Then she picked up the telephone.
Perry Mason flung his hat on the top of a bookcase and started pacing the floor. He was still pacing the floor when Della Street opened the door and said: "Here's Paul Drake."
"Send him in," Mason told her.
Paul Drake regarded Perry Mason with eyes that held his usual lazy twinkle.
"Gosh, guy," he drawled, "don't you ever sleep?"
"Why?" asked Perry Mason.
"I crossed your back trail last night. Or rather, my men did," Drake told him.
"I got a couple of hours sleep," Mason said, "and a good Turkish bath and a shave. That's all I need when I'm working on a case."
"Well," said Drake, dropping into a big leather chair and sliding his knees around so that his legs hung over the arm, "give me a cigarette and tell me what's new."
Mason handed him a package of cigarettes, held a match for him.
"You want lots of service," he said.
"So do you," Drake remarked. "You've got every private detective agency in the country boiling in a turmoil. I've had more telegrams of misinformation and immaterial facts than you could digest in a week."
"Have you found any trace of Arthur Cartright or Paula Cartright?" asked Mason.
"Not a trace. They've vanished from the face of the earth. What's more, we've covered every taxicab agency in the city, talked with every taxicab driver, and we can't find any one who made the trip out to 4889 Milpas Drive that morning, when Mrs. Cartright left Foley's place."
"You don't know what kind of a taxicab it was?"
"No. Thelma Benton says it was a taxicab. She's certain of that, but we can't find the taxicab."
"Perhaps the driver is lying," Mason said.
"Perhaps, but it isn't likely."
Mason sat down behind his desk and made drumming motions with his fingers on the surface of the desk.
"Paul," he said, "I can beat that case against Bessie Forbes."
"Of course you can," Drake told him. "All you've got to do is to let the woman tell her story. What's the idea of keeping her silent? That's a dodge that's used only by guilty people or hardened criminals."
"I want to make certain that your men can't find Cartright before I have her tell her story," Perry Mason said.
"What's that got to do with it?" asked Drake. "Do you think Cartright is guilty and you want to make certain he's where the police can't find him before you let police attention get diverted from Bessie Forbes?"
Perry Mason made no answer to the question, but sat silent. After a moment he started pounding gently with his right fist on the desk.
"Paul," he said, "I can bust that case wide open. But in order to do it I've got to strike at the psychological moment. I've got to build up public interest, and I've got to get a dramatic tension built up, and then I've got to strike so fast that the district attorney can't think up the answer before the jury brings in a verdict."
"You mean that woman is going to trial?"
"I mean," said Perry Mason, "she's got to go to trial."
"But the district attorney doesn't want to try her. He's not certain he's got a case. He wants her to tell her story. That's all he wants."
Perry Mason spoke slowly and emphatically. "That woman," he said, "has got to be tried, and, of course, she's got to be acquitted. But it won't be easy."
"I thought you said you could bust the case wide open."
"I can, if I can strike at the right time and in the right manner, but I've got to be spectacular about it."
"Why not try to get her off on her preliminary examination?
"No, I'm going to consent that she be bound over for trial, and I'm going to ask for an immediate trial."
Paul Drake blew out cigarette smoke and regarded the lawyer quizzically.
"What's this weapon you've got that you're holding back?" he asked.
"You probably wouldn't think much of it if I told you," said Mason.
"Well you might try me."
"I'm going to," Mason said, "because I've got to. That weapon is a howling dog."
Paul Drake whipped the cigarette from his lips with a gesture of swift surprise, and stared at Perry Mason with eyes that had lost their twinkle of lazy humor.
"For heaven sake," he said, "are you still harking back to that howling dog?"
"Yes," Mason said.
"Shucks, that's out of the case long ago. The dog's dead, and it didn't howl."
Perry Mason said, doggedly, "I want to establish the fact that the dog did howl."
"But what difference does it make?"
"A lot of difference."
"It's just a silly superstition anyway," Paul Drake said. "Nothing that would have bothered anybody in particular, except a person who was mentally weak, like this man Cartright."
"I have got to establish," said Perry Mason doggedly and determinedly, "that the dog did howl. I have got to prove it by evidence. The only evidence that I dare to rely on is that of Ah Wong, the Chinese cook."
"But Wong says the dog didn't howl."
"Wong has got to tell the truth," said Perry Mason. "Have they deported him yet?"
"They're leaving with him today."
"All right," said Perry Mason. "I'm going to get out a subpoena naming him as a witness and hold him here. Then I want you to get some clever Chinese interpreter. I want you to impress upon that interpreter the necessity of getting Ah Wong to admit that the dog did howl."
"You mean you want him to say the dog howled whether the dog howled or not?"
"I mean," said Perry Mason, "that I want Ah Wong to tell the truth. That dog howled. I want to establish it. But don't get me wrong. If the dog didn't howl, I want Ah Wong to say so. But I'm satisfied the dog did howl, and I want to prove that he did."
"Okay," said Drake, "I think I can attend to that. I know some of the fellows in the immigration office."
"One other point," said Perry Mason. "I think it would be a good thing to spring it on Ah Wong that Clinton Foley, or Forbes, whichever you want to call him, was responsible for the arrest of Ah Wong. I think it might be a good idea to get that thing impressed pretty strongly on the oriental mind."
"I get you," said Paul Drake. "I haven't the faintest idea of what you're getting at, but I don't suppose that makes any difference. What else do you want?"
"I want," said Perry Mason slowly, "to find out everything I can about that dog."
"What do you mean?"
"I want to find out how long Clinton Forbes had owned that dog. I want to find out about the dog's habits. I want you to chase back over the dog's entire life and find out if he was ever known to howl at night.