The Case of the Counterfeit Eye Read Online Free PDF Page A

McLane, his manner now showing brazen self-assurance, contented himself with one comment.
    "Nerts," he said.
    Bertha McLane pretended not to hear him.
    "Your fees," she asked, "how much will they be?" Mason grinned at her and said, "Forget it. The man who just went out of the office paid me enough for his case and yours, too."

Chapter Three
    A SEPARATE door, marked. "BASSET AUTO FINANCE COMPANY. WALK IN" was immediately to the right of the door on which a brass placard bore the legend:
    HARTLEY BASSET RESIDENCE
    Private

    No Peddlers or Solicitors
    Perry Mason opened the door which led to the office, and walked in. The outer office was deserted. A door marked "PRIVATE" was at the further end. Above an electric push-button appeared the words, "RING AND BE SEATED."
    Perry Mason rang.
    Almost immediately the door opened. A deep-chested man, with a close-cropped gray mustache and a thick shock of hair which had grizzled at the temples, stared at him with light-gray eyes, from the centers of which pin-pointed black pupils held a hypnotic fascination.
    Moving with quick virility, he shot out his left wrist so that he could stare at the wrist-watch.
    "On time." he said. "to the minute."
    Perry Mason bowed, said nothing, and followed Hartley Basset into a rather plainly appointed office.
    "Not here," Basset said. "This is where I collect money. I don't want it to look too prosperous. Come into the office from which I make my big loans. I like it better in there."
    He opened a door and indicated an office sumptuously furnished. From a room beyond came the sound of a clacking typewriter.
    "Work nights?" Perry Mason asked.
    "I'm usually open for a couple of hours during the evening. That's to accommodate people who have jobs. A man who isn't working and wants to borrow on an automobile isn't as good a risk as the man who has a job and needs money."
    He indicated a chair. Mason dropped into it.
    "You want to see me about Harry McLane?" Basset asked.
    At the lawyer's nod, Basset pressed a button. The typewriting in the adjoining office ceased. A chair made a noise as it scraped back. Then a door opened. A narrow-shouldered man, about forty-five years of age, with grayish eyes, peered owlishly from behind horn-rimmed spectacles.
    "Arthur," Basset said, "what are the exact figures on the McLane embezzlement?"
    "Three thousand, nine hundred and forty-two dollars and sixty-three cents," the man in the doorway said, his voice husky and without expression.
    "That includes interest?" asked Basset, "at the rate of one per cent a month?"
    "Interest at the rate of one per cent a month," the man affirmed, "from the date the money was embezzled."
    Basset said, "That's all."
    The man in the doorway stepped back and closed the door. A few seconds later, the clack of the typewriter sounded with mechanical regularity. Hartley Basset smiled at Perry Mason, and said, "He's got until tomorrow afternoon."
    Mason extracted a cigarette from his cigarette case. Basset pulled a cigar from his waistcoat pocket. Both men lit up at virtually the same time. Mason extinguished his match by blowing smoke on it, and said, "There's no reason why you and I should misunderstand each other."
    "None whatever," Basset agreed.
    "I don't know the facts of the case," Mason went on, "but I'm acting on the assumption that McLane embezzled the money."
    "He's confessed to it."
    "Well, let's not argue that point. Let's assume that he did embezzle it."
    "Saving the point so you can defend him in court?" Basset asked, his eyes growing hard.
    "I'm simply not making any admissions," Mason said. "If my clients want to make admissions they can do so. I never make admissions."
    "Go ahead," Basset remarked.
    "You want your money."
    "Naturally."
    "McLane hasn't got it."
    "He had an accomplice."
    "Do you know who the accomplice was?"
    "No. I wish I did."
    "Why?"
    "Because the accomplice has the money."
    "What makes you think so?"
    "I'm virtually certain of it!
    "Why doesn't the accomplice