The Case Of The Howling Dog pm-4

by Erle Stanley Gardner

  "Congratulations, Perry, on your victory. It was well thought out. I told the trial deputy there was a weak point in that case on the time element, and I warned him that if he went before a jury and couldn't explain that call about the stolen automobile, he'd lose his case."

  "Thanks," said Mason laconically. "I get the breaks, that's all."

  "Yes, you do," said Dorcas. "You make the breaks, that's why you get them. It suits me all right. I told these fellows they were skating on thin ice. Now how about this man that you're bringing down? What does he want?"

  "He wants a complaint."

  "On what?"

  "On a howling dog."

  "On a what?"

  "That's right, a howling dog. I think there's a county ordinance against keeping a dog that howls in any congested area, whether it's incorporated as a city or not."

  "There is some such ordinance; nobody pays any attention to it. That is, I've never had anything to do under it."

  "All right," Mason said, "this is different. My client is either going crazy, or has gone crazy."

  "On account of the howling dog?" asked Dorcas.

  "I don't know; that's what I want to find out. If he's in need of treatment, I want him to have treatment. If he's worked up to the verge of a nervous collapse, I want to see that he gets a break. You understand that a howling dog might be just annoying to one person, and might drive a man of another temperament into insanity."

  "I take it," Dorcas said, "you're going to bring him down here?"

  "Yes, I'm going to bring him down there, and I want you to have a doctor present; one of the alienists who sits on insanity cases. Don't introduce him as a doctor, but introduce him as an assistant of some sort, and let him hear the conversation and perhaps ask a question or two. Then, if this man needs medical treatment, let's see that he gets it."

  "Suppose he doesn't want it?"

  "I said," Mason remarked, "that we should see that he gets it."

  "You'd have to sign a complaint and have a commitment issued in order to do that," Dorcas pointed out.

  "I know that," Mason said. "I'm willing to sign a complaint, myself, if the man needs medical treatment. I want to know, that's all. If he's crazy, I want to do what's best for him. If he isn't, I want to see that he gets action right away. I'm trying to represent his best interests, do you get me?"

  "I got you," Dorcas remarked.

  "Be there in fifteen minutes," said Mason, and hung up.

  He was putting on his hat as he opened the door of the inner office, and nodded to Cartright.

  "All right," he said, "he's waiting for us in the office. Have you got a car, or do we go in a taxicab?"

  "We go in a taxicab," Cartright told him. "I'm too nervous to drive."

  CHAPTER II

  PETE DORCAS uncoiled his lean length from behind a battered desk, stared at Arthur Cartright with steely eyes, and acknowledged Perry Mason's introduction with the usual formula of pleasure. He half turned and indicated a short, paunchy individual, whose face held what seemed, at first glance, to be merely bubbling good nature. Only a second glance disclosed the wary watchfulness which lurked back of the twinkle in the gray eyes.

  "Meet Mr. Cooper," he said, "my assistant."

  The paunchy individual smiled his pleasure, came forward and shook hands with Cartright. The twinkling eyes studied Cartright's face in swift appraisal. The man held Cartright's hand for an appreciable interval after he had completed the perfunctory handshake.

  "Well," said Mason, "I guess we're all ready to go; is that right?"

  "All ready," said Dorcas, sitting down back of his desk.

  He was tall, lean, high checked and bald-headed, and there was a mental alertness about him which made his audience restless.

  "It's about a dog," said Perry Mason. "Clinton Foley, residing at 4889 Milpas Drive, his house adjoining that of Mr. Cartright here, has a police dog that howls."

  "Well," said Dorcas, grinning, "if a dog is entitled to one bite, he should be entitled to one howl."

  Arthur Cartright did not smile. His hand shot to his pocket, pulled out a package of cigarettes, then, after a moment's hesitation, dropped the package back in the pocket.

  Cooper's twinkling eyes, watching Cartright in constant appraisal, lost their expression of bubbling good humor for a moment, then once more started to twinkle.

  "This man has got to be arrested," said Cartright. "The howling has got to be stopped. You hear? It's got to be stopped!"

  "Sure," said Perry Mason, "that's what we're here for, Cartright. Go ahead and tell them your story."

  "There's no story to tell; the dog howls, that's all."

  "Constantly?" asked Cooper.

  "Constantly. That is, I don't mean constantly, I mean he howls regularly at intervals, you know the way a dog howls. Damn it! No dog howls all the time. He howls, and then he stops, and then he howls again."

  "What makes him howl?" asked Cooper.

  "Foley makes him howl," said Cartright positively.

  "And why?" asked Cooper.

  "Because he knows it gets my goat. Because he knows it gets his wife's goat. It means a death in the neighborhood, and his wife is sick. I tell you he's got to stop it! That dog has got to be stopped."

  Dorcas thumbed through the index of a leather-backed book, then said in a querulous, high pitched voice:

  "Well, there's an ordinance against it, an ordinance providing that if any one keeps any dog, cow, horse, chickens, rooster, guinea hen, fowl, animal or other livestock of any sort, nature or description within a congested area whether the same be incorporated or unincorporated, under such circumstances that a nuisance is created, it is a misdemeanor."

  "What more do you want?" asked Cartright.

  Dorcas laughed.

  "I don't want any more of anything," he said. "Personally I don't like howling dogs and I don't like crowing roosters. This ordinance was originally enacted to keep dairies and livery stables out of the congested districts. Milpas Drive is an exclusive residential district. There's some rather expensive homes out there. What's your address, Mr. Cartright?"

  "4893."

  "And Foley's place is 4889?"

  "That's right."

  "Yet the two houses adjoin?"

  "That's right."

  "You've got rather a large lot?"

  "He has."

  "How about you?"

  "Mine's just about average."

  "Foley's wealthy?" asked Dorcas.

  "Does that make any difference?" asked Cartright irritably. "Of course, he's wealthy, or he wouldn't be living out there."

  "It doesn't make a difference in one sense of the word," said Dorcas slowly, "but you understand we have to use our judgment here in the office. I don't like to send out and arrest a reputable citizen, without first giving him warning. Suppose I give him a warning?"

  "It won't do any good," said Cartright.

  Perry Mason spoke slowly, with almost judicial dignity.

  "My client," he said, "wants to be fair. You can use your judgment as to methods, Dorcas, but I am going to insist that the nuisance be abated, that the howling of the dog cease. You can see for yourself that my client is in a nervous condition. It's been brought about by the howling of the dog."

  "I'm not nervous," snapped Cartright, "just a little upset, that's all."

  Perry Mason nodded without saying anything. Cooper's eyes flickered to those of Mason, and his head gave an almost perceptible nod. Then the eyes swung back to Cartright.

  "I think," said Dorcas slowly, "that the policy of the office would be not to prosecute until after we had given a warning. We'd write a letter to Mr. Foley, telling him that complaint had been made, and calling his attention to the county ordinance which makes the maintenance of such a dog a nuisance. We could tell him that if the dog is ill, or something, he should be confined in a hospital or kennel until after the attack has ceased."

  Perry Mason glanced at Cartright, who started to say something, but was int
errupted by Dorcas.

  "The dog has been there for some time, Mr. Cartright?"

  "Yes."

  "How long?"

  "I don't know - two months that I know of. I've only been there two months, myself. The dog has been there that long."

  "And he hasn't howled before?"

  "No."

  "When did it start?"

  "Night before last."

  "I take it," said Dorcas, "that you're not on good terms with Foley. That is, you wouldn't run across and tell him to please make the animal stop howling?"

  "No, I wouldn't do that."

  "How about telephoning him?"

  "No."

  "Well, suppose I write him a letter?"

  "You don't know Foley," said Cartright bitterly. "He'd tear the letter up and make the dog howl all the worse. He'd laugh with fiendish glee to think that he'd got my goat. He'd take the letter and show it to his wife, and..."

  Cartright ceased speaking abruptly.

  "Don't stop," said Dorcas. "Go on. What else would he do?"

  "Nothing," said Cartright in a surly tone of voice.

  "I think," said Mason, "that we will be content if you write the letter, Mr. Dorcas, with the understanding that if the dog doesn't quit howling, a warrant will be issued."

  "Of course, there'll be that understanding," said the deputy district attorney.

  "Now, a letter sent in the ordinary course of mail wouldn't be delivered until some time tomorrow, even if you got it out this afternoon," Mason said. "I am suggesting that you make a formal notification and send it out by one of the officers. Let the officer make a service upon Mr. Foley, personally, or upon any one else who may be in charge of the house, in the event Foley is not at home. This will have the effect of showing Foley that it is not merely a complaint instigated by Cartright, and having no legal status."

  Cartright shook his head doggedly.

  "I want him arrested," he said.

  Perry Mason's tone was patient.

  "You put the matter in my hands, Mr. Cartright," he said, "and you will remember what I told you. You, yourself, have stated that Foley is vindictive; that he is wealthy, and that he may start some action against you. If that happens, it is incumbent on you to show that you have acted throughout in the utmost good faith. I think that this step suggested by Mr. Dorcas, with the modifications in procedure which I have pointed out, will place you in the clear, legally. It is my advice that you follow that procedure."

  Cartright whirled on Perry Mason with a display of temper.

  "What if I don't choose to follow that advice?" he asked.

  "Under those circumstances," said Perry Mason patiently, "you would, of course, prefer to get some other attorney - some one in whose advice you would have confidence."

  Cartright paused for a moment, then suddenly nodded.

  "Very well," he said, "I will be willing to follow that procedure. I want you to send the notification out right away, however."

  "Just as soon as it can be prepared," said Perry Mason soothingly.

  "Well, then," Cartright said, "I'm going to leave that up to you. I'm going back home. You represent my interests, Mr. Mason. You stay here and assist in getting out the proper notification, and seeing that it is delivered. Will you do that?"

  "I will do that," said Perry Mason, "You can go home and get some rest, Cartright. Leave the matter in my hands."

  Cartright nodded and paused with his hand on the door.

  "Thank you, gentlemen," he said. "I am glad I met you. Pardon me if I seem a little upset. I haven't been sleeping much."

  Then the door slammed.

  "Well," said Pete Dorcas, turning to Dr. Cooper.

  Dr. Cooper placed the tips of his fingers together over his paunchy stomach.

  "Well," he said, the twinkle abruptly fading from his eyes, "I wouldn't want to make a diagnosis on the limited evidence available at the present time, but I should say it was a case of manic depressive psychosis."

  Perry Mason grinned.

  "Sounds formidable, Doctor," he said, "but doesn't that mean merely a nervous breakdown?"

  "There is no such thing," said Dr. Cooper, "as a nervous breakdown. It is a popular expression, applied to various forms of functional or degenerative psychoses."

  "Well," said Mason, "let's get at it another way. A man who is suffering from a manic depressive psychosis isn't insane, is he?"

  "He isn't normal."

  "I know, but he isn't insane."

  "Well, it's a question of what you mean by insane. It isn't, of course, the degree of legal insanity which would excuse one from committing a crime, if that's what you mean.

  "That isn't what I mean," said Mason. "Come on down to earth, Doctor; let's quit splitting hairs. You're not on the witness stand; you're just telling us. It's purely a functional disease, isn't it?"

  "That's right."

  "And curable?"

  "Oh, yes, completely curable."

  "All right," said Mason irritably, "let's get rid of that howling dog then."

  "Of course," said Pete Dorcas, twisting a pencil in his fingers, "we haven't any one's word for the fact that the dog is howling, other than this man Cartright's unsupported statement."

  "Oh, forget it," Mason told him. "You're not getting out a warrant. Go ahead and make a notification to Clinton Foley, stating that complaint has been made that he's violating ordinance number so and so, and give him a general idea of what the ordinance contains. He'll shut up the howling dog if he's got one, and if he hasn't he'll telephone in and let you know."

  Mason turned to Dr. Cooper.

  "That idea of the howling dog isn't apt to be a delusion, is it, Doctor?"

  "They have delusions in manic depressive psychosis," said Dr. Cooper, "but usually they are delusions of persecution."

  "Well," Dorcas remarked, "he thinks he's being persecuted. He thinks the dog is being put up to it by Foley."

  Perry Mason looked at his watch.

  "Let's get in a stenographer," he said, "and we can dictate a notice that will cover the case, and get it dispatched."

  Dorcas turned to Dr. Cooper and raised his eyebrows.

  Dr. Cooper nodded.

  Dorcas pushed a button with his forefinger.

  "Very well," he said, "I'll dictate it and sign it."

  "I want to talk with the deputy who's going to take it out," said Mason. "I can perhaps expedite matters a little by seeing that he has ample transportation provided, and..."

  Dorcas grinned.

  "You mean giving him a few cigars," he said.

  "Perhaps," Perry Mason said, "I might give him a bottle, but I wouldn't want to commit myself in front of a deputy district attorney."

  "Go on down to the sheriff's office," said Dorcas, "and get a deputy assigned to deliver the notice. I'll have it ready by the time you get back. You can go out with the deputy if you want to."

  "Not me," Mason said, grinning. "I know the proper place for a lawyer and the proper place for a deputy sheriff. One's in the office and the other's on the ground, delivering notices. I'll be in my office when the notice is delivered."

  He opened the door of the office and turned to Dr. Cooper. "Don't think I'm argumentative, Doctor. I appreciate the position you're in, but I hope you appreciate the position I'm in. This man came into the office, and I could see that he was in a nervous condition. I didn't know whether he was insane or not. I wanted to find out."

  "Of course," Dr. Cooper said, "I can't make a complete diagnosis..."

  "I understand that," Mason told him.

  "Did he say anything else?" asked Dorcas. "Did he want to consult you about anything other than the howling dog?"

  Perry Mason smiled, a slow, patient smile.

  "Now," he said, "you are asking questions. I can tell you, however, that the man paid me a retainer, if that will be of any help?"

  "In cash?" asked Dorcas.

  "In cash."

  "That settles it," said Dr. Cooper, laughing, "a cer
tain sign of insanity - a departure from the normal."

  "I'll say it's a departure from the normal," Perry Mason remarked, and closed the door behind him.