The Case of the Grinning Gorilla

“Heaven knows what that gorilla will do,” she said. “You can’t tell what’s going to happen. Gorillas are unpredictable anyway, and these animals have been subjected to psychiatric experiments. They’re nervously unstable.”

“What in the world are you doing here?”

“I’ll tell you later on.”

She had crossed the room now and stood listening at a door. She opened this door, put her head out, glanced quickly from side to side, said in a whisper, “I think the coast is clear. We’re going to have to cross this corridor and go down the stairs to the front reception room — I think you’d better take off your shoes.”

Mason slipped his shoes off and was aware that Mrs. Kempton also had removed her shoes while she was talking.

“We’ll run,” she said, “but we don’t want them to know we’re running. If they hear the sound of running feet, if there’s any sign of panic — it’s going to be too bad.”

She stepped out into the corridor. Mason was at her side. Together they reached the winding staircase which led down to the reception hallway where Mason had been given his first glimpse of the interior of the house.

Abruptly Mason realized that for some time now he had been conscious of a background of noise, which now resolved itself into the steady wailing of sirens, an almost hysterical barking of police dogs. Suddenly the barking rose to a crescendo, and then abruptly ceased in a chorus of yelps, the sound being similar to that made by a dog that has been hit a glancing blow by an automobile.

“What’s that?” Mason asked.

“I tell you I don’t know,” she said. “We’ve got to get out of here! We’ve got to get out of here!”

She led the way down the stairs, across the reception corridor. Mason moved toward the front door.

“No, no, not that way,” she said.

She crossed through another room, through a dining room, a serving pantry, a kitchen, said, “we’ve got to take a chance on this. This is a doorway that leads to the zoo. Heaven knows whether any of those animals are back.”

She opened the door.

Mason stepped past her into the corridor, saw that the doors on the vacant cages were still swung open. Apparently no animals were loose in the corridor.

“Come on,” Mason said, and led the way at a run.

“Watch out for that gorilla,” she warned.

They paused to put on their shoes. Mason veered over so that he was brushing against the wall.

Once more, as he passed the cage, the gorilla flung himself in a savage leap that was arrested by the bars of the cage.

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?”