The Case Of The Dangerous Dowager

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PERRY MASON studied the white-haired woman with that interest which new clients always aroused. She returned the lawyer's gaze with bright gray eyes in which a hard glitter gradually softened to a twinkle.

"No," she said, "I haven't killed anyone - not yet, I haven't. But don't think I'm a peaceful old lady who sits by the fire and knits, because I'm not. I'm a hard-bitten old hellion."

The lawyer laughed. "Perhaps," he said, "this gambling girl you wanted to see me about may be overshadowed by a..."

"Dowager," she said, as he hesitated. "Go on and say it - a dangerous dowager. I saw you in court when you were trying that howling dog case, Mr. Mason. I liked you because you fought every inch of the way. I'm something of a fighter myself."

Della Street, catching Mason's eye, said to the woman, "I'd like to have your name, age, and address for our office records."

"The name's Matilda Benson," the dowager said. "The address is 1090 Wedgewood Drive. The age is none of your business."

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