"What time did you get here?" Holcomb inquired.
"Shortly after midnight — perhaps twenty minutes after twelve."
"Basset was dead when you got here?"
"Apparently. I was in the outer office all the time and I heard no sound from this room. Mrs. Basset went in here to get something, and she discovered the body."
"Did you notify the police?"
"We discovered it just as the police were coming in the door. They'd been summoned in connection with the attack which had been made upon Miss Fenwick."
"Who's Miss Fenwick?"
"The young woman who was attacked."
Sergeant Holcomb stared moodily at Perry Mason.
"Is she your client?"
"No, not at present, anyway."
"Had you ever seen her before?"
"No."
"How did it happen you wasted so much time talking with these people in the outer room?"
"I came out here," Mason said, "to see Basset."
"How did it happen you wasted so much time chewing the fat, if you came out here to see Basset?" Sergeant Holcomb demanded.
"Because there was a lot of excitement in connection with the attack on the young woman, and I suggested the police be summoned."
Holcomb said, "That's the second time you've mentioned about the police and both times you've said the police were to be sent for, or words to that effect." Mason exhaled cigarette smoke and said nothing.
"You keep putting it that way," Holcomb went on, "which is a funny way of expressing it. Now then, I'm going to get to the bottom of this. Never mind telling me the police were sent for, but tell me who sent for the police."
"I did."
"Did you tell them who you were?"
"No; I told them I was young Basset."
"Why did you tell them that?"
"Because I wanted to get some action. I was afraid they'd think it was a stall if I told them who was talking, and I didn't have time to make a lot of explanations."
Sergeant Holcomb sighed wearily. "You win," he said; "you always have an answer." He waved his hand toward the door. "Okay, you can go now. And if you think you can get to your office before the boys from headquarters do, you're just an optimist, that's all."
"I'm in no particular hurry," Mason said.
"Oh, yes, you are," Sergeant Holcomb told him. "You're on your way right now. You're a busy man, Mr. Mason, and you came here just to see Mr. Basset on a matter of business. Mr. Basset is dead, so you can't see him about any business. Therefore, you've got nothing to talk to anyone about. You haven't been retained by anyone here. You didn't know Mr. Basset was murdered. You thought it was a suicide. And the young woman who was attacked isn't here any more, so there's nothing to hold you here and we're not going to interfere with your sleep. You can go on your way right now."
"I can at least wait while I telephone for a taxicab." Mason said.
Sergeant Holcomb grinned.
"Your car isn't here?"
"No."
"What happened to it?"
"I told the young woman to take it up to my office."
"What were you intending to do—about getting up to your office?"
"I was going in a taxicab."
"Well, well, well," Sergeant Holcomb said. "That's too bad. We can't have the leading trial lawyer of our city waiting around while we get taxicabs. Good Lord, no. His time's too valuable. One of you boys put him in a police car and take him up to his office. See that he gets delivered right away and without any delay and bring Mrs. Basset in here, before he goes, and we'll find out what she knows about this."
Perry Mason ground out his cigarette in an ash tray.
"For a man who gets as few real results as you do, Sergeant, you're remarkably cunning in your methods."
And the lawyer bowed his way out while Sergeant Holcomb was trying to think up an answer.
Chapter 6
Perry Mason unlocked his private office, switched on the lights, and walked through the suite until he came to the entrance room, the door of which bore the words:
PERRY MASON
Lawyer
entrance
Della Street, seated behind a desk reading at law book, looked up at him with a grin.
"I'm studying law, Chief," she said.
She wore a fur coat which buttoned tightly about her. A length of stockinged leg protruded through the opening in the fur coat.
"The police been here?" the lawyer asked.
"I'll say. They did a lot of wisecracking."
Mason's face clouded.
"Did they get rough with the girl?" he asked.
She let her eyes get wide.
"Why, I thought you ditched the girl some place. She didn't show up."
"She didn't show up here?" Mason inquired.
Della Street shook her head.
"What did you tell the cops?" he asked.
"They cracked wise," she told him, "and I cracked wise back at them. I figured you'd found out the police were coming here, so you'd ditched the girl. That gave me a chance to be sassy. I told them I'd just dropped in to study a little; that I did a lot of night studying because you wanted me to become a detective; that you said so many of the detectives were incompetent there should be lots of room for a real intelligent one."
"How soon did you get here?"
"The cab was at my place in about two minutes after I hung up the phone. I was down on the street waiting. I gave him a tip to make a fast run. We got here in nothing flat. I came in and switched on the lights in this room, and left the door unlocked. I also told the night watchman that a young woman was coming up to the office, and to see that she got here if she made any inquiries."
Perry Mason gave a low whistle.
"Paul Drake was looking for you," she said. "The watchman told him I was in when Paul started home. So he came back to the office and left a package for you." She indicated a pasteboard package on the table, tied with string and sealed in several places with red sealing wax.
The lawyer took out his knife, slit the string, and said, "Did you have any trouble with the officers?"
"No. I let them look through the whole place. They thought I was holding a woman up my sleeve."
"Hard to convince?" the lawyer asked, lifting the cover from the box.
"No," she said. "They were delightfully easy to convince. They figured it out that you'd told the detectives you'd sent the girl here. Therefore, they figured it was the last place on earth where she'd really be. Not finding her here was not only exactly what they expected, but gave them a chance to make their wise cracks."
Mason lifted the top layer of cotton from the box, took out six bloodshot glass eyes, which he spread on the desk, where they stared up unwinkingly.
"We've got Brunold's address?" he asked.
"Yes. It's in the file."
"Was there a telephone number?"
"I think so. I'll see."
She opened a file of card indexes and pulled out a card.
"Telephone?" he asked.
"Yes. It's here."
"Get him."
She looked at her wristwatch, but Mason said impatiently, "Never mind the time. Go ahead and get him."
She plugged in a line, dialed a number, waited for almost a minute, then said, "Hello, is this Mr. Brunold?"
She glanced across the desk at the lawyer, and nodded.
"Tell him to come up here," Mason said. "No, wait a minute; I'd better tell him myself."
He took the telephone from her and said, "This is Perry Mason talking. I want you to come up to my office right away."
Brunold's voice was sulky.
"Listen," he said. "You haven't any business that's important enough to make me…"
"You paid me fifteen hundred dollars," the lawyer said, "because you had confidence in my ability to get you out of a mess. That was before you got in the mess. You're in it now. My best judgment is that you should come up here. If you don't follow my advice, you've made a poor guess and thrown away fifteen hundred dollars backing it. I'll be in my office for ten minutes. If you don't stop to shave, you can make it."