Perry Mason dropped the receiver back on the hook without waiting for Brunold to make any further comments.
Della Street looked at him, speculatively, and said, "Is he in a mess?"
"I'll say he is. Hartley Basset was murdered tonight. He was holding a bloodshot glass eye clutched in his hand when they found the body."
"But, does Brunold know Basset?"
"That's what I want to find out."
"He should be in the clear," she said slowly. "He complained of the loss of the eye this morning."
Mason stared at the six bloodshot eyes which glowered so redly up at him, and nodded his head slowly.
"It's a point," he said, "to take into consideration. But don't overlook this fact: Harry McLane worked for Basset. Brunold was acquainted with Harry McLane. Where did Brunold and Harry McLane get acquainted? Did the McLanes come here by accident, or did Brunold send them?"
"Whom are we representing?" she inquired.
"Brunold, for one," he said, "Miss McLane, for another, perhaps Mrs. Basset."
"How was the murder committed?" she asked.
"So it might have looked like a suicide, but it was pretty clumsy. Then Mrs. Basset complicated things by planting a gun. A quilt and a blanket had been used to muffle the sound of the shot. One gun was under them. Mrs. Basset—planted a second gun. She, said it was because she didn't see the first gun, and she wanted the thing to look like a suicide."
"Well?" Della Street asked.
"Well," Mason said, "that may have been it, or it may have been that she knew the concealed gun hadn't been the one that did the shooting, and she realized the police would check it up by comparing bullets."
"Did she leave fingerprints on the second gun?" Della Street asked.
"Yes," Mason said, "hers and mine."
"Yours!"
"Yes."
"How did yours get on it?"
"I took the gun away from Dick Basset, her son."
"And then gave it to her?"
"Yes."
"Gee, Chief, do you suppose that was a play to get your fingerprints on the gun?"
"I can't tell, yet."
She pursed her lips and whistled silently. After a moment she said, "Can you tell me all about it?"
"I got a call about midnight to rush out to Basset's place. Mrs. Basset told me her son, Dick, was threatening to kill her husband. I stalled around for a while, but she made it sound urgent, so I went.
"When I got there, this Fenwick woman was lying on the couch, apparently unconscious. Mrs. Basset said Hartley Basset had hit her. Dick Basset had a gun. I took the gun. They said the woman was Dick's wife, but the marriage mustn't be mentioned. A redheaded woman about fifty, probably a servant, was putting wet towels on the girl's head. Dick Basset was talking big.
"I figured Mrs. Basset wanted a divorce; that her husband would deny hitting the girl, in a divorce court, but he might have a hard time withstanding the rough treatment of two detectives who wanted the facts, so I put in a call for the cops.
"Then the girl came to, and said Basset hadn't hit her but that a masked man, with an empty eyesocket, had slugged her. She'd pulled off the mask and seen the man's face, but because the room was half dark, and light was coming through the doorway, he hadn't seen hers. She said he was a stranger to her. He socked her. The mask was a piece of black carbon paper with two holes in it for eyes. It had evidently been held in place by putting a hat brim down over it. The Fenwick girl ripped the mask off. The pieces that had been torn out were in Basset's private office on the desk.
"Mrs. Basset claims she saw a man running out of the door and driving away in the Basset car. She claims it was her husband, Hartley Basset.
"Naturally, after the Fenwick girl tells her story, I explore the other room. We find Hartley Basset lying dead, like I've told you. I find a chap by the name of Colemar, a weakkneed, mouselike chap, who does Basset's bookkeeping, typing and secretarial work, had been in the place and Mrs. Basset had kicked him out. I thought he might be sore, so I went up to talk with him."
"Did you see him?"
"Yes."
"Was he sore?"
"Plenty. Not so much because she kicked him out as because Basset and his wife didn't get along. He worked for Basset. Therefore, he sided with the boss. All he knew was Basset's side of it, and that's all he wanted to know.
"But when I got in his room I found this piece of paper on his dresser. It's the paper I gave Bertha McLane, with my telephone number on it."
Mason took the paper from his pocket, slowly unfolded it, and dropped it on his desk.
"He said he'd found it in the corridor in front of Mrs. Basset's bedroom."
"Then, Harry McLane must have been out there," Della Street said excitedly.
"Either Harry or Bertha," he said. "Don't forget that it was Bertha to whom I gave it. She may have given it to her brother, or someone may have given it to Mrs. Basset, or Colemar may have been lying, or everyone may have been lying. It's one of those cases."
"The blanket and quilt story sounds phoney," the girl told him.
"Hell," Mason said, impatiently, "it all sounds phoney. I picked this Fenwick girl for a key witness. I knew the cops would sew her up so I'd never see her, once they got their hands on her, so I decided to beat them to it. I figured you'd get a complete interview before the cops had a chance to coach her."
"That eye business," she said, "makes it seem like Brunold."
"It does if the girl is telling the truth," Mason said. "But if she was on the square, why didn't she come here? And the mask business sounds fishy as hell."
"Why?" she asked. "Wouldn't the murderer mask himself?"
"How could a murderer," Mason countered, "enter Basset's office, wearing a mask and holding a gun under a quilt and a blanket? How could he approach Basset, stick the quilt and blanket against Basset's head to muffle the explosion, and pull the trigger, all without Basset putting up a fight?"
"He might have tiptoed," Della Street said.
Mason shook his head moodily.
"Then he wouldn't have needed the mask. Mind you, the gun must have been concealed under the quilt and blanket. From the position of the body, it's almost certain that Basset was taken by surprise and never knew what happened, but was facing the man who fired the shot."
Della Street said slowly, "But there were lots of people in that house who could have entered Basset's office and approached him, carrying a quilt and a blanket, without exciting Basset's suspicion."
"Now," Mason said, "you're getting somewhere. Let's start naming those people."
"Mrs. Basset, for one," she said.
"Right," he told her.
"Dick Basset, for another."
"Check."
"And," she said, "perhaps the girl who was lying on the couch."
Mason nodded his head. "Anyone else?"
"Not that I know of."
"Yes," the lawyer said, "there were the servants. Remember that a servant was bending over the girl on the couch. A servant could very logically carry a quilt and blanket on her arm. She might be making up a bed, stopping, perhaps, to ask Basset a question…" Mason paused for a moment's meditation, then said suddenly, "But you're overlooking the significant point in what you've been telling me."
"What is it?"
"Those persons only," he said, "could have entered Basset's office carrying the quilt and the blanket without bringing Basset to his feet, because Basset was familiar with their faces. But the person who ran from that room had his face covered with a mask. That brings us to a consideration of the mask. It had been prepared in a hurry. The carbon paper was probably right on Basset's desk. The man picked it up…"