"Why?"
"So as to keep you from going with some other woman."
"But there isn't any other woman."
"Did she know that?"
"Yes… That is, no… You understand, there isn't anything between us… She's nothing to me."
"I see," the lawyer said dryly. "When did you first meet Mrs. Basset?"
"About a year ago, I guess."
"And you last saw her about two weeks ago?"
"Yes."
"And you haven't seen her since?"
"No."
"When did you first find out your eye had been stolen?"
"Late last night."
"You don't think you left it some place?"
"Certainly not. A counterfeit was substituted. That means someone must have stolen the eye deliberately."
"Why did they steal it?"
"I don't know."
"Why do you think they stole it?"
"I can't tell you that."
"You met Harry McLane out at the Basset residence?"
"I saw him there, yes."
"Know anything about his being short in his accounts?"
Brunold hesitated perceptibly, then said, "Yes. I heard he was."
"Do you know what the exact amount was?"
"Something around four thousand dollars."
"Did you know a young woman by the name of Hazel Fenwick?"
"Fenwick?"
"Yes."
"No."
"Know a man by the name of Arthur Colemar?"
"Yes."
"Ever talk with him?"
"No, but I've seen him."
"Know Basset's chauffeur?"
"I'll say I do. His name's Overton. He's tall and darkcomplected. He looks as though he never smiled. What about him?"
"I just wanted to know if you knew him."
"Yes, I know him."
"Know a fat, redheaded woman about fifty, or fiftytwo?"
"Yes; that's Edith Brite."
"What does she do?"
"She's sort of a general housekeeper. She's strong as an ox."
"But you've never seen Basset?"
"Not to speak to, no."
"Do these other people know you?"
"What other people?"
"The people you've been describing."
"No… That is, the chauffeur may have seen me."
"How does it happen you've seen those people and know them, but they haven't seen you and don't know you?"
"Sylvia has pointed them out to me."
Mason whirled on him suddenly and jabbed at the front of Brunold's vest with the glowing end of his cigarette.
"Dick Basset," he said, "saw you yesterday."
"Where?"
"At the house."
"He must have been mistaken," Brunold said.
"Then it was Colemar who saw you."
"He couldn't have seen me."
"Why?"
"Because I wasn't in his side of the house."
"What do you mean by that?"
"It's sort of a duplex house. Basset has fixed up one side for his office, the other side for his home. Then, when relations became strained with his wife, Basset started living entirely in his side of the house."
"So you were in Mrs. Basset's side of the house yesterday?"
"Not yesterday, it was the day before."
"Thought you hadn't seen Mrs. Basset for two weeks," Mason said.
Brunold said nothing.
"And Dick Basset had an argument with Hartley Basset about you tonight," the lawyer went on.
"Tonight, when?"
"After you left."
"You're mistaken about that," Brunold said positively; "that was an absolute impossibility."
"Why?"
"Because, before I left…"
Mason grinned at him.
Brunold moved belligerently toward the lawyer.
"Damn you!" he said. "Just what are you trying to do?"
"Trying to get the facts," Mason told him.
"Well, you can't browbeat me and trap me as though I was a common crook. You can't…"
"I'm not trying to browbeat you," Mason said, "and, as far as being trapped is concerned, you're already trapped. You started to say that before you left there tonight Basset was already dead, didn't you?"
"I didn't say I was there at all this evening."
"No," Mason said, smiling, "you didn't say it, but that's a reasonable inference from what you did say."
"You misunderstood what I did say," Brunold told him.
Perry Mason turned to Della Street.
"Have you got it all down—the questions and answers, Della?" he asked.
She looked up and nodded.
Brunold rushed toward Della Street.
"For God's sake! Has everything I've said been taken down? You can't do that. I'll…"
Perry Mason's hands clapped down on the man's shoulder.
"You'll do what?" he asked ominously.
Brunold turned to regard him.
"You try any rough stuff with that young lady," Mason said grimly; "and you'll go out of here so fast and so hard you'll skid all the way down the corridor. Now, sit down and cut out all this beating around the bush and tell me the truth."
"Why should I tell you anything?"
"Because before you get done, you're going to want someone to help you. You've got a chance to tell me the truth now. You may not have later on. You may be inside, looking out."
"They've got nothing on me."
"You think they haven't."
"No one except you knows I was out there tonight."
"Mrs. Basset knows it."
"Of course, but she isn't a fool."
"Colemar," Mason said, "saw someone running away from the house. He knows who it was. He won't tell me. Was it you?"
Brunold's jaw sagged. "Recognized him?" he said.
"That's what Colemar claims."
"But he couldn't. He was too far away, and I…"
"Then it was you Colemar saw."
"Yes, but I didn't think Colemar could see me. He was across the street. I'd swear I saw him first. I kept my head turned away so he couldn't recognize me."
"What were you running for?"
"I was in a hurry."
"Why?"
"Because I knew Sylvia—Mrs. Basset—had telephoned for you. I didn't want to be anywhere around when you came."
"Look here," Mason said; "could you stand up to a rigid questioning and crossquestioning by the police?"
"Of course, I could."
"You didn't stand up under my questioning very well."
"The police aren't going to question me."
"Why?"
"Because they don't have any idea I'm connected with the Bassets in any way."
"Someone coming," Della Street said.
Shadows hulked on the frosted glass of the door. The knob twisted, the door pushed open. Sergeant Holcomb and two of his men stood on the threshold. They looked over the occupants of the office with wary, watchful eyes. Sergeant Holcomb stepped forward.
"Peter Brunold?" he asked.
Brunold nodded and said belligerently, "What's it to you?"
Sergeant Holcomb grabbed Brunold's shoulder, at the same time flipping back the lapel of his coat, showing his gold badge.
"Nothing," he said, "except that I'm arresting you for the murder of Hartley Basset, and I'm warning you that anything you say may be used against you."
He turned to Perry Mason with a supercilious smile.
"So sorry to interrupt your conference, Mason," he said, "but people have rather a nasty way of disappearing after they've talked with you, and I wanted to get Mr. Brunold before he decided a change of climate would be good for his health."
Perry Mason ground his cigarette end in the ash tray.
"Don't mention it," he said. "Come back again sometime, Sergeant."
Sergeant Holcomb said ominously, "If the district attorney feels the same way I do about what happened to that witness, I will come back. And when I leave here, I won't leave alone."
Perry Mason's manner was urbane.
"Glad to see you any time, Sergeant."
Brunold turned toward Perry Mason, and said, "Look here, Counselor, you've got to…"
Holcomb nodded to the two men. They jerked Brunold to the door.
"Oh, no, you don't," Holcomb said. "You've had your little chat."
"You can't keep me from talking with a lawyer!" Brunold bellowed.
"Oh, no," Sergeant Holcomb said; "after you've been booked and placed in jail, you've got a right to call for a lawyer—but a lot's going to happen between now and then."
The men pushed Brunold through the door. He hung back and tried to struggle. Handcuffs flashed. Metal clicked. Brunold was jerked forward. "You asked for it," one of the men said.
The door hanged shut.
Sergeant Holcomb, left behind, glowered at Perry Mason.
Mason yawned, and covered the yawn with four polite fingers.
"Pardon me, Sergeant," he said, "if I seem to yawn. I've had rather a strenuous day."
Holcomb turned, jerked open the door, paused in the doorway, and said, "For one whose methods are so damned cunning, you get rotten results."
He slammed the door.
Mason grinned at Della Street cheerfully.
"How about looking in on one of the late night clubs before you go home?"
She glanced down at herself and said, "If I took this fur coat off I'd be arrested. Remember, you told me to dress in a hurry. This coat covers a multitude of sins."
"Then you're going home," Mason said firmly. "At least one of us should keep out of jail."
Her eyes were worried.
"Chief, you don't mean he's going to get you?"
He shrugged his shoulders, bowed, and held the door open for her.
"One never knows," he said, "just what Sergeant Holcomb will do. He's so blunderingly ubiquitous."