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The lawyer, who had been sizing her up carefully, nodded imperceptibly to Paul Drake. "It's important," he said, in a harsh, aggressive voice, "that you answer all of our questions truthfully. If you start lying to us, you're going to get into trouble, do you understand that?"

"What do you mean?" she countered.

"Are you married or single?" asked Perry Mason.

"I don't know what business it is of yours."

Mason raised his voice, "Never mind that, sister. You just answer my questions and keep your comments until later. Are you married or single?"

"I'm married."

"Where did you live before you came here?"

"I'm not going to tell you."

Mason looked over at Paul Drake and said significantly, "That is the best proof of guilt we can have."

As Doris Freeman turned to stare apprehensively at Paul Drake, Perry Mason lowered his right eyelid in a significant wink. "That isn't a sign of guilt, in itself," said Paul Drake, pursing his lips thoughtfully.

Mason whirled toward the young woman. Once more, his voice became the voice of a lawyer browbeating a witness. "You lived in Centerville, didn't you? Don't deny it. You might as well admit it now as later."

"Is it," she asked, "a crime to live in Centerville?"

Mason turned back to Drake. His lips twisted in a sneer. "How much more do you want?" he asked. "If she isn't in on it she wouldn't stall like that."

Doris Freeman's hands crept to her throat. She walked unsteadily toward an overstuffed chair, sat down suddenly, as though her knees had lost their strength. "What," she said, "what…"

"Your husband's name," said Perry Mason.

"Freeman."

"What's his first name?"

"Sam."

Perry Mason's laugh was scornful. He flung his arm out in rigidly pointing accusation. An extended forefinger was leveled at her face as though it had been a loaded revolver. "Why do you tell us that," he said, "when you know his name was Gregory?"

She wilted, as though the life force had oozed from her pores. "Who… who are you?"

"If you really want to know," Perry Mason said, "the telephone company is investigating a charge that your phone has been used for blackmail."

She straightened slightly and said, "Not for blackmail. You can't call that blackmail."

"You were trying to collect money."

"Of course I was trying to collect money. I was trying to collect money that was due me."

"Who was helping you?" asked Perry Mason.

"That's none of your business."

"Don't you know that you can't use the telephone for that purpose?"

"I don't know why not."

"Haven't you ever heard that it's against the law to demand money on a postal card?"

"Yes, I've heard of that."

"And yet you have the nerve to sit there and claim that you don't know it's against the law to ring up a man and demand that he pay you money?"

"We didn't do that," she said.

"Didn't do what?"

"Didn't ring him up and demand that he give us money—not in so many words."

"Who's the 'we'?" asked Paul Drake.

Mason frowned at him, but the detective caught the significance of the signal too late to check the question.

"Just me," said Doris Freeman.

Perry Mason's voice showed exasperation. "And you didn't know that it was against the law to ask for money over the telephone?"

"I tell you we… I didn't ask for money."

"It was a man's voice," Perry Mason chanced, staring steadily at the young woman. "Our operator says it was a man's voice that did the talking." Doris Freeman was silent. "What have you to say to that?"

"Nothing… that is, it may have been a mistake. I had a cold. I talked rather gruffly."

Mason strode abruptly across the room, jerked the telephone receiver from its hook, placed it to his ear. At the same time, his right hand, resting carelessly across the top of the telephone, surreptitiously pushed down the telephone hook so there was no connection over the line. "Give me the investigations department, official sixtwo," he demanded.

He waited a few moments, then said, "This is Number Thirteen talking. We're out at this place where the threatening telephone call came through on the morning of June sixteenth. The apartment is in the name of Doris Freeman, but she's shielding some male accomplice. She claims she didn't know it was against the law to make a demand like that over the telephone."

He waited for a few more moments, then laughed sarcastically. "Well," he said, "that's what she claims. You can believe it or not. She came here from Centerville. Maybe they haven't got a city ordinance against that in Centerville. You never can tell… Well, what do you want me to do with her, bring her in?… What?" screamed Perry Mason. "You mean that call that went through was to Moxley, the man that was murdered!.. Gee, chief, that puts a different aspect on the situation. This is out of our hands. You'd better notify the district attorney. And watch the calls that come in over this line… Well, you know how I feel about it… Okay, G'by."

Mason hung up the telephone, turned to Paul Drake. His eyes were wide with wellsimulated, startled surprise. He lowered his voice, as though awed by the grim portent of that which he had discovered. "Do you know who that call was to?" he asked.

Paul Drake also lowered his own voice. "I heard what you said to the chief," he remarked. "Was that right?"

"That's right. That call went through to Gregory Moxley, the man that was murdered, and the call went through just about half an hour before his death."

"What's the chief going to do?"

"There's only one thing he can do—turn it over to the district attorney. Gosh, I thought it was just a routine investigation, and here it has run into a murder rap."

Doris Freeman spoke with hysterical rapidity.

"Look here," she said, "I didn't know anything about any law that we couldn't use the telephone to collect money. That was money that was due to me. It was money that man had stolen from me. It was money he'd swindled me out of. He was a devil. He deserved to die. I'm glad he's dead! But the telephone call didn't have anything to do with his murder. It was Rhoda Montaine that killed him! Don't you fellows ever read the papers?"

Mason stared at her with scornful appraisal. "The woman that was in the room when he was killed may have been Rhoda Montaine," Mason said, "but it wasn't a woman that struck that blow, and the district attorney's office knows it. That blow was struck by a powerful man. And you folks certainly had a motive for murder. It's a perfect case. You rang up less than half an hour before the death and told him he had to kick through…" Mason abruptly shrugged his shoulders, lapsed into silence.

Paul Drake took up the conversation. "Well," he said, "you'd better come clean and…"

"Let's just forget it, Paul," Perry Mason said. "The chief is going to turn it over to the district attorney. The D.A. won't like the idea of having us mixed in on it. It's entirely outside of our province. Let's quit talking about it."

Drake nodded. The two men started for the door. Doris Freeman jumped to her feet. "But let me explain!" she said. "It isn't what you think it is at all. We didn't…"

"Save it for the D.A.," Perry Mason told her, and pulled the door open, motioning to Paul Drake to precede him into the corridor.

"But you don't understand," she said. "It's just a question of…"

Mason literally pushed the detective into the corridor, jumped out after him and slammed the door shut. Before they had gone five steps, Doris Freeman had the door open. "But won't you let me explain?" she said. "Can't I tell you…"

"We're not mixing in that kind of a mess," the lawyer declared. "That's outside of our jurisdiction. The chief has taken it up with the D.A. It's up to him."