"I'm sorry it's impossible for me to postpone the appointment in your favor," Mason said, smiling affably. "I think I'll wait for him in his private office."
Mason pushed open the heavy door as Sylvia Oxman tossed her magazine on the table and started for the passageway.
Sam Grieb's body, seated in the swivel chair, lay slumped over the huge desk. One shoulder was propped against the side of the desk. The head lolled at a grotesque angle, showing a red bullet hole in the left temple. A shaded lamp, which flooded illumination over the discolored face, was reflected from the glassy surfaces of open, staring eyes. The diamonds on his right hand sent out scintillating brilliance. His left hand was out of sight, under the desk.
Mason whirled back toward the outer office. Sylvia Oxman was just stepping into the corridor. "Sylvia!" he said sharply.
She paused at the sound of his voice, stood uncertainly in the doorway, then turned, dark eyes luminous with some emotion.
"Come here," Mason ordered.
"Just who are you?" she asked. "What do you want? What do you mean by speaking to me in…"
Mason reached her side in three swift steps, clamped strong fingers about her left arm just above the elbow. "Take a look," he ordered.
She hung back for a moment, then tried to shake herself free. Mason circled her swiftly with his arm and swung her through the door of the private office. She turned toward him indignantly, said, "How dare you…" and then broke off as she caught sight of the huddled figure at the desk. She opened her mouth to scream. Mason clamped his hand over her lips. "Steady now," he warned.
He waited until she struggled for breath, then released his hand and asked, "How long had you been waiting in the reception office before I came?"
"Just a minute or two," she said in a low, barely audible voice. She caught her breath. Her eyes, wild and staring, turned away from the desk, then, as though drawn by some overpowering fascination, drifted back.
"Can you prove it?"
"What do you mean?"
"Did anyone see you come in?"
"I don't know. I don't think so. I can't tell… Who… who are you? I've seen you here before. You know my name."
Mason nodded and said, "My name's Mason. I'm a lawyer. Now listen, cut out this acting. Either you did this, or…"
He broke off as his eyes stared down at several oblongs of paper on the blotter. He reached forward and gingerly picked them up.
Sylvia Oxman gasped, "My IOU's! I came to pay up on them."
"Seventy-five hundred," Mason said. "Is that right?"
"Yes."
"You wanted to give Grieb the money for these?"
"Yes."
"That's why you came here tonight?"
"Yes."
"All right," Mason told her grimly, "let's see the money."
"What money?"
"Quit stalling. The seventy-five hundred bucks you were going to give Grieb in return for the IOU's."
"Why should I show it to you?"
Mason made a grab for her handbag. She avoided him, jumped back and stood staring at him with wide, frightened eyes. Mason said, "You haven't got seventy-five hundred dollars."
She said nothing, her rapid breathing slightly distending her nostrils.
"Did you kill him?" Mason asked.
"No… of course not… I didn't know he was in here."
"Do you know who did?" She slowly shook her head.
Mason said, "Listen. I'm going to give you a break. Get out through that door, try to avoid being seen when you leave the passageway. Start gambling at one of the roulette tables. Wait for me. I'll talk with you out there, and you'll tell me the truth. Remember that, Sylvia, no lies."
She hesitated a moment, then said, "Why should you do this for me?"
Mason laughed grimly. "I'll bite, why should I? Just a foolish loyalty I have for my clients. I protect them, even when they lie to me-which most of them do-or try to double-cross me-which has been done."
Her dark, luminous eyes studied the rugged determination of his face. She was suddenly cool and self-possessed. "Thanks," she said, "but I'm not your client, you know."
"Well," he told her, "you're the next thing to it. And I'm damned if I can figure you as being guilty of murder. But you've got to do a lot of explaining before you can convince anyone else. Go ahead, now, get out."
"My IOU's," she said. "If my husband ever…"
"Forget it," Mason interrupted. "Have confidence in me for a change. I'm having plenty in you."
She studied him for a moment thoughtfully, then stepped to the door, her eyes avoiding the desk. "Those IOU's," she said, "are…"
"Beat it," he interrupted, "and don't close the door. Leave it ajar, just as it was."
She slipped through the door, and a moment later the electric signal announced she had rounded the turn in the corridor.
Mason pulled a wallet from his pocket, counted out seventy-five hundred dollars in bills, opened a drawer of the desk with the toe of his shoe, and dropped the bills into the drawer. He kicked the drawer shut, held the IOU's clamped between thumb and forefinger, struck a match, and held the flame to the paper. By the time the flame had burnt down to his hand, the IOU's had withered into dark, charred oblongs, traced with a glowing perimeter which gradually ate its way into the darker centers.
Abruptly, the electric buzzer burst into noise, announcing that someone was coming down the corridor toward the office. A split-second later it zipped into noise once more-two people were approaching.
The lawyer crumpled the bits of burned ash in his hand, thrust the corners which had been unconsumed into his mouth, and stepped swiftly into the reception office, pulling shut the door to the inner office by catching the knob with his elbow. He wiped his darkened hands on the sides of his trousers, threw himself into a chair, opened a magazine, and was unwrapping a stick of chewing gum when the door of the reception office opened, to disclose Duncan, accompanied by a tall man with watery blue eyes, dressed in a tweed suit. Both men wore overcoats, and fog particles glistened from the surfaces of the coats.
Duncan jerked to a dead stop, stared at Mason and said, "What the hell are you doing here?"
Mason casually fed the stick of chewing gum into his mouth, rolled the wrapper into a ball, dropped it into an ash tray, munched the chewing gum into a wad and said, "I was waiting for Sam Grieb because I wanted to talk to him. Now that you're here, I can talk to both of you."
"Where's Sam?"
"I don't know. I knocked on the door, but got no answer, so I decided I'd wait-not having anything else to do… It's a wonder you wouldn't get some up-to-date magazines here. You'd think this was a dentist's office."
Duncan said irritably, "Sam's here. He's got to be here. Whenever the tables are in operation one or the other of us has to be in this office."
Mason shrugged his shoulders, let his eyebrows show mild surprise. "Indeed," he said. "Any way in except through this room?"
"No."
"Well," Mason said, "suppose I talk with you while we're waiting. I understand you've filed your case."
"Of course I've filed it," Duncan said irritably. "You aren't the only attorney in the country. If you're too damned dumb to take good business when it's offered you, there are others who aren't so finicky."
Mason said politely, "How about a stick of gum?"
"No. I don't chew it."
"Of course," Mason said, "now that you've dragged your difficulties into court, you've submitted yourself to the jurisdiction of a court of equity. That throws your assets into court."
"Well, what if it does?"
"Those IOU's," Mason pointed out, "are part of your assets. They were given for a gambling debt. A court of equity wouldn't permit itself to be used as a collection agency for a gambling debt."