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“At nine in the morning,” Mason said firmly.

Holcomb regarded him with smoldering hostility. “I could take you in as a material witness.”

“To what?” Mason asked. “I’ve told you all I know about the murder. As far as the private affairs of my client are concerned, he’s going to speak for himself. Now, if you want to start getting tough, we’ll both get tough and I’ll withdraw my offer to have my client at the DA.’s office at nine in the morning.”

Holcomb said angrily, “All right, have it your way. But remember this. We’re not considering this as co-operation. You have your client there at nine o’clock, and he won’t be entitled to one damned bit of consideration.”

“He’ll be there,” Mason said, “and we’re not asking for consideration. We’re asking for our rights. And I think I know what they are... Come on, Paul.”

Mason turned and walked out.

Chapter Three

It was shortly after eight-thirty that evening when Mason and Drake left the elevator and walked down the echoing corridor of the office building.

The lawyer left Drake at the lighted door in the office of the Drake Detective Agency and kept on down the corridor. He turned at a right angle, walked to the door marked PERRY MASON, ATTORNEY AT LAW, PRIVATE, fitted his latchkey and opened the door.

Della Street was seated at her secretarial desk reading a newspaper.

She dropped the paper to the floor, ran toward Mason almost by the time he had the door open.

“Chief,” she said, “what is it? Is it... a murder?”

Mason nodded.

“Who found the body?”

“We did.”

“That’s bad!”

“I know,” Mason said, putting his arm around her shoulder and patting her reassuringly. “We always seem to be finding bodies.”

“Who was it?”

“No one seems to know. Rather an attractive young woman sprawled out on a bed. What about our client?”

“He’s taken care of.”

“Where?”

“Do you remember the Gladedell Motel?”

Mason nodded.

“The man who runs it is friendly, and it’s close in.”

“Did you call on the manager personally?”

She shook her head. “We drove down together. I had Mr. Conway let me out a block and a half from the motel. Then he went in and registered by himself, came back, picked me up, reported and took me to where I could get a taxicab. He’s in Unit 21. I came back by cab. I didn’t want to use my own car. I was afraid someone might notice the license number if I left it parked near the motel.”

“How much did you find out on the trip down?” Mason asked.

“Quite a bit.”

“Such as?”

“Jerry Conway’s a very eligible bachelor. He seems to be really a grand person. He takes an interest in the people who work with him and seems to be on the up and up.

“Giff Farrell worked for Conway for a year or two, then Conway helped him get promoted to assistant manager. It took Conway a year to find it out, but Farrell was systematically trying to undermine Conway. He started rumors. He got confidential information from the files and used it in such a way that it would make things more difficult for Conway. In fact, he did everything he could to get Conway in bad. Finally Conway found out about it and fired him. Farrell took the matter to the directors and he had been preparing his case for months. He’d made careful note of all sorts of things that had happened, and I guess there was quite a scene at the directors’ meeting.”

Mason nodded.

“Farrell almost made it stick. He might have done so, if it hadn’t been for the loyalty of one of the secretaries. Conway was able to show that Farrell had been passing confidential information on to a competitive company, simply in order to discredit the program Conway was carrying out. When that became apparent, the directors threw Farrell out. Farrell waited for an opportunity and then started this campaign trying to get proxies.

“Now then,” she went on, “I worked on him all the way down to see if he could place the voice of the person who phoned him. He seems to think the voice was disguised as to tone, and it was the tempo that was hauntingly familiar. He just can’t place it.

“I told him to keep working on it and phone Drake’s office if he came up with any answers.

“His secretary, Eva Kane, used to be a phone operator and is accustomed to listening to voices on the phone. She feels positive the voice was that of someone they both know.”

Mason said, “Well, I’ve got to go talk with Conway. You’d better go home, Della.”

She smiled and shook her head. “I’ll stay arid hold the fort for a while. Phone if you want anything. I’ll make some coffee in the electric percolator.”

Mason drove his car past the lighted office of the Gladedell Motel, stopped in front of. Unit 21, parking his car beside Conway’s car, and switched out the lights.

Jerry Conway opened the door of Unit 21, but didn’t come out in the light. He stood back on the inside and said, “Come on in, Mason.”

Mason entered and closed the door behind him.

Conway indicated a chair for Mason, seated himself on the edge of the bed.

“How bad is it?” he asked.

Mason said, “Keep your voice down. These units are close together, and the walls may be thin. It’s bad!”

“How bad?”

“Murder!”

“Murder!” Conway exclaimed.

“Watch it!” Mason warned. “Keep your voice down.”

“Good heavens!”

“You should have known,” Mason told him. “I wouldn’t have spirited you down here unless it had been serious.”

“I knew it was bad... but I hadn’t— Who was killed? Farrell?”

“No, some woman.”

“A woman?”

“That’s right, a young woman. Now, tell me if you’ve seen her, and I want you to think it over carefully. This is a woman about twenty-six or twenty-seven, blond, with blue eyes and a good figure, but perhaps a little overdeveloped. The waist seemed slim, but she had curves above and below. She was wearing a light-blue sweater that probably matched her eyes.”

Conway thought for a moment, then shook his head. “She means nothing to me — unless she was the girl I saw. She had black-lace underthings. I think her eyes were sort of light, but that black mud pack on her face would make her eyes seem light. I can remember how the whites of the eyes glistened.”

“How about young women you know?” Mason asked. “Any of them fit that description?”

“Listen,” Conway said impatiently, “we have fifteen or twenty girls working for us. I can’t seem to place one of that description offhand. You say she’s good-looking?”

“Very!”

Conway thought again, shook his head.

“Try tying it up with the voice?” Mason asked.

“I’ve been trying to.”

“Let’s take a look at that gun.”

Conway handed Mason the revolver. Mason broke it open, looked at it, took down the numbers in his notebook.

“You’re going to try to trace it?” Conway asked.

“That’s right,” Mason said. “C48809. I’ll try to trace it. What about this secretary of yours? Where does she live?”

“Eva Kane. Cloudcroft Apartments.”

Mason said, “You’re going to have to go before the D.A. tomorrow morning at nine o’clock and tell your story.”

“Do I have to?”

Mason nodded.

“What do I tell him?”

“I’ll be with you,” Mason said. “I’ll pick you up at eight o’clock. We’ll talk on the way in.”

“Here?”

“Here,” Mason said.

“How about going back to my apartment?”

Mason shook his head.

“Why not?” Conway asked. “They won’t be able to get a line on me this early. I want to get some things: tooth brush, pajamas, razor, and a clean shirt.”