“Just what do you want, Mr. Mason?” Ralph Endicott asked.
“I’m a lawyer,” Mason said. “I’m representing interests adverse to you. You have a lawyer, Paddington C. Niles. I tried to call him. His secretary said he was on his way here. I don’t want to talk with you until he arrives.”
“What do you want to talk about?” Ralph Endicott asked.
“Rose Keeling is dead. I want to ask you about circumstances which may have led to her death or...”
“Rose Keeling dead!” Mrs. Parsons interrupted with cold disbelief. “She can’t be dead. That would greatly embarrass us. Are you certain of your facts, Mr. Mason?”
She regarded him as though she expected him to wither and crawl under the table under the impact of her disapproving stare.
Mason said, “She’s quite thoroughly dead. Someone stabbed her as she stepped out of the bathtub. I’m investigating that murder, and time is precious. I’d like to know whether any of you have been in touch with her recently. All I want to know is whether you saw her today, whether she phoned you and, if so, when.”
Ralph Endicott said slowly, “This, of course, was the thing we had to fear.”
Mrs. Parsons said, “A creature who had stooped to taking advantage of a man’s incompetencies and depriving his relatives of what is justly theirs, would stop at nothing.”
“Meaning?” Mason asked.
“I am making no specific accusations.”
“That sounded like an accusation.”
“You are free to interpret my remarks any way you wish.”
“May I ask whom you’re representing?” Palmer Endicott inquired.
Mason shook his head. “My client is not willing to have an announcement made at the present time.”
“I take it you’re not representing the authorities. There’s nothing official about your investigation.”
“Not in the least,” Mason said. “I want you to have your lawyer, and I want to know if any of you had been in touch with Miss Keeling earlier in the day. That’s all I want to know.”
“Why?”
“Because a murder has been committed. I’m trying to get the time element straightened out. I want to know when she was killed. And I’m anxious to find out the latest hour at which she was alive. I think she may have called one of you today. I don’t give a hang about the nature of the conversation. I only want to know the time of the conversation. Your lawyer’s supposed to be here. I want him present. Where is he?”
“He’s coming,” Ralph Endicott said. “When we heard your ring we felt certain it was Mr. Niles. He’s due here for a conference. That’s why we’re sitting in the library.”
Mason said, “I want to see him. I...” He broke off as the electric bell boomed a summons through the house.
“That will be Niles now,” Mrs. Parsons said with calm conviction.
Ralph Endicott pushed back his chair, said, “Excuse me,” went to the door and returned in a few moments with a florid-faced man in the fifties who beamed optimism and geniality.
“Mr. Niles,” Ralph Endicott said as though presenting two fighters in the ring. “Mr. Mason.”
“How are you, Mr. Niles,” Mason said, shaking hands. “I’m glad to meet you.”
“I’ve heard of you,” Niles said. “Seen you in court several times, but never have had the pleasure of meeting you. How do you do? And may I ask what you’re doing here?"
Mason said, “I am trying to get some information about a matter which is outside the issues of the will contest. I told these people I wanted their lawyer present. I understood you were here.”
“What is the nature of the information you want?” Niles asked, instantly suspicious.
Mason said, “I’m investigating the death of Rose Keeling.”
“The death of Rose Keeling!” Niles echoed in astonishment.
“That’s right.”
“But she’s not dead. She...”
“She is dead,” Mason said. “She was murdered some time around noon today.”
“Good heavens!” Niles said. “This complicates the situation.”
Mason said, “I’m trying to account for her time during the early part of the day. I had reason to believe she might have been in conversation with one of the Endicotts.”
“What caused you to believe that?”
“My detectives tell me there is evidence that Rose Keeling gave one of your clients a check today. I want to know when and what for.”
Niles pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Did you come here to see me?”
“I wanted to ask some questions of your clients. I rang your office. Your secretary said you were here. Naturally I wanted your permission, although I could have secured the information through more orthodox and more disagreeable channels.”
“How?”
“I could have told my friend, Lieutenant Tragg on Homicide, that I thought it would be a good plan to check on the Endicotts. That would have dragged their names into the newspapers and ultimately had a far more disastrous effect on the will contest than an informal chat of this sort.”
“Well, let’s sit down and get this thing straightened out,” Niles said.
Ralph Endicott said, “As far as I’m concerned, I can shout what I have to say from the housetops. I think it would be a good plan to let the newspapers know exactly what happened.”
“Not the newspapers!” Lorraine Parsons said coldly. “The newspapers are vulgar. They are sensational. They cater to the lowest section of humanity and present news with the vulgar sensationalism which appeals to readers of that type.”
Niles said, “I think we’ll excuse you for a few minutes, Mr. Mason. I want to talk with my clients about this. And then if we have any statement to make, we’ll make it formally.”
“Time is short,” Mason reminded him.
“Why are you in such a hurry to get that information?”
“I have reasons.”
“What are they?”
Mason smiled, and shook his head.
“You want us to put our cards on the table while you hold all the aces up your sleeve,” Niles said.
Mason said, with some anger, “Have it your own way. I’ll put in a call for Lieutenant Tragg and then I’ll read the answers in tomorrow morning’s paper.”
“I think, Mr. Mason,” Mrs. Parsons said acidly, “that Mr. Niles’ request is quite in order. You may wait in the...”
“Reception hallway,” Palmer Endicott cut in firmly.
Mason grinned and said, “I’ll wait in my car. I’ll wait five minutes. You can make up your minds within that time to talk with me or with the police, whichever you see fit.”
“I don’t see what the police have to do with...”
“Please!” Niles protested to his clients, then turned to Mason. “Go out and wait in your car, Mason.”
Mason bowed. “Five minutes,” he said, and left the room.
Five minutes to the second after the lawyer had settled himself in his car, he started the motor, inched his way past Paddington Niles’ car, got to the garage, turned around and started back out the driveway.
He had gone perhaps fifteen feet when the side door was flung open and Ralph Endicott, running out, waved frantically at him.
Mason braked his car to a stop.
“Come in, Mr. Mason! Come right in,” Endicott called, his voice tremulous with excitement. “We’re waiting for you. We want to talk with you.”
Mason stopped his car, leaving it so that it blocked the driveway. He got out and said, “I thought you’d decided to let me go to the police.”
“No, no, no. Not yet. Come right in. We perhaps ran a few seconds over the time, but only a few seconds — just a few seconds, Mr. Mason.”