"I don't say anything about Mr. Drake?"

"Not unless they ask you specifically. If they ask you if you've talked with anyone, tell them you talked with me. If they ask you if anyone was with me, you can tell them Paul Drake was, but just don't volunteer any information. On the other hand, appear to be very cooperative."

Fulton nodded.

"Now then," Mason said, "why did Dutton bring his car to a stop and back up? Any idea?"

"No, I haven't," Fulton said, "but I checked on my speedometer."

Mason's face brightened. "You did?"

"That's right. He was on Crenmore when he stopped, exactly one and three-tenths miles from the entrance to Barclay Country Club."

Mason turned to Paul Drake. "Paul," he said, "get this man a bonus of the best dinner in the city for himself and his wife- You married, Fulton?"

"Not yet," Fulton said, grinning. "I was, but it didn't take. I played the field for a while and now I'm getting ready to go overboard again. This time it's going to be different."

"Get your girl friend and take her to the best restaurant in town," Mason said. "Get everything you can eat, have a bottle of champagne with dinner and turn in the bill on your expense account."

Fulton shot out his hand. "That's mighty fine of you, Mr. Mason."

"I always like to see a good job well done," Mason said.

Fulton looked at Drake. "Anything else?"

Mason shook his head.

"Okay," Fulton said, "I'll be on my way. I'm to go in to the office and start making out a report in the usual way?"

"That's right," Drake said. "Take a typewriter and start tapping it out."

"Do I say anything about the subject stopping there on the road?"

"You sure do," Mason said. "Don't conceal anything. Remember, those are my instructions. Don't conceal a single piece of evidence from the police."

Fulton signed the ticket for the gasoline and drove out.

"Well," Drake said, "I guess we may as well-"

"Go to that culvert and see what's there," Mason interjected.

"Culvert?" Drake asked.

"Sure," Mason said. "That's why he stopped and backed up. We'll take a look at whatever is in that culvert."

"And then what?"

"Then," Mason said, smiling, "we don't touch anything. We call Lieutenant Tragg and tell him that Fulton reported to us that the subject had stopped a mile and three-tenths from the country club; that we went out to see what had caused him to stop and back up. Much to our surprise, we found a culvert. We looked in the culvert and it appeared that something had been stashed in there and so we're calling the police."

"Tragg will be hopping mad," Drake said.

"Let him hop," Mason pointed out.

"Suppose there isn't a culvert? Suppose it was something in the road?"

Mason said, "I'm willing to bet ten to one it was a Culvert."

"Suppose the police have checked it?"

"They could very well have done so," Mason said. "Whenever a crook has evidence to dispose of, he looks for the first culvert he comes to, and if Lieutenant Tragg is as smart as I think he is, he has probably instructed his men to look at the first culvert on every road leading away from the country club."

"In which event he will have been one jump ahead of us.

Mason grinned. "But only one jump, Paul. Come on, let's go. If you don't mind, I'll drive. We don't have much time."

Mason drove to the country club, checked the speedometer, turned and drove a mile and three-tenths.

"Well, you're right," Drake said. "It's a culvert."

"You can see marks where a car was braked to a sudden stop," Mason said. "Well, we'll take a look, Paul."

The lawyer parked the car, got out, raised the hood of the car, took a flashlight from the glove cornpartinent, and walked down the embankment to the culvert. He looked up and down the road, said, "Let me know when the coast is clear, Paul."

"Okay," Drake said, after two cars had passed, "you've got an open road now."

Mason dropped to his knees, peered into the culvert.

"See anything?" Drake asked.

"Footprints," Mason said, "and nothing else."

"Car coming, Perry."

Mason hurriedly arose, walked over to the side of the road.

A passing motorist stopped. "Having trouble?" he asked, noticing the upraised hood.

"Just a vapor lock," Mason said, smiling." I think it will straighten itself out if we let it cool off a minute. Thanks!"

The motorist waved his hand. "Good luck," he said, and drove away.

Mason thoughtfully lowered the hood of the car, got in, and started the motor.

"Now what?" Drake asked.

"Now," Mason said, "I'm going to try and see my client-and ask him what it was he concealed in that culvert."

Chapter Twelve

Mason sat looking across the dividing partition at his client's worried face.

"How much did you tell them?" Mason asked. "Not a thing," Dutton said. "I told them that I resented the way they had made the arrest and taken me out of Ensenada; that I thought I had been kidnaped by the police; that I was indignant, as a citizen, and I put on the act of being too damn mad to co-operate."

"It's all right," Mason said. "It's a good act. The only thing is, it doesn't fool anyone. What have they got on you, do you know?"

"No."

"They've got something," Mason said. "Suppose you tell me the real story."

"I wanted to tell it to them," Dutton said, "but I was going to follow your instructions because you're my attorney. If I'd told it to them, I'd have been free by this time."

"You think you would have?" Mason asked.

"Very definitely," Dutton said. "They don't have a thing on me."

"Well, tell me your story," Mason said, "and if I'll buy it, I'll have you pass it along to the police and the district attorney."

"There isn't much to tell," Dutton said.

"Did you know the dead man?"

"I've talked with him on the phone. That is, if he's Rodger Palmer."

"What do you know about him?"

"Not too much. But he had me in kind of a peculiar position."

"Blackmail?"

"Well, not exactly. Palmer was engaged in a sneak attack on the management of Steer Ridge Oil and Refining Company. He wanted to get rid of the management and put his own crowd in."

"You knew that?"

"I knew that-at least, he told me."

"Go ahead," Mason said. "What happened?"

"Well," Dutton said, "Palmer knew that Desere Ellis had a big block of stock in the oil company. At least, he assumed she did. He knew that her father had bought it and that it had gone into the trust fund."

"And so?" Mason asked.

"And so he went to Miss Ellis and wanted her to give him a proxy. She told him that she couldn't do it because the stock was in my name as trustee. So then he asked her to write a letter to me as trustee, instructing me to give him a proxy on stock."

"And she did?"

"She did."

"And then?" Mason asked, his eyes showing his keen interest.

"Then, of course, I was in a spot," Dutton said. "I didn't have the stock. I didn't want her to know I didn't have the stock. That would have caused her to ask for an accounting. Therefore, I didn't want to tell him I'd sold the stock."

"This was at a time when the value of the stock was low?"

"That's right. It was just before the strike in the new field. Palmer could have bought up control of the company if he could have found the stock and had the money, but he was working on a shoestring."

"So what did you do?"

"I told him I would have to know more about what he had in mind, and what his plans for developing the company's property were before I'd honor Miss Ellis' letter.

"He insisted on seeing me; I refused to give him an interview. Then he played his ace in the hole. He told me he had something to tell me about Fred Hedley. He said it would eliminate Hedley from the picture as far as Desere Ellis was concerned. He said he needed money to carry on his proxy campaign and that if I'd bring him five thousand dollars in fifty-dollar bills, he'd give me an earful of facts on Hedley that would put Hedley out of circulation."