Drake looked at him without expression on his face and said slowly, "You're skating on pretty thin ice, Perry."

Perry Mason nodded gloomily.

"I've got to," he said.

"How about that line?" asked Drake. "Are you still on the right side of it?"

The lawyer gave his shoulders a nervous shake, as though trying to rid himself of a disagreeable sensation.

"I hope so," he said.

The telephone rang.

Perry Mason picked up the receiver, raised his voice, and snapped: "City Editor."

The receiver made metallic noises, and then Perry Mason still speaking in the same highpitched rapid tone of voice said, "Miss Benton, it looks as though this Forbes murder case is going to have a lot of dramatic interest. You've been with the parties from the start. Did you keep a diary?"

Once more the receiver made metallic noises, and a slow smile spread over the face of Perry Mason.

"Would you be interested in ten thousand dollars for the exclusive right to publish that diary… you would?… Have you kept your diary up to date?… will you keep it right up to date?… Don't say anything about this offer. I'll have one of our reporters get in touch with you when we want it. I can't tell about the price until I take it up with the managing editor. Then he'll want to inspect the diary, but I'm willing to make a recommendation for its purchase at that figure, provided we have the exclusive on it. That's all. G'by."

Mason slammed the receiver up on the line.

"Think she'll try to trace that call?" asked the detective.

"She can't," Mason said. "What's more, she hasn't got sense enough. She fell for it, hook, line and sinker."

"She keeps a diary?" asked the detective.

"I don't know," Perry Mason said.

"Didn't she say she did?"

Perry Mason laughed.

"Sure," he said, "she said she did but that doesn't mean anything. The way I made the offer, she is going to have time to fake one. A girl can do a lot of writing for ten thousand dollars."

"What's the idea?" asked Drake.

"Just a hunch," Mason said. "Now let's check over those samples of handwriting. Have you got samples of handwriting?"

"I haven't got a sample of Mrs. Forbes' handwriting, but I have got a sample of Paula Cartright's handwriting. I've got some stuff that Thelma Benton has written, and a letter that Elizabeth Walker, Cartright's housekeeper, wrote."

"Have you checked them," Perry Mason said slowly, "with the note that was left by Paula Cartright when she left Forbes?"

"No, the district attorney's office has got that note, but I have a photostatic copy of the telegram that was sent from Midwick, and the handwriting doesn't check."

"What handwriting doesn't check?"

"None of them."

"That telegram's in a woman's handwriting?"

Drake nodded, fished through the folder, and took out a photostatic copy of a telegram.

Mason took the paper and studied it carefully.

"Does the telegraph operator remember anything about it?" he asked.

"He just remembers that a woman handed it in, across the counter, together with the exact amount necessary to send it. She seemed in very much of a hurry. The telegraph operator remembers that he was counting the words when she started out. He told her he'd have to check the amount, and she called over her shoulder that she was quite sure it was right, and went out."

"Would he remember her again if he saw her?"

"I doubt it. He's not too intelligent, and apparently didn't pay any particular attention to her. She came in wearing a widebrimmed hat. The operator remembers that much. She had her head tilted down so that the brim kept him from seeing her face when she was handing the telegram across the counter. After that, he started to count the words, and she walked out."

Mason continued to stare at the photostatic copy of the telegram, then glanced up at Drake.

"Drake," he said, "how did the newspapers get onto the inside of all this business?"

"What inside?"

"All about the man who lived under the name of Foley being, in reality, Clinton Forbes, and having run away with Paula Cartright, and the Santa Barbara scandal end of the thing?"

"Shucks," said Drake, "that was a cinch. We found it out, and it's a cinch the newspapers were as well organized as we were. They have correspondents in Santa Barbara, and they dug up the files of old newspapers and made a great human interest story out of it. Then, you know the district attorney — he likes to try his cases in the newspapers. He's been feeding them everything he could find out."

Perry Mason nodded his head thoughtfully.

"Drake," he said, "I think I'm getting about ready to go to trial."

The detective looked at him with some show of surprise.

"The case won't be tried for some time yet, even if you try to get an immediate hearing," he said.

Perry Mason smiled patiently.

"That," he said, "is the way to prepare a criminal case. You've got to make all of your preparations and block out your defense before the district attorney really finds out what it's all about. After that, it's too late."

Chapter 17

The courtroom atmosphere was stale with that psychic stench which comes from packed humans whose emotions are roused to a high pitch of excitement.

Judge Markham, veteran judge of the criminal department, who had presided over so many famous murder trials, sat behind the massive mahogany rostrum with an air of complete detachment. Only a skilled observer would have noticed the wary watchfulness with which he filtered the proceedings through his mind.

Claude Drumm, chief trial deputy of the district attorney's office, tall, welltailored, suave, was very much at his ease. Perry Mason had inflicted stinging defeat before but in this case the prosecution was certain of a verdict.

Perry Mason sat at the counsel table, with an air of indolent listlessness about him which marked a complete indifference to the entire case. His attitude was in contrast to the accepted attitude of defense attorneys, who make a practice of vigorously contesting every step of the case.

Claude Drumm exercised his second peremptory challenge. A juror left the box. The clerk drew another man, and a tall, gaunt individual, with high cheekbones and lackluster eyes, came forward, held up his right hand, was sworn, and took his seat in the jury box.

"You may inquire," said Judge Markham to Perry Mason.

Perry Mason glanced over at the juror casually.

"Your name?" he said.

"George Smith," said the juror.

"You've read about this case?"

"Yes."

"Formed or expressed any opinion from what you have read?"

"No."

"You don't know anything about the facts of the case?"

"Nothing except what I've read in the papers."

"If you are selected as a juror to try this case could you fairly and truly try the defendant and render a true verdict?"

"I could."

"Will you?"

"I will."

Perry Mason slowly got to his feet. His examination of the jurors had been startlingly brief. Now he turned to this newest addition to the jury box and regarded the man frowningly.

"You understand," he said, "that you are to act as a judge of the facts, if you are selected as a juror in this case, but that, so far as the law is concerned, you will accept the law in the instructions given you by the Court?"

"I do," said the juror.

"In the event the Court should instruct you," said Perry Mason slowly and solemnly, "that under the law of this state it is incumbent upon the prosecution to prove the defendant guilty beyond all reasonable doubt, before a juror can conscientiously return a verdict of guilty, and that, therefore, it is not necessary for the defendant to take the witness stand and testify in her own behalf, but she may remain mute and rely upon the fact that the prosecution has failed to prove her guilty beyond all reasonable doubt, could you and would you follow such instruction of the Court and accept it as law?"