"Don't be too sure he didn't do anything about that trust," said the housekeeper.

"Did he?" asked Perry Mason.

"Suppose," said the woman, without directly answering his question, "Fran Celane and her uncle had a big fight after you left last night? And suppose that he then and there told her he would give her five thousand dollars of the money, and give all the rest to charity?"

"Did he?" asked the lawyer.

"I'm asking you what would happen if he had."

"Well," said Mason, "there certainly isn't any evidence that he did, is there?"

"There ain't now," she said.

"Exactly what do you mean?" he asked.

"Suppose there should be some evidence like that?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," said Mason.

"Well," she snapped, "if you don't do business with me, you'll come to it."

"That's hardly possible," said the lawyer. "Come, come, Mrs. Mayfield, if you want to make any insinuations against Miss Celane, you will have to make them in a manner which will be substantiated by the circumstances of the case.

"The evidence in this case shows that Miss Celane left the house before eleven o'clock and didn't return until after the police had arrived."

"Yes," said the woman, "that's what the evidence shows, and you'd better see that it ain't changed."

"I still don't get what you mean," said Perry Mason.

"You will," said the woman, "when you've made Fran Celane come clean and quit pulling the wool over your eyes. I'm not going to stand here and have you high hat me with your lawyer talk. I've told you what I want, and I'm too smart to make any threats."

"In other words," said Mason, "you want money."

"Yes."

"Very good," said Mason. "I take it that everyone wants money."

"You know what I mean," she said, "and if you want to get some more evidence, you might look up what Bob Gleason was doing at the time this murder was committed."

"Gleason?" said Mason, arching his eyebrows. "Why Gleason wasn't even here in the house."

"Oh wasn't he?" said the woman.

"Was he?" asked Mason.

"Ask your Frances," she said.

Mason suddenly turned, planted his feet wide apart, and stared at her.

"Look here, my woman," he said, in his best courtroom manner, "I don't know whether it's ever occurred to you, but you may be guilty of a very serious crime. If you are seeking to frighten me or to frighten Miss Celane into paying you money by making insinuations, you are guilty of a crime known as extortion, and in a case of this kind it might be a very serious crime."

The beady black eyes stared at him snappingly with hostility reflected from their burnished surfaces.

"You're not frightening me a bit," she said.

"And," said Perry Mason, "may I advise you that you are not frightening me in the least?"

"I ain't trying to frighten you—yet," she said. "I just told you certain things."

"What things?" he asked.

"That I'm going to get some money out of it. Otherwise, nobody gets any money."

"Nobody?" he asked.

"Neither you nor the girl," she agreed.

"That would be unfortunate," said Mason tonelessly.

"Wouldn't it?" she said. "And then again I might find somebody that would pay me, if you didn't see which side of the bread had the butter. Some of these charities for instance."

"Really," said Mason, "I don't get you. You've got to give me more particulars of what you're driving at."

She said: "I'm too smart for you, Mister Lawyer. You go ahead and make your own investigation. Don't think that you're dealing with an ignorant woman, because you ain't. You talk with Frances Celane, and then you can talk some more with me."

"I have talked with Miss Celane," said Mason.

The woman's laugh was harsh and bitter.

"Oh no, you haven't," she said, "you've listened to her. Frances Celane is the best little liar in the world. Don't listen to her. Talk to her. Make her mad and then see what she says."

And the woman turned and walked from the room with quick, vigorous strides, a veritable bundle of energy.

Perry Mason stared at her broad back until she had left his field of vision. His eyes were clouded with speculation.

He was standing so, when a man with keen gray eyes and bushy white hair came walking through the room beyond, to the door of the solarium. His manner was grave and dignified, his walk unhurried, his face placidly serene.

Perry Mason bowed to him.

"Judge Purley," he said, "I have practiced before you, Judge."

The judge fastened his keen eyes upon the attorney, and nodded.

"Perry Mason, I believe. Good evening, Mr. Mason."

"We can call it morning, I think," said Mason. "It will be daylight pretty soon."

Judge Purley frowned.

"I was in a hurry to get home too," he said. "I was very, very tired."

"The police about finished with their investigation?" asked Mason.

"I think so," said Purley. "They've got the man who did it, beyond any doubt."

"This chap, Devoe?" asked Mason.

"That's the chap. He made rather a bungling job of it, too, if you ask me."

"I didn't get the details," said Mason invitingly.

Judge Purley selected one of the reclining chairs, stretched himself in it, gave a sigh of weariness, and took a cigar from his waistcoat pocket.

He carefully clipped off the end of the cigar, smelled the wrapper and muttered: "Pardon me, Mr. Mason, but this is my last, and I need it."

"Go right ahead," said Mason. "I only smoke cigarettes anyway."

"Yes," said the judge, speaking gravely and judiciously, in measured tones, "the thing that confused the murderer, of course, was the fact that our machine turned around and came directly back to the house. He had counted on an interval of half an hour or so during which he could have masked his crime.

"However, when he heard us returning to the house, he knew that the only thing for him to do was to get into bed and pretend he was dead drunk. He managed to get the odor of whisky pretty well on his breath, and put up rather a credible imitation of intoxication.

"In fact, it is possible he imbibed enough so that he was genuinely intoxicated. A man can drink a lot of whisky in a short time."

Perry Mason smiled.

"That is, judge," he said, "if he has it to drink."

The judge saw no humor in the remark. He looked at Perry Mason with judicial appraisal.

"Well," he said, "this man had plenty to drink."

"He's the chauffeur, I believe?" asked Mason.

"Yes, the chauffeur."

"Wasn't he going out some place?" asked Mason. "Didn't Norton telephone for him to take one of the cars and run an errand?"

"If my understanding is correct," said Judge Purley, "that is what happened. Norton wanted his secretary to get some papers at Mr. Crinston's house, and the chauffeur was to go and pick him up."

Perry Mason eyed the judge in shrewd appraisal.

"Well," he said, "let's see if we can figure out what happened. Norton asked you to permit Graves to ride in your car, is that right?"

"That is correct. That is, Norton addressed his comment, I believe, to Mr. Crinston, but I, of course, heard it. He called out the window."

"Okay, then," said Mason. "Let's start from there. Graves went downstairs to join you two. It's reasonable to suppose that Norton then sent for the chauffeur. He probably simply told him to come to his office. Now, it would have taken the chauffeur a minute or two to get there."

"That's right," said Judge Purley wearily. "But if you'll pardon me, counselor, I don't see as there's anything to be gained by going over the ground."

"No," said Perry Mason, almost dreamily, "I was just wondering how much time the two men had to quarrel."

"What do you mean?" asked Judge Purley with sudden interest.

"If," said Perry Mason, "the murder was committed by the time your car had arrived at the top of the hill, and if during that time Norton had summoned the chauffeur, and there had been a quarrel, the quarrel would, of necessity, have been of long standing."