"Would you say that you set it back if I completed the business arrangements with your wife?" asked Mason.

"What do you mean?"

"Never mind what I mean," said the lawyer. "You simply tell your wife that if business arrangements are going to be completed between us, I would want to know first whether there would be testimony that the speedometer of that Buick automobile had been set back."

"What's that got to do with it?" asked the gardener.

"Just this," said Mason, making little jabbing motions with his forefinger to emphasize his statements. "We know that Edward Norton telephoned in to the police that his Buick had been stolen.

"Now that means that the Buick most certainly wasn't in his garage at the time he telephoned. Somebody had that Buick out. It doesn't make any difference whether Miss Celane was home or not. Somebody had the Buick out. That Buick was missing at the time Norton telephoned. Now, when the police got there, the Buick was in the garage, and the speedometer on the Buick was set back to the same mileage that it showed when it was taken out. So somebody set that speedometer back. Now, the question is, who did it?"

"I didn't, sir," said the gardener.

"How about Devoe, the chauffeur?"

"I don't know about him, sir."

"How about the butler?"

"I don't know about him."

"All right," said Mason. "You don't know very much about anything, but your wife has a pretty good idea about what's going on. I want you to tell her that if we are going to do business she has got to find out who set the speedometer back on that car."

"You mean the person that had it out, sir?"

"No," said Mason, "I don't care a damn about the person who had it out. I'd just as soon the police figured it was Miss Celane who had the car out. What I want to do is to prove that the speedometer was set back, and I want to find out who set it back. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I think I do now. Yes, sir."

"When is your wife coming back?"

"I don't know. Some men from the District Attorney's office came and talked with her. Then they told her they wanted her to go to the office and make a statement."

"All right," said Mason. "Do you think you can give her my message?"

"Yes, sir, I know I can."

"All right. See that you do," Mason told him. "Now there's one other thing that I want to find out about, and that's where you were at the time the murder was committed."

"Me?" said the man. "I was asleep."

"You're certain about that?"

"Of course I'm certain. I woke up with all of the commotion going on."

"Your wife wasn't asleep," said Mason.

"Who says she wasn't?" demanded Mayfield, his sullen eyes showing some trace of emotion.

"I do," said Mason. "Your wife was around the house. She hadn't gone to bed when the murder was committed. You know that."

"Well, what of it?" said Mayfield.

"Just this," Mason remarked, lowering his voice impressively, "there was a woman in the room with the man who struck that blow. Now your wife had intimated that woman was Miss Celane, or may have been Miss Celane. I want you to tell your wife that I now have evidence which leads me to believe that she was the woman who was in the room at the time."

"You mean," said the man, bristling, "that you're accusing my wife of murder?"

"I mean," said Mason, standing his ground and staring at the belligerent gardener, "that I'm telling you I have evidence that indicates your wife was the woman who was in the room at the time the blow was struck. That doesn't mean that she struck the blow. It doesn't mean she knows anything at all about the fact that a blow was going to be struck. But it does mean that she was in the room at the time."

"You want me to tell her that?" asked Mayfield.

"I want you to tell her that," said Mason.

"All right," said Mayfield, "I'll tell her that, but she won't like it."

"I don't care whether she likes it or not," said Mason. "I told you to tell her that."

"All right," said Mayfield. "Is there anything else?"

"No," Mason told him, "except that you want to be sure and tell her about this interview when no one is listening. In other words, I don't want the representatives of the District Attorney's office to know about it."

"Oh, sure," said Mayfield, "I know enough for that."

"All right," said Mason, and got in his car and drove down the boulevard.

He drove in to a cafe, where he dined leisurely and thoughtfully.

By the time he had finished dinner, the newsboys were crying papers on the street, and Perry Mason bought one, took it to his automobile, lounged back against the cushions, turned on the domelight and read the headlines which spread across the top of the page.

Perry Mason read through each word of the sensational story which followed; a story in which the reporters told as much as they dared in between the lines; a story which stopped short of actual accusation, yet which left the public to infer that the police were far from satisfied with the case against Pete Devoe, the chauffeur, and were considering a sudden change of front which would involve persons of wealth and prominence.

Perry Mason carefully folded the paper, thrust it into the door pocket of the car, and drove, not to his bachelor apartment, but to a downtown hotel where he registered under an assumed name and spent the night.

Perry Mason walked into his office, said good morning to Della Street, then went into his private office where the morning newspapers were spread on his desk.

Della Street opened the door and followed him into the private office.

"Somebody broke in and searched…"

He whirled on her, placing his finger to his lips. Then, while she ceased talking, started making a round of the office. He moved pictures, peering behind them, swung out the revolving bookcase and inspected the wall space, then crawled under the desk. He straightened, smiled, and said: "Looking for a dictograph. There's just a chance that they'd have one planted."

She nodded.

"Somebody broke into the office last night," she said, "and went through everything. The safe was opened."

"Did they smash it?"

"No, he must have been some clever crook who knew how to work the combination. The safe was opened, all right. I could tell, because the papers were disturbed."

"That's all right," he told her. "What else is new?"

"Nothing," she said, "except three police detectives watching the office, and I have an idea they're waiting for someone to come in."

He smiled wisely and said: "Let them wait. It will teach them patience."

"Did you read the papers?" she asked.

"Not the morning papers," he told her.

"The late editions say that they've identified the club that killed Norton," she told him.

"Yes?"

"Yes. It was a heavy walking stick, and they've found out that it belonged to Rob Gleason, the husband of our client."

"That'll mean," said Perry Mason, "that they'll charge him with first degree murder, and let the charge against Devoe go."

"They're also going to charge the woman," she said, "unless they have already."

"So?" he asked.

"Yes. This secretary, Don Graves, has given some additional information which has changed the entire complexion of the case, according to the STAR. Graves was shielding some one. The police broke him down and he gave additional evidence."

"Well," he said, "that makes it interesting. If anybody comes in, give them a stall."