Mason reached out and took the bottle.

"If I keep it in the desk," he said, "I'll know that you don't get an overdose."

"Well," Nevers told him, "under those circumstances, there's nothing to keep me from going down and getting the photographer," and he slid down from the arm of the chair and walked through the door which led to the outer office.

He was back in five minutes with a photographer who carried a camera in a canvas case in one hand, and tripod in the other.

The photographer wasted no time in greetings, but scrutinized the office with an eye that soaked in the lighting arrangements.

"What sort of complexion has she got?" he asked.

"Spun silk hair," said Mason. "Dark eyes, high cheeks, and a good figure. You won't have any trouble with her when it comes to posing. She's expert at placing herself where she looks well."

"I want her in that leather chair," said the photographer.

"That's where she'll go," Mason told him.

The photographer raised the shades on the windows, set up the tripod, adjusted and focused the big camera, poured some flashlight powder into a flashgun.

"Why don't you use electric bulbs?" asked Perry Mason, eyeing the photographer with interest. "I understand they do better work, and they don't get a room all filled with smoke."

"Try telling that to the eagleeyed bird that audits the expense account," said the photographer, "and it's your office. I don't care about the smoke."

Nevers grinned at Mason.

"That's the sweet spirit of cooperation that we have over at the STAR," he said.

Mason looked at the ceiling of the room and muttered: "I presume I can move out of here for half an hour just because you fellows want to save the cost of a flashlight globe."

"Give him a shot out of that bottle," said Nevers, "and maybe he won't load the flash quite so heavy."

Mason slid the bottle over to the photographer.

"Listen," Nevers said, almost moodily, "something seems to tell me you've got a trick up your sleeve, Mason."

"I have," Mason told him.

Nevers nodded to the photographer.

"All right, Bill," he said, "better get a photograph of the lawyer at his desk. Drag out some law books. Get that bottle out of the way, and get a couple of shots."

"Don't waste your film," Mason told him. "They won't publish my picture unless it's in connection with a courtroom scene, or walking down the street with Frances Celane, or something like that."

Harry Nevers looked at him moodily, and said, in that bored monotone: "I'm not so certain. It depends on what you've got up your sleeve. You've pulled a couple of fast ones lately, and I'll have these pictures for the morgue in case we need 'em. You can't ever tell what's going to happen."

Perry Mason looked at him shrewdly.

"In other words," he said, "you've heard that there's some talk of arresting me as an accessory after the fact."

Nevers chuckled, a dry, rasping chuckle.

"You've got a good mind, Mason," he said. "But you've got funny ways of trying lawsuits and representing clients. Now that you mention it, it seems to me I did hear something about some stolen money that you'd received on a fee and hadn't surrendered."

Mason's laugh was scornful.

"If I had received any money, what a sweet spot it would put my client in if I walked into the D.A.'s office, and laid the money down on the table and said, virtuously: 'Here it is. "

"Did you receive any one thousand dollar bills from your client?" asked Harry Nevers, in the tone of one who asks a question without expecting an answer.

Perry Mason made a gesture with his hand.

"If I did," he said, "I'd either have the bills on me, or some place in the office. The office has been searched from top to bottom."

"This morning?" asked Nevers.

"Some time last night," Mason told him.

Nevers jerked his head toward the photograph.

"Better take three pictures, Bill," he said. "Get him at the desk, get him standing up, and get a closeup."

Chapter 16

Fran Celane sat in the big, black leather chair, stared at the camera on the tripod, looked at the face of Perry Mason, and smiled, a wan, pathetic smile.

"Hold that smile," said the photographer.

"Wait a minute," said Nevers, "there's going to be a sex angle to this, and I want a little more leg."

Fran Celane continued to smile wanly. She reached down with her left hand and moved her skirt up an inch or two.

"Face the camera," said the photographer.

Harry Nevers said: "Wait a minute. It still ain't right. I want a little more leg."

The smile left her face, her black eyes blazed furiously. She reached down and pulled the skirt far up over the knee with an angry gesture.

"That's too much, Miss Celane," the photographer said.

"All right," she blazed at Nevers, "damn you, you wanted leg! There it is!"

Mason explained patiently.

"You understand, Miss Celane, that these men are friendly to our side of the case. They're going to see that you get some favorable publicity, but, in order to do that, they've got to have a picture that will attract the interest of the public. Now, it's going to help your case a lot if you can get just the right kind of a smile on your face, and at the same time, show just enough of a sex angle to appeal to the masculine eye."

Slowly the glitter faded from her eyes. She adjusted her skirt down over her knee, and once more the wan, pathetic smile came on her face.

"That's oke," said Nevers.

"Hold it," said the photographer, and, "don't blink your eyes."

A puff of white light mushroomed up from the flashgun and a little cloud of smoke twisted and turned as it writhed toward the ceiling.

"All right," said the photographer, "let's try one with a slightly different pose. Handkerchief in the left hand as though you'd been weeping, face mournful. Let the mouth droop a little bit. Not quite so much leg."

Frances Celane flared: "What do you think I am, an actress or a mannequin?"

"That's all right," soothed Perry Mason. "You'll have a lot of this to go through with, Miss Celane. And I want to caution you to keep your temper. If you flare up and show temper, and the newspaper reporters start playing you up as a tigerwoman, it's going to be a bad thing for your case. What I'm trying to do is to get the case brought on for trial, and get a quick acquittal. You've got to cooperate or you may have some unpleasant surprises."

She stared at Perry Mason, sighed, and took the pose they had suggested.

"Chin a little lower and to the left," said the photographer. "Eyes downcast, but not so far that they give the impression of being closed. Get the point of that shoulder a little bit away from the camera, so I can get the sweep of your throat. All right, that's fine. Hold it!"

Once more the shutter clicked, and once more the flashlight gave forth a puff of white smoke.

"Okay," said the photographer. "That's fine for those two."

Perry Mason crossed to the telephone.

"Get me Claude Drumm at the District Attorney's office," he said.

When he had Drumm on the line, he said: "I'm awfully sorry, Drumm, but Miss Celane is very much indisposed. She's had a nervous breakdown and was ordered to a sanitarium by her physician. She left the sanitarium to come in and surrender herself into custody when she knew that the police were looking for her. She's at my office now, and she's suffering from nervousness. I think you'd better arrange to pick her up here."

"I thought you said she had left your office when you telephoned before," said Drumm, with a trace of annoyance in his voice.

"No," said Mason, "you misunderstood me. I said that she had started for your office. I told you I didn't know what stops she intended to make on the way. She was nervous, and stopped in here because she wanted me to go with her."