"We'll take a look in the closet," Mason said.

They walked back to the closet. Drake's flashlight illuminated the dark corners, showed a pile of dirty clothes. Drake pulled clothes from the top of the pile and then paused as the beam of the flashlight illuminated bloodspattered garments.

"Well," he said, "that's that."

Mason kicked the clothes back in the corner.

"Okay, Paul, we're finished here."

"I'll say," the detective agreed. "What's the technical definition of what we're doing here?"

"That," Mason said, "depends on whether I define it or whether a district attorney does. Come on, let's get going."

They left the apartment, switching out the lights, and pulling the spring lock shut behind them.

"Let's hunt up that preacher," Mason suggested.

"He won't come to the door," Drake objected, "and let us in just to answer questions—not at this hour of the morning. He'll be more than likely to call the police."

"We'll use Della," Mason said, "and let him think it's an elopement."

He had Drake drive to a restaurant where there was a telephone, and called Della Street 's apartment. He heard her sleepy voice coming over the wire.

"Getting to be a habit with me, waking you up like this," he said. "How would you like to elope?"

There was a quick, gasping intake in her breath.

"I mean," Mason explained, "make a person think you're eloping."

"Oh," she said tonelessly. "Like that, eh?"

"That's the sketch," Mason told her. "Get on some things and we'll be out there. It'll be a new experience for you. You're going to drive in a car that'll send ripples up and down your backbone every time you hit a bump in the street, so don't worry about taking a shower; you can be massaged into wakefulness."

Paul Drake was yawning prodigiously as Mason hung up the telephone.

"The first night is always the hardest," he said; "after that I get accustomed to going without sleep on your cases. Some day, Perry, we're going to get caught and go to jail. Why the hell don't you sit in your office and let cases come to you the way other lawyers do?"

"For the same reason a hound doesn't like to follow a cold scent," Mason said. "I like my cases served up while they're hot."

"I'll say they're hot!" the detective agreed. "Some day we'll both get our fingers burnt."

Chapter 11

Perry Mason pushed his finger against the doorbell. Della Street nudged Paul Drake and said, "Say something and laugh. We're all too serious for an elopement. You'd look more natural with a shotgun. Stand over here closer to me, Chief. He'll probably turn on a porch light and look out."

Drake remarked lugubriously, "Why should people laugh at a marriage? Marriage is a serious business."

Della Street moaned. "I should have known better than to stage an elopement with a couple of confirmed bachelors. You're so darned afraid some fish might steal the bait, you don't dare let your line get near the water."

Perry Mason stepped close to Della Street, put his arm around her and drew her close to him. "The trouble with us is, we haven't even got a line," he said.

A light in a hallway clicked on. Della Street kicked Paul Drake in the shin with the heel of her shoe and said, "Hurry up and laugh."

She broke into a peal of light, merry laughter, as a porch light flooded the trio with dazzling brilliance.

The detective gave a grimace of pain, rubbed his shin, and said mirthlessly, "Ha, ha."

The door opened some two or three inches. A safety chain snapped taut. A man's eyes stared out at them cautiously.

"Reverend Milton?" asked Perry Mason.

"Yes."

"We wanted to see you… about… a marriage."

The man's eyes showed extreme disapproval. "It's no time to be getting married," he said.

Mason took a wallet from his pocket, took out a fivedollar bill, then another fivedollar bill, then a third, and a fourth. "I'm sorry," he remarked, "that we awakened you."

After a moment, Milton slipped off the safety chain, opened the door and said, "Come in. Have you a license?"

Mason stood to one side while Della Street entered the hallway; then he and Drake crowded in. Drake kicked the door shut. Mason moved so he was between the inner door to the hallway and the man who wore dressing gown, pajamas and slippers.

"You received a call tonight from a chap by the name of Oafley," Mason said.

"What has that to do with this marriage?" Milton demanded.

"That's the marriage we came to see you about."

"I'm sorry. You got in here under false representations. You said you wished to be married. I don't care to answer any questions whatever about Mr. Oafley."

Perry Mason arched his eyebrows in surprise, then frowned and said belligerently, "Look here, what are you talking about—getting in here by false representations?"

"You said you wanted to be married."

"I said no such thing," Mason retorted. "We told you that we wanted to see you about a marriage. It was Oafley's marriage to Edith DeVoe."

"You didn't say that."

"Well, we're saying it now."

"I'm very sorry, gentlemen, but I have nothing to say."

Mason looked significantly at Paul Drake, nodded his head toward a wall telephone which was near the hall door and said, "Okay, Paul, call Police Headquarters."

Drake strode to the telephone. Milton made a grimace, wet his lips nervously with the tip of his tongue, and said in surprise, "Police Headquarters?"

"Certainly," Mason said.

"Who are you?" Milton demanded.

"That man," the lawyer remarked, indicating Drake by a nod of his head, "is a detective."

"Look here," Milton said nervously, "I don't want to get into any trouble over this thing."

"I didn't think you did… Wait a minute, Paul. Don't call Headquarters right away. It may be this man's innocent."

"Innocent!" Milton blazed. "Of course, I'm innocent. I performed a marriage ceremony and that's all."

Mason's face showed utter incredulity. "And didn't know the woman had a husband living?" he asked.

"Of course, I didn't know the woman had a husband living. What are you insinuating? Do you mean to intimate that I'd perform a bigamous marriage knowing that it was bigamous?"

Milton 's voice rose in quavering indignation.

Della Street stepped forward, slipped her arm through his and said soothingly, "It's all right. Don't lose your temper. That isn't what the Chief meant."

"The Chief?" Milton remarked, his eyes bulging.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Della Street remarked. "I shouldn't have said that."

"Just who are you and what do you want?" Milton asked.

"I'll answer your second question first. We want to know exactly what time you performed a marriage ceremony between Edith DeVoe and Frank Oafley."

Milton was now only too willing to talk.

"The parties were very anxious to keep the ceremony secret, but I didn't suspect it was a bigamous marriage. I received a call at approximately nine o'clock, asking me to come to a certain address. The party who called me on the telephone stated that it was a matter of the greatest importance, but didn't say what it was. He did say, however, that I would be very well compensated. I went to the address. I found Mr. Oafley, whom I had met previously, and a young woman who was introduced as Miss Edith DeVoe. They had a marriage license, properly issued, and, as a minister of the Gospel, I solemnized a marriage."

"Were there witnesses?"

"There were some men next door who were engaged in a little… er… gathering. I think perhaps they were playing cards. Mr. Oafley stepped to the door and asked them to witness the marriage ceremony."

"What time was the ceremony performed?"

"About ten o'clock."

"When did you leave there?"