"Twenty minutes later. There was quite a bit of goodnatured chaffing. The men were very nice, very cordial, very… well, er, convivial. There was a little party… Of course, I didn't touch anything myself, and I can't say that I approved of the spirit of the occasion, but, nevertheless, they were interesting people, and it was impossible to leave immediately."

"You mean they drank a toast to the health of the bride and groom?"

"To the health of the bride, the health of the groom, to my health."

"Do you know exactly what time you left?"

"No, it was around ten fifteen, perhaps a few minutes later than that."

"Were you well paid?" Perry Mason asked.

"Very well paid, very well paid, indeed."

Mason said slowly, "How long had you known Frank Oafley?"

"He has been in my church on several occasions."

"A regular member?"

"No. Not a regular member. I wouldn't class him as such, but he has been there, and I have met him."

"He introduced you to the young woman?"

"Yes. And the apartment was in her name, 'Edith DeVoe. "

"Did they tell you why they were anxious to have the marriage kept secret?"

"No, they didn't. I understood there was some question of opposition on the part of relatives. I think the young woman was a nurse, and Mr. Oafley is, I believe, of rather a wealthy family. However, I paid little attention to that. I performed the marriage ceremony and…"

"Kissed the bride, I presume," Mason interrupted with a laugh.

The Reverend Milton failed to see any ground for humor in the remark. He said very seriously, "As a matter of fact, I did not. The bride kissed me as I was leaving."

Mason nodded to Paul Drake, reached for the knob of the outer door. "That's all," he said.

"Was the marriage bigamous?"

"In view of what you tell me," Mason said, "I don't think it was. But I was checking up on it. You know, marriages that are performed under such circumstances are always open to suspicion."

The trio slipped hastily through the door into the night, leaving Milton blinking after them in bewildered appraisal. Then he slammed the door shut, and they heard the clink of the safety chain as it was slid into position, and the rasp of the bolt.

"I'm a lawyer," Mason remarked, "and darn seldom even bother to lock my door. This chap is supposed to have all sorts of faith in human nature, and he barricades himself behind a lot of thiefproof doodads."

"I know," Della Street said with a nervous giggle, "but brides don't have to follow you to the door to kiss you."

Mason chuckled.

"What's next?" Paul Drake asked.

"If we can survive the ordeal of another journey in that car of yours, we're going to see Winnie."

"You know where to find her at this hour of the night?" Drake asked.

"Yes. She lives back of the waffle place."

"We don't want to make a racket there. There'll be a merchants' patrol and…"

"We'll telephone her and tell her we're coming," Mason said. "That is, I'll tell her I'm coming. I'll introduce you two after we get there."

"Has it ever occurred to you," Drake asked slowly, "that this marriage ceremony was taking place at just about the time Ashton was being murdered in his room, thereby giving both Oafley and Edith DeVoe ironclad alibis?"

"A lot has occurred to me," Mason said, "that I'm not discussing right now. Let's go."

They piled into Drake's car. Mason stopped the car once to telephone Winifred he was coming, and then, when Drake had parked the car in front of the Waffle Kitchen, motioned them to silence as he placed them in the shadows near the doorway, while he stood in front of the plateglass door, and pounded with his knuckles.

A moment later he saw a bit of diffused light come from the door at the end of the passageway, and then Winifred's supple figure, attired in a flowing silk negligee, glided toward him. She shot the bolt and opened the door.

"What is it?" she asked.

Mason said, "You know Paul Drake. He was with me the first time I came here, and this is Della Street, my secretary."

Winifred gave a little exclamation of dismay. "I didn't know I was to meet people," she said, "and I don't want anyone to know about…"

"That's all right," Mason told her. "No one knows anything at all. We want to talk with you."

He pushed the door open, then when his companions had entered, carefully closed it. Winifred led the way down the corridor to the bedroom, which apparently was just as Perry Mason had last seen it, except that the bed had been slept in.

"Where's Douglas Keene?" Mason asked.

She frowned, and said, "I told you all that I knew about him."

"I don't want you to think I'm betraying any confidences," Mason told her, "but it's necessary that these people know what's happening, because they've got to help us. Paul Drake is a detective who works for me, and Della Street is my secretary, who knows everything that goes on. You can absolutely trust their discretion. Now I want to know where Douglas Keene is."

She blinked her eyesrapidly, as though about to cry, but faced them steadily, saying, "I don't know where he is; all I know is he sent me a message saying that he was going to leave, where no one would ever find him."

"Let's take a look at the message."

She pulled back the pillow, and produced an envelope on the outside of which her name had been written. There was no other writing on the envelope, no address and no stamp. She opened the envelope and took from it a folded piece of paper. After a moment's hesitation, she handed the paper to Perry Mason.

Mason, standing near the center of the room, his feet spread wide apart, shoulders squared, read the message with expressionless features. When he had finished, he said, "I'm going to read this aloud," and then read in a monotone: "'Darling: I am up against a combination of circumstances I can't beat. I lost my head and made a mistake, and I'll never have any opportunity to rectify that mistake. Please believe that I'm innocent of any crime, but you'll need lots of faith to hold that belief in the face of the evidence which will be presented. I am going out of your life forever. The police will never catch me. I am far too clever to walk into the traps which catch the ordinary fugitive from justice. I'll travel by plane, and no one will ever find me. Ashton had the Koltsdorf diamonds concealed in his crutch. He had hollowed out a hiding place for them. The diamonds are still there. Give the police an anonymous tip and let them trace the crutch. I shall always love you, but I am not going to drag your name through the mire of a murder trial. Try and make Ashton talk. He can tell a lot. Lovingly yours— Douglas. "

Mason stared steadily at the letter for a while, then suddenly whirled to face Winifred Laxter.

"You didn't show me that note when I was here before," he said.

"No, I didn't have it."

"When did you get it?"

"It was slipped under the door."

"After I left?"

"Yes, I guess so. It must have been if you didn't see it there when you went out."

"You said Douglas had telephoned you."

"Yes."

"He didn't tell you this about the diamonds over the telephone?"

"No."

"How did he know where the diamonds were?"

"I don't know; I only know what's in the note."

"You love him?"

"Yes."

"Were engaged to him."

"We were going to be married."

"You didn't call him Douglas."

"What do you mean?"

"You had some pet name for him."

She lowered her eyes, and flushed.

"And," Mason went on, "when you didn't call him by that pet name, you still didn't call him Douglas—you called him Doug."

"Does that make any difference?" she countered.

"Simply this!" Mason said. "If Douglas had written that note to you, he'd have signed it 'Doug' or some pet name, and it would have been a lot more tragic. There'd have been some affectionate stuff in it, and he'd have told you goodby, and that he loved you. That note wasn't written for you; it was written for the public. That was a note that was given you to show people."