She was watching him with wide eyes, her lips compressed tightly together, as though she were trying to keep from whimpering or letting some damaging statement escape her.

"That note's a blind. Douglas telephoned you, and told you he was in a jam. He wouldn't leave without seeing you. He came to say goodby. You talked him into staying. You told him you'd employed me, and I was going to clear things up. You asked him to stay; he refused. You asked him if he wouldn't at least stay where you could keep in touch with him until after I'd made a complete investigation."

Her face gave no faintest flicker of expression, but she clenched her right fist, slowly brought it up until the muscles were pressing tightly against her lips.

"And so," Mason went on inexorably, "Douglas Keene agreed to stay within reach until the police had uncovered all of the facts, and I had tried to explain those facts in such a way as to establish his innocence. But you wanted to throw the police off the trail; so Douglas Keene left this note that you were to give to me, and later on intended to give to the newspaper reporters."

Mason pointed a rigid forefinger at her. "Speak up," he said, "don't lie to your lawyer. How the hell can I help you if you start concealing facts?"

"No," she said, "that's not true. That's… Oh!"

She dropped on the edge of the bed and started to cry.

Mason strode to the closet door, jerked it open, went to the room which contained the shower, opened the door, and looked about in that room. He frowned thoughtfully, shook his head, and said, "She's too wise to have him where the officers would be apt to look. Paul, get busy and see if there isn't a storeroom around here where boxes and stuff are kept."

Mason strode to the bed, jerked back the covers, felt of them and nodded. "Just one blanket," he said. "She's taken off some of the blankets to give him."

Della Street crossed to Winifred's side, put her arm around the girl's shoulder and said soothingly, "Can't you understand, dear, he's trying to help you? He's only being gruff because time is precious, and he must know the facts before he can plan his campaign."

Winifred slid her head over on Della Street 's shoulder and began to sob.

"Won't you tell us?" Della asked.

Winifred shook her head, rolling it from side to side on Della Street 's shoulder.

Mason strode out of the door to the corridor which ran between booths and lunch counter, peered about him, then crossed behind the lunch counter and started looking into the corners and down under the counter.

Paul Drake had explored a side passageway. Suddenly he gave a shrill whistle. "Here it is, Perry."

Winifred screamed, jumped to her feet, and ran the length of the passageway, her robe billowing out behind her. Mason, walking rapidly, covered the space almost as quickly as the running girl. Della Street, moving at a more leisurely pace, brought up the rear.

A door was open. It showed a litter of broken boxes, old barrels, some cans of paint, a few surplus stores, broken chairs and various odds and ends which had accumulated from the operation of the waffle kitchen. A space near one corner had been cleaned out, and broken packing cases and chairs piled in such a manner as to conceal it. On the floor were spread two blankets and a pillow made by stuffing papers into a flour sack. A sheet was pinned to the blanket.

Paul Drake's flashlight threw brilliant light into the corner, and held the square of note paper in the center of its beam.

"A note," he said, "pinned on that blanket."

Winifred made a dive for the note. Perry Mason's rigid right arm thrust in front of her held her back.

"Just a minute, sister," he said. "You take too many liberties with the truth. I'll read this one first."

The note was a scrawl, as though it had been penciled in the dark. It read:

"I can't do it, Winnie, dear. Probably they'd never find me. But if they did it would make it tough on you. I'd feel that I was hiding behind you as a shield. Perhaps if things come out all right I'll get in touch with you. But I know they'll be watching you and watching your mail, so you won't hear anything from me for a while. Lots of love and kisses to you, sweetheart. Your own Doug."

Mason read the note out loud, folded it and said to Della Street, "Catch her, quick. She's going to faint."

Winifred sagged toward Della Street 's protecting arm, then straightened. Her eyes were wan and pathetic. "I shouldn't have left him alone," she said. "I should have known he'd do that."

Perry Mason moved toward the door, kicked aside a broken packing case, walked down the passageway, entered Winifred's room, picked up a telephone and dialed a number. "I want to talk with District Attorney Burger," he said.

After a moment he said, "It's Perry Mason talking. I've got to see him on a matter of importance. Where can I reach him?"

The receiver made squawking noises, and Perry Mason, with an exclamation of disgust, hung up the receiver. He dialed another number, and said, "Police Headquarters?… Is Sergeant Holcomb where you can put him on the phone?… Hello, Sergeant Holcomb? This is Perry Mason… Yes, I know it's late… No, it isn't past my bedtime. If you're trying to be funny, you can skip it, and if you're wisecracking you can go to hell. I rang up to tell you that I personally will guarantee Douglas Keene will surrender to the police at five o'clock tonight… No, not at Police Headquarters. That would give you a chance to pick him up en route, and claim he was a fugitive from justice. I'll telephone you from some place which I'll select. You can come there and pick him up. Don't try to keep the information from the newspapers, because I'm going to tell them… Yes, I'll surrender him at five o'clock …"

Winifred Laxter lunged toward the telephone. "No, no!" she screamed. "No! You can't…"

Perry Mason pushed her away. " Five o'clock," he said, and hung up.

Della Street held one of the girl's arms. Paul Drake held the other. She was wrestling with them, her eyes fastened on Perry Mason's face with an expression of stark fear.

"You can't do it!" she screamed. "You mustn't. You…"

"I said I'd do it," Perry Mason said slowly, "and, by God, I will."

"You're selling us out."

"I'm selling no one out. You wanted me to represent him. All right, I'm going to represent him. The boy's made a fool of himself. He's just a kid. He got stampeded into running away. Someone's doublecrossed him. I'm going to put him back on the right track.

"He'll read the newspaper. He'll read that I'm representing him. He'll read that I've personally guaranteed to surrender him into custody at five o'clock tonight. He'll know I'm acting for you. He'll come in and give himself up."

"Chief," Della Street pleaded, "suppose he shouldn't get in touch with you, suppose he should read that in the paper and still keep in hiding?"

Perry Mason shrugged his shoulders. "Come on," he said to Paul Drake. "We'd better get up to the office. Newspaper reporters are going to ask us questions."

He turned to Della Street. "You stay here until that girl gets quieted down. Don't let her have hysterics, and don't let her make a fool of herself. As soon as you can leave her, come up to the office."

Della Street, clicking her heels together, made a mock military salute. "Okay, Chief," she said.

She turned to Winifred Laxter. "Come on, baby, snap out of it."

"I'm ssssnapped out of it," Winifred said, fighting back tears. "Mind your own ddddamned bbbbusiness, and gggo on up to his office."