Mason smiled urbanely. "Why no, Sergeant, that's not my game. I was just asking you a question; that's all."

Sergeant Holcomb leaned across the desk, holding both edges of it with a grip which drew the skin white and taut across the knuckles.

"After a while, Mason," he said, "we get so we know just about what to expect with you. The police department isn't as dumb as you may think it is. And, just to give you a little something to think over, as soon as you telephoned that you were going to represent Douglas Keene and that he'd surrender at five o'clock tonight, I sent some of the boys out to locate the cat. And it just happened that I knew where to send them. Just for your information, we've picked up Clinker, and he's in police custody. He was in the apartment of your very efficient secretary, Miss Della Street. And the cat has been identified at police headquarters by the chauffeur and the housekeeper, and a label has been tied around his neck. And any time you want to start juggling cats in front of a jury, you won't have to worry about taking fingerprints, or switching cats, or pulling any of your other tricks, because Clinker will be right there with a tag around his neck."

Sergeant Holcomb turned on his heel and strode toward the outer office.

For a moment, Perry Mason's face was grim and tense. Then he gave a slow smile in the direction of the newspaper reporters.

"We'd like to ask you," one of the men said, "if you agree…"

Mason said slowly, "Gentlemen, you have a damned good story. Go ahead and publish it as it is." And then clamped his lips shut in the obstinate silence of one who knows how to keep quiet.

Chapter 13

Perry Mason turned prom the telephone and said to Della Street, "Nat Shuster and his two clients, Sam Laxter and Frank Oafley, are out there to see me. This is going to be a good show while it lasts. Go out and send them in. Turn on the loudspeaking interoffice telephone, sit out in your office and take down as much of the conversation as you can. You may have to testify later on about what was said."

"And I'm to keep a line open?" she asked. "And talk with anyone who calls for you?"

"Absolutely. See that nothing interferes with that. Douglas Keene may telephone in at any time. I don't want his call to be handled by the regular office system."

"Suppose he doesn't telephone in, Chief?"

"We've been over all that before."

"Suppose he's guilty? Can Sergeant Holcomb do all of those things he was threatening?"

Mason shrugged. "That," he said, "is where I have them fooled. Holcomb is trying to stick me for concealing a murderer. I've told the police Keene will surrender at five o'clock. Naturally they think I know where he is. I don't know any more about it than the man in the moon."

"Therefore, there's nothing they can do?" she asked.

"Don't worry so much; go ahead and let Shuster in here. He's probably going to deal a couple of cards from the bottom of a cold deck."

"Such as what?"

"Such as suing me for defamation of character."

"Why?"

"Because I told the district attorney what Edith DeVoe told me about that automobile exhaust business."

"But you were just passing on what she told you."

"I can't even prove that she told it to me now. She's dead and there weren't any witnesses. Go ahead and bring Shuster in, and don't forget to listen to everything that's said, and take notes so you can testify to it later on."

She nodded, slipped through the door, and, a moment later, ushered Shuster, Laxter and Oafley into the room.

Shuster twisted his lips back from protruding teeth. The perfunctory smile over, his face became a mask of reproachful gravity. "Counselor, did you inform the district attorney that my client, Samuel C. Laxter, was guilty of the murder of his grandfather, Peter Laxter?"

"Want me to answer that yes or no?" Mason inquired casually.

Shuster frowned. "Answer it," he said.

"No."

"Didn't you intimate to him that such was the case?"

"No."

"Didn't you tell him that Edith DeVoe had accused him of that crime?"

"No."

Shuster's face was a study. "Mr. Burger says you told him that."

Mason remained silent.

"Burger told Sam Laxter," Shuster went on, "that you said Edith DeVoe told you Samuel Laxter had a tube running from his exhaust to the hot air pipe that went to Peter Laxter's room."

Perry Mason's face was as grim and uncompromising as granite. "Perhaps he did, because she did, and I did."

Shuster blinked his eyes as he tried to figure out those answers, then, with a look of triumph on his face, he said, "You told Burger that she made that accusation?"

"It wasn't an accusation; she simply said she saw him seated in the automobile with the motor running and a flexible tube extending to the hot air pipe. She told me that, and I told Burger that."

"It's a lie."

"What's a lie?" Mason asked, getting to his feet ominously.

Shuster backed up nervously, holding out his hand before him. "A slander, I meant," he said, "a defamation of character."

"Has it ever occurred to you that it might be a privileged communication?" Mason inquired.

"Not if it was actuated by malice," Shuster remarked, shaking his finger at Perry Mason, but moving back of the big overstuffed leather chair so that it was between him and Mason. "And you were actuated by malice. You were trying to protect your client, Douglas Keene."

"So what?" Mason asked.

"So we want a retraction."

"Who wants a retraction?"

"Samuel Laxter does, and I do."

"Very well," Mason said, "you want a retraction—so what?"

"We want your answer."

Mason said, "I told Burger nothing but the truth, as it was told to me. I didn't vouch for the facts; I only vouched for the statement having been made for what it was worth."

"We want an apology."

"Go to hell."

Samuel Laxter stepped forward. His face was white.

"Mr. Mason," he said, "I don't know you, but I do know there's something rotten in Denmark. I'd heard that a story was being circulated, linking me with the death of my grandfather. It's a damnable lie! I've also heard that you led the officers to a surreptitious and unwarranted search of my car, in my garage, after first picking the lock of the garage in order to get across to my car. Someone had planted a long tube in my automobile without my knowledge. I don't know what protection the law gives me—that's up to Mr. Shuster—but I certainly intend to see that you're held to strict accountability for what you've done."

Mason yawned.

Shuster laid a restraining hand on Sam Laxter's arm. "Now let me do the talking," he said, "let me do the talking. Don't get excited. Keep calm, keep calm. I can handle him. You let me make the statements."

Mason sat down once more in his big swivel chair, leaned back and took a cigarette from the cigarette case on the desk. "Anything else?" he asked, tapping the end of the cigarette on his thumbnail.

Frank Oafley said, "Mr. Mason, I want you to understand my position. My relationship with Edith DeVoe is no longer a secret. She had done me the honor to marry me shortly before her death."

He stopped for a moment while a spasm of expression crossed his face; then he went on, "She had told me about what she had seen, but I hadn't been inclined to give it much thought until after the district attorney pointed out to me how easy it would have been for someone to have put carbon monoxide into Grandfather's room.

"Naturally, this came as a big shock to me. I know my cousin well. I can't believe that he was capable of any such thing, and then I remembered that Edith had never told me that she had positively recognized Sam as the one in that car. The man in the car had his face concealed under the broad brim of Sam's hat. That was what led Edith to believe the man in the car was Sam Laxter.