"That's all he's said so far?" Mason asked, grinning into the transmitter.

"Yeah, but give the boy a little time and he'll think up something else."

"I'll say he will. Have the police put Sam under arrest?"

"They're questioning him in the district attorney's office."

"And Shuster isn't present?"

"Shuster naturally isn't present, and Sam isn't talking."

"Do they know just when Edith DeVoe was killed?" Mason asked.

"No. She was dead when the ambulance arrived. Her skull was fractured. Death itself took place shortly before the ambulance got there, but when the blow was struck is another question. She may have died instantly. She may have been unconscious for an hour or two and then died. They can't fix the time of the attack. The police know about the marriage now. They've got a statement from Milton, and Oafley has told them all he knows. The marriage ceremony took place right around ten o'clock. The boys from the poker game came in and helped celebrate. They were in there fifteen or twenty minutes. Then they left. Oafley says he left about ten minutes to eleven."

"Rather strange that Oafley should leave within an hour after the ceremony was performed," Mason said slowly.

"As far as Oafley's concerned, he's in the clear," Drake said. "The officers have checked his story. He left about ten minutes to eleven. He arrived at the house about five or ten minutes after eleven. That gives him a perfect alibi on the Ashton killing. Ashton was killed right around ten thirty. Four or five people can prove that Oafley was in Edith DeVoe's apartment as late as ten twenty anyway, and one person saw him leaving the apartment house a few minutes before eleven. The housekeeper saw him come in about ten minutes after eleven."

"Could Oafley have smashed Edith DeVoe's head before he left her apartment?"

"No, she was alive at eleven o'clock. She knocked on the door where the boys were playing poker and asked to borrow some matches."

"Everyone in the case seems to have been going to Edith DeVoe's apartment last night," Mason said thoughtfully. "She must have been holding a reception."

"It's only natural," Drake told him, "when you consider that she'd been telling what she knew about Sam Laxter. These things get around, you know.

"Frankly, Perry, you've got a swell break. Things look pretty black for Sam Laxter right now. The only alibi he has to tie to is that he was in Shuster's office while Ashton was being murdered. It's now come out that Shuster had been tipped off when Burger made arrangements to exhume Peter Laxter's body, so Shuster telephoned Sam and Sam came to his office."

"Find out anything about that Chevrolet?" Mason asked.

"I can't prove it's the same Chevrolet," Drake said, "but a couple of people noticed an old Chewy with a crumpled fender parked in front of the apartment house where Edith DeVoe lived, about eleven o'clock. One witness remembered it because he said there was a new Buick parked right behind it and he noticed the contrast in the two cars."

Mason said slowly, "Could you see that the police were tipped off to ask Sam Laxter how it happened he left his house in the green Pontiac and came back in the caretaker's Chevrolet?"

"I could tip them off to ask, but it wouldn't do any good. Laxter is keeping quiet. He's making a lot of mysterious references to the old standby—the married woman with whom he spent an hour after leaving Shuster's office. He won't jeopardize her good name."

Mason laughed heartily. "My God," he said, "hasn't Shuster worn out that alibi yet? Every one of his clients has used it for the past ten years."

"It sometimes gets by with a jury," Drake pointed out. "But, anyway, it gives your man, Keene, a swell break if you play it right."

"I'm going to play it right," Mason promised him grimly. "How about the Clammert automobile, did you find out anything?"

"Some," Drake said. "I find that Watson Clammert purchased a Buick sedan and had a state license issued to him. The number is 3D4416. I haven't been able to get the engine number or the body number, but we'll get them. He took a full coverage policy with the International Automotive Indemnity Exchange."

"Did you get a description of him?" Mason asked.

"No. But I'm working on it."

"Quit working on it, then. Drop Watson Clammert like a hot potato. Call in your men. Tell them not to ask any more questions. You've done a swell job, Paul. And now you can go get some sleep."

"You mean you don't want anything more?"

"Not another thing. So far as you're concerned, the case is closed. Further inquiries are just going to make trouble."

Drake said slowly, "Well, you know your business, Perry… Here's a tip for you. I got it from headquarters. The police are planning to rush through a preliminary hearing for Douglas Keene and call Sam Laxter as a witness. Then they'll ask him where he was at the time the murder was committed. Laxter will be given his choice of naming the woman or going to jail for contempt."

"Under the circumstances, he'll probably go to jail for contempt and get a lot of newspaper sympathy," Mason said. "Anything else?"

"Ashton is mixed up in things pretty deep," Drake said. "The detectives are beginning to think he copped off most of Laxter's coin. Does that mean anything special to you?"

"Sure, it does. It's the whole case. The whole business hinges on Ashton," Mason replied.

As Paul Drake asked an excited question, the lawyer pretended not to hear and said, "Well, I'm taking a train, Paul. Goodby."

He hung up the receiver, looked at his wristwatch, crossed to a haberdashery store which made a specialty of supplying the needs of travelers, purchased several handbags, a few articles of clothing, and then returned to the depot. He went to the telegraph office and sent a telegram addressed to Watson Clammert, care of the Hotel Biltmore, Santa Barbara. The telegram read:

Mason unhesitatingly signed the partnership name of the leading law firm in the city, a law firm of financial and political prestige, which specialized only in the most remunerative of corporate and probate business.

He paid for the telegram and saw that it was dispatched.

He consulted his wristwatch, stretched, yawned, and then, with a chuckle, proceeded to the telephone booth. He looked up the number of Hamilton Burger's residential telephone, together with the address, then called the telephone company and said, "I want to send a telegram, please."

After a moment, a young woman's voice said, "To whom is your message going?"

"Thelma Pixley, 3824 East Washington Street."

"And what is the message?" the feminine voice asked.

"Greatly impressed by your personality appearance and ability," Mason dictated slowly. "In view of what has recently happened you will probably be out of a job. I would like very much to have you work for me. I am a bachelor and will pay you good wages. I will treat you with every consideration. Please come to my office at your earliest convenience bringing this telegram with you and we can discuss wages."

"By whom is the telegram to be signed?" asked the businesslike feminine voice.

" Hamilton Burger."

"It's to be charged to your telephone, Mr. Burger?"

"Yes."

"What's the number, please?"