Mason grinned at the detective. "See if it's important, Della," he told her.
Paul Drake held out a couple of newspapers. "See what's happened?" he asked. Mason raised his eyebrows in mute interrogation. Drake made a gesture of utter weariness, and said. "She's spilled her guts."
The lawyer stared steadily at the detective, his feet planted wide apart. Slowly he smiled. Della Street slammed the telephone back into place, looked up at Perry Mason, her face white with rage. "What's your trouble, sister?" Mason asked.
"That," she said, "was some smart aleck at headquarters who wanted to tell you—in a voice that fairly oozed gloating triumph—that your client, Rhoda Montaine, had just finished signing a statement in the district attorney's office, and that you could see her at any time. He said you wouldn't need a writ of habeas corpus; that she was being charged with murder in the first degree and that the authorities at the jail would be only too glad to let you see her at any time you wanted—and he put just the right amount of nasty sarcastic emphasis upon the 'too. "
Perry Mason stared down at her without changing a muscle of his facial expression. "Why," he asked, "didn't you let me talk with him?"
"Because he was just trying to goad you," she said.
Mason said slowly, "Hereafter, when any one wants to do that, put me on the line. Remember this, Della, I can dish it out, and I can take it." He turned to Paul Drake, "Come in, Paul," he said.
The men entered Mason's inner office, closed the door. Paul Drake whipped over a newspaper. "Details?" asked Perry Mason.
"Lots of them. They don't give the signed statement, but the paper was evidently held for release until the statement had been signed."
"What does she say?" Mason asked.
"She says that Moxley was trying to blackmail her; that he insisted on her coming to see him at two o'clock in the morning; that she got up while her husband was asleep, left the house and went to see Moxley; that she rang the doorbell for several minutes and couldn't get in, so she turned around, got in the car and went home."
"Does she say anything about how she rang the bell?"
"Yes, pushing her finger against the button and holding it there for several seconds at a time because she thought perhaps Moxley was asleep."
"And then," Perry Mason said, "I suppose they flashed the fact of the garage key on her, and asked her to explain how it got in Moxley's apartment, if she hadn't been able to get him to answer the door."
"Exactly," Drake said. "And the way she answered it was that she'd been there earlier in the afternoon and had dropped the keys; that she hadn't realized it until quite a bit later."
Mason smiled, a wry smile which held no mirth. It was like the grimace of a man who has bit into a lemon. "And all of this time," he said, "Carl Montaine is insisting that he locked the door of the garage when he put his car in, and that Rhoda must have had her keys in order to get the garage open; that she, herself, told him she had left her purse in the car and that she went out and unlocked the door in order to get the purse just before she went to bed."
"Oh, well," Drake said, reassuringly, "some one on the jury will believe her."
"Not after the district attorney's office gets done with the facts," Perry Mason said slowly. "You see they've trapped her into making the most damaging admission she could make."
"I don't see it," Drake said, his protruding eyes staring steadily at Mason.
"Don't you see?" Mason pointed out. "The strongest claim she could have made would have been selfdefense. It would have been her word against the sealed lips of a dead man. There was nothing the district attorney's office could have done to have contradicted her story. If she'd sprung it at the proper time and in the proper way, she'd have been almost certain to have won the sympathy and belief of the jury.
"Now, the newspaper accounts show that the people who lived next door heard the doorbell ringing during the time the murder was being committed. Rhoda kept thinking about that, and realized that there was an opportunity for her to claim she was the one who had been ringing the doorbell. At first blush, it looked like an easy out for her. If she could put herself in the position of having been on the porch, ringing that doorbell, she'd have an airtight alibi. It was a trap and she walked right into it.
"Now, the district attorney has got three shots at her. First, he can show, from the time element, that it couldn't have been she. Second, he can show from the keys that were found in the room that she must have been in the room with Moxley after she had unlocked the door of the garage. Third, and most dangerous of all, he can uncover the person who really was ringing that doorbell and put him on the witness stand to rebut Rhoda's testimony.
"By that time, the door to a plea of selfdefense has been closed. She's either got to establish the fact that she wasn't there at all, or she's got to be caught in so many falsehoods that she's guilty of first degree murder."
Drake nodded his head slowly. "I hadn't thought of it in just that light," he said, "but I can see where it fits in."
Della Street twisted the knob of the door, opened it just wide enough to slip through into Perry Mason's private office. "The father," she said, "is out there."
"Who?" asked Perry Mason.
"C. Phillip Montaine, of Chicago."
"How does he look, Della?"
"He's one of those men who are hard to figure. He's past sixty, but there isn't any film on his eyes. They're as bright as the eyes of a bird. He's got a closecropped white mustache, thin, straight lips and a poker face. He's welltailored and distinguished looking. He knows his way around."
Mason glanced from Della Street to Paul Drake, said slowly, "This man has got to be handled just right. In many ways, he represents the key to the situation. He controls the purse strings. I want to put him in such a position that he'll pay for Rhoda's defense. My idea of what he would be like doesn't check with that description, Della. I figured him for a pompous, egotistical man who has been accustomed to dominating people through his financial position. I figured that I'd make him mad and frighten him a little bit by letting him think he had to give Rhoda a break to keep the newspapers from ridiculing the Montaine name that he's so touchy about."
Mason stared thoughtfully at the silent Della Street. "Well," he said, "say something." She shook her head and smiled. "Go on," the lawyer said, "you can read character pretty well. I want to find out how this man impresses you."
"You can't handle him that way, chief," she said.
"Why not?"
"Because," she said, staring steadily at him, "he's got poise and intelligence. He's got something all planned out—a campaign of his own. I don't know what it is he wants, but I'll bet he's figured out how he's going to handle you, just the way you've figured out how you were going to handle him."
Mason's eyes glinted. "Okay," he said, "I can handle him that way, too." He turned to Paul Drake. "You'd better go out through the outer office, Paul, so you can get a look at him. We may have to shadow him later on, and I want you to know what he looks like."
Drake nodded. A grin emphasized the droll humor of his face. He sauntered to the door, opened it and paused in the open doorway. "Thank you very much, Counselor," he said, "for the advice. I'll let you know if I have any more trouble." He closed the door.
Mason faced Della Street. "Della," he said, "I may have to get rough with this guy. He'll probably try coming in here with a lot of talk about what an important man he is. I want to beat him to it, and…"
The door to the outer office pushed open. Paul Drake, speaking hastily, said, "There was one matter I forgot to ask you about, Counselor. I know you'll pardon me." He strode through the door, pushing it shut, extended his long legs and covered the distance to Perry Mason's desk in four swift steps. "Pin this bird down as to the time he came to town," he said, speaking rapidly.
"You mean the father?" Mason asked, his eyes showing surprise.
"Yes."
"Presumably after he read about the murder," Mason said. "His son tells me t
hat the father was working on a financial deal of major importance, and…"
"If that man in your outer office," Paul Drake interrupted, "is C. Phillip Montaine, he came here before Moxley was murdered—not afterwards." Mason pursed his lips and gave a low whistle. Drake leaned across the lawyer's desk and said, "You remember that when I saw Rhoda Montaine coming out of this office, I noticed she was being shadowed, and I trailed along for awhile?"
"Are you trying to tell me," Mason asked, "that this man was the shadow?"
"No, he wasn't the shadow, but he was sitting in an automobile parked close to the curb. He's got the type of eyes that don't miss much. He saw Rhoda Montaine, he saw the man who was following her, and he saw me. I don't know whether he figured there was any connection or not."
"You can't be mistaken, Paul?"
"Not a chance."
"But his son told me that his father was in Chicago."
"The son might have been lying or the father might have been lying."
"Perhaps the old man's lying," Mason said. "The son isn't. If Carl had known his father was here in the city he'd have brought the old man along to give him moral support when he first came here. Carl's the type who needs some one to back his play. He's relied on his dad all his life. The old man may have been here without letting the son know he was here."
"Why would he do that?" Drake asked.
"I don't know, but maybe I can find out. Did he see you, Paul?"
"Sure he saw me. What's more I think he remembered me. But I pulled a deadpan on him and he doesn't know I've spotted him. He thinks I'm just a client. I'll duck out now. I wanted you to have the lowdown before you saw him."
Mason said slowly, "There's one other explanation, Paul. This guy may not be Montaine at all."
The detective nodded slow agreement.
"But why," demanded Della Street, "would an impostor call on you, chief?"
Mason's laugh was grim and mirthless. "Because the district attorney might figure I was going to try and put the screws on the old man," he said. "So the D.A. figured he'd run in a ringer and see what I did about it."
"Oh, please," Della pleaded, "do be careful, chief!"
"That would mean," the detective remarked thoughtfully, "that the man's out of the D.A.'s office; and that would mean the D.A. was having Rhoda shadowed before the murder. Perry, you'd better find out all about this guy before you open up on him."
Mason indicated the door. "Okay, Paul. Make an artistic getaway."
The detective once more opened the door, said as though he had opened the door in the middle of a sentence, "… glad I thought of it now. It's a complication I was afraid of, but I see you have the matter in mind. Thank you very much, Counselor." The door slammed.
Della Street 's eyes pleaded with Perry Mason. The lawyer motioned her toward the door. "We can't have any delay now, Della," he said, "or he'll be suspicious. He probably remembered Paul Drake. He'll naturally wonder whether Paul came back to tip me off. So open the door and bring him in."
Della Street opened the door. "Mr. Mason will see you, Mr. Montaine," she said.
Montaine entered the room, bowed, smiled, and did not offer to shake hands. "Good morning, Counselor," he said.
Perry Mason, on his feet, indicated a chair. Montaine dropped into the chair. Mason sat down, and Della Street closed the door to the outer office. "Doubtless," Montaine said, "you know why I am here."
Mason spoke with disarming frankness. "I'm glad you are here, Mr. Montaine. I wanted to talk with you. I understood from your son, however, that you were involved in a very important financial deal. I presume you dropped everything when you heard about the murder."
"Yes, I chartered a private plane and arrived late last night."
"You've seen Carl?" Mason inquired.
There was a frosty twinkle in Montaine's eyes. "Perhaps, Counselor," he said, "it would be better if I stated my errand first and then you questioned me afterwards."
"Go ahead," Mason said bluntly.
"Let's start out by being fair and frank with each other," Montaine said. "I am a financier. The attorneys I contact are lawyers who have specialized in corporation law. They are usually men who have made fortunate investments through the judicious use of influential connections. You are the first criminal attorney I have ever met professionally.
"I know, generally, that you men are in many ways sharper than the attorneys I have done business with. You have a reputation for being less scrupulous. Whenever the respectable element wants to find a goat for the everincreasing 'crime waves' it blames the criminal attorney.
"My son consulted you. He's anxious to have his wife cleared of the charges against her. Yet, because he is a Montaine, he won't lie." Montaine paused impressively. "He is going to tell nothing more nor less than the exact truth, regardless of what the cost may be."
"You haven't told me anything yet," Mason said.
"I am laying a foundation."
"Forget the foundation. You don't need it. Get to the point."
"Very well. My son retained you to represent his wife. I know that you expect pay for your services. I know that you know my son has virtually nothing in his own name. I realize, therefore, that in the back of your mind you have fixed upon me as the source of your fee. I am not a fool, and I assume that you are not.
"I am not questioning my son's judgment. I think he selected an excellent attorney for the purpose. However, I don't want you to underestimate me. Under certain circumstances I'm willing to pay for the defense of Rhoda Montaine and to pay handsomely. Unless these conditions are met, I shall refuse to pay a red cent."
"Go on," Mason said, "you're doing the talking."
"Unfortunately," Montaine remarked, after biting at the end of his stubby white mustache for a moment, "there are some things I cannot say. The district attorney's office have advised me of certain steps they contemplate taking. I can't reveal those steps to you without violating a confidence. On the other hand, I know that you are a very shrewd individual, Mr. Mason."
"So what?" Perry Mason asked.
"So," Montaine said, "while I can't tell you what those steps are, if you should tell me that you have anticipated those steps, we might then discuss the matter frankly."
Perry Mason made drumming gestures with his fingertips. "I presume," he said, "you're referring to the fact that as long as your son and Rhoda are husband and wife, the district attorney's office can't use Carl as a witness. They will, therefore, try to get an annulment of the marriage."
A smile lit Montaine's face. "Thank you, Counselor," he said. "Thank you very much, indeed. I had hoped you might make a statement of that nature. You will understand my position in relation to that annulment action."
"You," Mason said, "feel that your son married beneath him, is that right?"
"Certainly."
"Why?"
"He married a woman who was after him only for his money; a woman whose previous life had certainly not been above reproach; a woman who continued to make clandestine appointments with the man who had been her former husband, and also with a doctor who had been intimately associated with her."
"You think that association was improper?"
"I am not saying that."
"You are implying it."
"After all, Counselor, isn't this rather beside the point? You asked me a question and I answered it fairly and frankly. Perhaps you do not agree with my feelings. Nevertheless, your question concerned my feelings, rather than facts."
"The reason I asked the question," Mason said, "was because I want to get your attitude clarified in my own mind. I take it you're anxious to have the marriage declared null and void. What you want me to do is to promise you that while I'll put up the best defense I can for Rhoda Montaine, I'll not fight the annulment action. Moreover, when it comes to the crossexamining of your son, you'll expect me to lay off making him appear too ridiculous. If I'll promise to cooperate on these things you're willing to pay me a nice fee. If I don't coopera
te, you're not going to give me a dime. Is that right?"
Montaine seemed uncomfortable. "You have expressed the idea," he said cautiously, "far more bluntly than I would have dared to."
"But accurately?" Mason asked.
Montaine met his eyes. "Yes," he said, "quite accurately. You do not, of course, know the amount of the fee I am prepared to pay. It is, I think, much larger than would be considered customary. Do you understand me?"
Perry Mason clenched his right fist, pounded it slowly upon the desk, giving emphasis to his words. "I get you now. I'm even way ahead of you. You want to get rid of Rhoda Montaine. If she'll let the district attorney annul the marriage to Carl you'll be willing to give her a break on the murder case. If she insists on the legality of the marriage, you'll try to get rid of her by having her convicted of murder. Carl's a weak sister. You know it, and I know it. If Rhoda is acquitted and still remains Carl's wife she might prove troublesome. If she's willing to give Carl up, you'll give her money to defend the charges against her. If she insists on sticking to Carl, you'll throw in with the district attorney and try to get her convicted of murder. You're so damned coldblooded you don't care about anything except getting your way."
"Isn't that," Montaine asked coldly, "being rather unfair to me?"
"No," Mason said, "I think not."
"I think so."
"Perhaps," Mason said, "because you haven't been fair with yourself. Perhaps you haven't gone so far as to analyze your motives and to determine just how far you are ready to go."
"Is it necessary, Counselor, that we should discuss my motives in order to get your answer to my proposition?"
"Yes."
"I don't see why."
"Because," Mason said, "your motives, for reasons which I shall presently discuss, may be of controlling importance."
"You still haven't given me an answer to my proposition."
"My answer," Mason said, "is an emphatic negative. I am called upon to defend Rhoda Montaine. I think it will be very much to her advantage to seal the lips of your son by insisting upon the legality of the marriage. Therefore, I shall contest any annulment suit."
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