“That nice horsehide bag?” Mason asked.

  “That was the property of a man who dropped dead on the course. It was a hot day he’d been overdoing, working under a terrific strain and he started out on a morning foursome, finished eighteen holes, stopped and rested at the clubhouse, and then very foolishly went out to play nine more holes on some kind of a bet, so the loser could have a chance to get even. Golf gets blamed for a lot of things, Mr. Mason, that are actually the result of human carelessness, stupidity and downright foolishness.”

  “How about buying that bag of clubs?” Mason asked.

  The golf pro shook his head. “There are a lot of clubs in there you wouldn’t need, Mr. Mason, and couldn’t use. You should have a couple of woods, four irons and a putter. Any more than that will just confuse you and tend to throw you off your game.”

  Mason kept his eyes on the golf bag. “How long have you had it?” he asked.

  “Not very long. Another man was in here looking at it a short time ago. Thought he might buy it. It’s a little more money than he wants to put in it.”

  “It’s for sale?” Mason asked.

  “It’s for sale, but I haven’t a definite price on it at the moment. The widow asked me to see what I could get.”

  “What do you think it’s worth?” Mason asked.

  Cortland eyed Mason thoughtfully, finally said, “Just why do you want it, Mr. Mason?”

  “If I showed up on the course with that bag,” Mason said, “I’d make quite an impression on the others.”

  “An initial impression, yes,” Cortland said. “But I want you to win your game—at least to play the best game you can play.”

  “Yes, I suppose so,” Mason said. “Well, all right, I guess I’ll let you fix me up a bag, but that golf bag interests me. Just what generally is the price on it?”

  “Just the way the outfit stands,” Cortland said, “I think the widow should get a hundred and seventy-five dollars for it.”

  “Tell you what I’ll do,” Mason said. “I’ll offer a hundred and forty-five dollars, but you’ll have to trust me until I can get back to the office and make a check.”

  “I have no authority to accept any such offer,” Cortland said. “Just a minute. I want you to try out this putter. Just take this ball and go out on the putting green and try a few strokes with it. See how you get the rhythm of the thing. Now, Mr. Mason, you’ll do better if you’re keeping pretty well behind the ball. Keep your weight just a little more on your right hip than on the left, and make a smooth, even stroke. Just stroke right through the ball. That putter has a balance that I think will suit you very nicely.”

  Mason thanked him, took the ball and club and went out on the practice green, was gone for five minutes, returned and said, “I think it works all right. I think I can use this putter nicely.”

  “I thought you could.”

  “What about the golf clubs?” Mason asked.

  The pro smiled. “I called up the widow. The offer is rejected.”

  “Well,” Mason said, “I want the clubs. I’ll go higher. What was the price she said she’d take?”

  The pro shook his head. “She’s decided not to sell the clubs. She wants to keep them as a memento of her dead husband. He always kept them in his den at home, and she says the room is bare and lonesome without them. She wanted me to bring them to her on my way home tonight. I promised I would.”

  Mason sighed. “Well, I guess that’s that, but I certainly did like those clubs.”

  “You never even had them in your hand,” Cortland said.

  “I know it,” Mason admitted, “but there’s something about the looks of them—something about the bag.”

  “It’s a nice outfit,” Cortland said, and then went on selecting clubs for Mason’s bag.

  Mason said, “I came away without my checkbook.”

  “That’s all right. We have a lot of blank checks here. You can just fill in one of the blanks and it’ll be all right.”

  “Thanks very much,” Mason told him. “I’m going to brush up on my golf game and try to get some exercise.”

  “That’s the stuff,” Cortland told him. “But don’t overdo it.”

  Mason filled out a check, took his new golf clubs out to his car, climbed in and drove down the road toward Palm Springs.

  At the junction of the main highway Paul Drake, waiting in a car, tapped his horn button twice.

  Mason pulled over to the side of the road and stopped.

  “How was the golf?” Drake asked.

  “Terrible,” Mason said. “I creak in the joints. Too much courtroom and not enough exercise. Did you get the letter planted in the golf bag?”

  “I did,” Drake said, “and I did it very nicely. I went in and got the pro’s attention distracted while the young man I had, who is a real golfing enthusiast, just went through everything in the shop.”

  “Have any trouble getting the right bag?” Mason asked.

  “No trouble at all,” Drake said. “Gerald Atwood had his name stenciled at the top of the bag. How did you do?”

  “I aroused the widow’s suspicions,” Mason said. “I think I did it artistically enough so she will suspect nothing in the line of a plant, but she now feels certain that I came all the way down here in order to buy her husband’s golf bag.”

  Drake chuckled.

  “So,” Mason said, “the trap is now baited.”

  “And we can let some of the operatives go?” Drake asked.

  “We’ll let everybody go,” Mason said. “We’ve run the blind woman to earth, so that’s taken care of, and I don’t want to have any detectives waiting around the Hollywood house tonight because that might scare our game away.”

  “You mean we’re going to be watching it ourselves?”

  Mason shook his head. “Not watching. We’re going to spend the night in the house, Paul.”

  “Now, wait a minute, wait a minute,” Drake protested. “You can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “We have no right in there. We …”

  “Don’t be silly,” Mason said. “We’re representing Katherine Ellis. She has a key to the front door. She has a room there. She has things in the room, and Mrs. Atwood assured me that Miss Ellis or her representatives could come at any time and remove things from the room.”

  “Remove things from the room, yes,” Drake said, “but that’s different than staying all night.”

  Mason grinned reassuringly. “We probably won’t have to stay much after midnight, Paul.”

  “I didn’t sleep much last night,” Drake protested.

  “Neither did I,” Mason told him. “Perhaps we can take turns tonight.”

  “Can we get in all right?” Drake asked.

  “Sure,” Mason said. “I have Katherine Ellis’ key. The authorities have released the premises, and … ”

  “Suppose they have a trap of their own?” Drake asked.

  “Then we’ve baited it for them,” Mason said.

  Chapter 13

  It was well after dark when Perry Mason and Paul Drake parked their cars a couple of blocks from the old-fashioned two-and-a-half-story house and walked quietly down the street.

  “Now then,” Mason said, holding a latchkey in his hand, “the thing to do is to walk right up to the front door with all the assurance in the world. We fit the latchkey, walk right in and go through the entrance hall, turn to the right at the main stairway, go up the stairway to the first floor, turn to the right—and Katherine Ellis’ room is the room looking out on the street. We’re going to have to be prepared to sit there, Paul, for a long wait.”

  “It may not be so long at that,” Drake said. “My operative tells me Bernice Atwood came tearing out to the Four Palms Country Club and picked up that golf bag in a hurry. I’ll bet terrific odds that as soon as she got home she started going through every bit of the bag.”

  Mason said, “It won’t take her long to make up her mind that she must take some further direct action. We’ll assume that in the Palm Springs house she found a will leaving everything to Sophia. She destroyed that will. Now she has reason to believe there’s another will, a later holographic will, and that it’s concealed in this house.”

  “So we catch her making a search, and what does that prove?” Drake asked.

  “It doesn’t prove anything,” Mason said, “but it is evidence looking toward proof.

  “After all, Paul, remember that my job is not to get a share of Gerald Atwood’s estate for Sophia, but to get Katherine Ellis acquitted of the crime of assault with intent to commit murder.

  “What I want to show is that other people were interested in searching this house, and if in the course of their search they encountered a hatbox filled with money, they would be very apt to appropriate the money.”

  “That still doesn’t prove Katherine Ellis was innocent of returning later on and socking Aunt Sophia on the bean,” Drake said.

  Mason chuckled. “You’d be surprised at what some of that evidence will amount to by the time we get it into court. … Well, here we are, Paul right up the walk and then up the steps with all the assurance in the world.”

  “We should turn on the lights after we get in,” Drake said. “Anyone seeing us going in and then not seeing the lights go on ”

  “No lights,” Mason interrupted. “If we’re seen going in bv anvone who is really watching the place, we’ll be in the soup within the first five minutes.”

  Mason fitted the latchkey, snapped back the bolt, held the door open. “Come on, Paul.”

  The house had been closed up and there was a certain stale quality about the air, different from the bracing air of the street outside.

  “I guess Aunt Sophia didn’t like ventilation too much,” Drake said.

  Mason said, “You can talk, Paul, until we get upstairs to Katherine’s room. Then we’re going to sit absolutely quiet without conversation, without any light and without smoking.”

  “Good lord,” Drake said, “you didn’t tell me that!”

  “You should have known that,” Mason said. “You can’t alarm an intruder any more efficiently and thoroughly than by letting him smell fresh tobacco smoke.”

  “Oh lord,” Drake groaned. “I’ll be chewing my fingernails. You really don’t need me here, Perry.”

  “The deuce I don’t,” Mason said. “I need a witness and I need reinforcements. You have a license to carry a gun. Do you have it?”

  “Sure, I’ve got it,” Drake said. “Couldn’t I go in a closet and smoke?”

  “Smoking is out,” Mason said. “Perhaps we won’t have to wait very long.”

  “Perhaps,” Drake said lugubriously, “also that officious neighbor who was watching Katherine Ellis come in the taxicab may have seen us go in and will notify the police. Then we won’t have to wait at all. We’ll be telling our story to the desk sergeant.”

  “Police aren’t going to take us in,” Mason said. “We’re up here to check on the personal belongings of my client. We had the permission of Sophia Atwood to enter the house. We have the permission of my client to go through her things.”

  “In the dark?” Drake asked.

  “In the dark,” Mason said, grinning. “But no one can tell it was in the dark until after they get in. Now watch your step on these stairs, Paul.”

  The lawyer led the way up the flight of stairs, which made a complete half-turn as the staircase ascended.

  The stairs creaked under the combined weight of the two men.

  Mason reached the head of the stairs, groped his way down to the door of the room and entered.

  Reflected illumination from the street lights gave enough light so they could find their way. Mason sprawled out on the bed. Drake seated himself in an overstuffed chair.

  “We’ve got to watch out or we’ll both go to sleep,” Drake said.

  “Hush,” Mason warned.

  “There’s no need to keep quiet,” Drake said. “The way that staircase was creaking we could hear anyone coming up from below long before he could hear us.”

  “There are back stairs in the house somewhere,” Mason said. “Perhaps they don’t creak, or if they did we wouldn’t hear them. Now let’s keep quiet.”

  “I can only take so much of this,” Drake said. “Of course, if I can sleep it’ll help.”

  “Go to sleep then,” Mason said, “and quit talking.” The men sat in the warm silence of the bedroom for several minutes, then the bed-springs creaked slightly as Mason shifted his weight and pushed a couple of pillows back of his shoulders.

  Drake shifted his position in the chair almost noiselessly.

  The men waited.

  From the through street a couple of blocks away the noises of traffic sounded faintly. As temperatures began to change in the house, there were faint creakings.

  Drake sighed deeply. There was silence for several minutes, then the deeper rhythmic breathing of the detective indicated he was asleep.

  Mason, trying to keep in one position, fought against drowsiness.

  The door of Katherine Ellis’s bedroom leading to the corridor was propped wide open so that the two men could see the faintest wisp of light in case any intruder used a flashlight.

  An hour passed.

  Drake’s breathing became deeper, turned into a light snore.

  Mason noiselessly eased himself along the bed, tapped Drake on the knee.

  The detective awoke with a start. “Huh?” he said.

  “Sh-h-h-h,” Mason cautioned.

  The men were silent.

  From somewhere on the second floor there sounded a peculiar sliding noise, a noise which came almost as a rhythm of successive sounds.

  Mason rose quietly from the bed, pinched Drake’s knee.

  Drake squeezed Mason’s shoulder in order to let him know that he was awake and had been listening.

  The two men stood poised, listening intently.

  Suddenly there was a reverberating crash—the sound of breaking glass. A man’s voice shouted an imprecation and simultaneously a beam of light shot down the corridor, then heavy footsteps running toward the front steps.

  “Come on, Paul,” Mason said, dashing out into the small hallway which ran along the top of the staircase to intersect the main hallway.

  The lawyer was in time to make a crashing football tackle which brought down the figure that was running toward the front steps with a flashlight clutched in its right hand.

  The man twisted underneath Mason’s body, grasped the flashlight and started clubbing at Mason’s head.

  The lawyer groped for the man’s wrist, slammed the arm back down to the floor. “Lie still,” he said, “or I’ll choke you. Paul, see if you can find the light switch.”

  “I’m looking,” Drake said.

  “Take his flashlight,” Mason said, “and you can find a light switch.”

  “I’ve got it now,” Drake said, and snapped on the light.

  Mason partially released his hold to look at the man on the floor.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said. “It’s Stuart Baxley, the friend of the family.”

  Baxley, his face contorted with hatred, said, “You snooping, two-timing …”

  Mason planted an elbow in the other’s diaphragm and the words were abruptly shut off.

  The lawyer rose to one knee, began to run his hands over Baxley’s figure, felt the lump in the other’s hip pocket, pulled out a gun and slid it across the floor toward Paul Drake. “Better keep that for a souvenir, Paul.”

  “Be sure he hasn’t got more than one,” Drake said. “Sometimes they have a little Derringer planted … ”

  “He’s clean,” Mason said. “Come on, Baxley, get up.”

  Baxley groaned, rolled over, got to his hands and knees, then slowly came erect, looking like a trapped animal.

  “Don’t try it,” Mason warned. “There’s no place where you can go where a warrant for breaking and entering wouldn’t find you.”

  “How about you?” Baxley sneered. Mason said, “We’re in here for a legitimate purpose, and we entered with a key. What about you?”

  “No comment,” Baxley said.

  “What was that you tipped over?” Mason asked. “You…. Oh-oh, there’s water. Take a look, Paul.”

  Drake opened a door from the corridor and said, “I guess this is Sophia Atwood’s bedroom. There was a water cooler. It’s been tipped over and the big water bottle is smashed.”

  “Well,” Mason said, “I think we’ll notify the police and let them…”

  “Now wait a minute,” Baxley said. “We don’t need the police in this.”

  “Why not?”

  “I was simply trying to collect some evidence.”

  “Evidence to convict Katherine Ellis?” Mason asked.

  “Could have been,” Baxley said, “or it might have exonerated her.”

  “How long had you been here?” Mason asked.

  “Not very long.”

  “How did you get in?”

  Baxley started to say something, then said, “Wait a minute. Do we have a deal or not?”

  “Not so far,” Mason told him. “Keep talking.”

  Baxley suddenly clamped his lips together. “I’m not doing any more talking. Not until we have a deal and it’s definitely understood what the deal is.”

  Mason said to Drake, “Look around for a telephone, Paul. Telephone the police. We’d probably better get the homicide squad on the job. They’re the ones that have been working up the case against Katherine Ellis.”

  Drake walked down the corridor, looked around, then using the flashlight they had captured from Stuart Baxley, walked down the creaking staircase, switched on lights in the lower floor.

  Baxley looked around for some means of escape.

  “It isn’t going to do any good to break and run,” Mason said. “For your information, I wouldn’t shoot you— not on the strength of anything we have against you so far— but when the police come I’ll tell them about finding you here, and the police will put out an all-points bulletin and pick you up. Furthermore, in this state flight is evidence of guilt, so you’re trapped and you may as well recognize the fact.”

  Baxley started to say something, then changed his mind.