From down on the lower floor they could hear Drake telephoning for the police.

  Then the detective hung up the phone, called up the stairs to Mason, “Shall I turn on the porch lights so the police can come in?”

  “Sure,” Mason said.

  He turned to Baxley. “If you’d tell us what you were looking for, it might clarify the atmosphere somewhat and might lay the foundation for a little cooperation.”

  “What were you looking for?” Baxley asked.

  “You,” Mason said.

  “No, you weren’t,” Baxley said. “And you were slipping around here in your stocking feet. What were you … ?”

  Suddenly Baxley caught himself. His eyes narrowed. “Hell,” he said, “you weren’t slipping around here. You …”

  “Yes?” Mason encouraged. “What were we doing?”

  “No comment,” Baxley said.

  After a few tense but silent minutes there was a pounding at the front door—then, as Drake opened the door, the sound of voices, steps ascending the stairs.

  Stuart Baxley said to Mason, “You’ve done it now. You’ve got the fat in the fire.”

  Mason was silent, thinking, his eyes level with concentration.

  The steps came down the corridor. Drake appeared with two policemen.

  “What’s going on here?” the officer asked.

  Mason said, “A prowler.”

  “This is the Atwood residence?” the officer asked.

  “Right,” Mason said.

  “Sophia Atwood was assaulted here by her niece and is unconscious in the hospital at this moment?” the officer asked.

  “Generally correct,” Mason said, “except the assault was not by the niece but was by a prowler.

  “And,” the lawyer went on after a moment’s significant pause, “we have captured a prowler.”

  Baxley whirled to Mason. “Why, you damn … You can’t pin that on me!”

  “Pin what on you?” Mason asked.

  “The assault.”

  “I didn’t say anything about pinning it on you,” Mason said. “I merely remarked that you were a prowler.”

  “What about you?” Baxley asked.

  “You want to interrogate him?” Mason asked the officers. “Or do you want me to?”

  One of the officers grinned. “You folks are doing all right. Now let’s see, you’re Perry Mason, the lawyer.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And this man?” the officer asked, jerking his thumb to Paul Drake. Drake, who had been prepared for the question, slipped a leather folder from his pocket, opened it and showed his credentials. “A private detective,” Mason explained, “in my employ.”

  The officer turned to Baxley.

  “My name’s Baxley. I’m a friend of the family.”

  “How long-standing?” Mason asked.

  “None of your business.”

  “What are you doing here?” the officer asked.

  “I was looking for evidence.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of a prowler.”

  “How did you get in?”

  “I got in through the back door. There’s a spring lock on there that can be activated with a little piece of celluloid, if you know how.”

  “We know how,” the officer said, “but you’re not supposed to.”

  “Well, it just happens that I do.”

  The officer said to Mason, “What were you doing here?”

  “I’m representing Katherine Ellis.”

  “She’s being held for assault with intent to commit murder?”

  “Right.”

  “All right, I’ll ask again, what were you doing here?”

  “I was in the room occupied by Miss Ellis. I had reason to believe a prowler would enter the house.”

  “What gave you that idea?”

  “I thought that a prowler would have a reason.”

  “Such as what?” the officer asked.

  Mason met the officer’s gaze. “There’s a circumstantial evidence case against Katherine Ellis, and, so far, that’s all it is—rather a weak case. I thought perhaps that someone would be trying to plant a little evidence.”

  “Such as what?” the officer asked.

  Mason said, “I don’t know. Miss Ellis was accused of having stolen a hundred-dollar bill and has a very good suit for defamation of character against this man, Baxley.

  How do I know that he wasn’t prepared to plant some evidence in the house which would implicate Miss Ellis?”

  “That,” Stuart Baxley said, “is the most absurd ”

  “And,” Mason interrupted, “he had a revolver on him. I don’t know whether he’s got a license to carry it.”

  “Where’s the gun?” the officer asked.

  “Paul Drake has it.”

  “You got a license for that gun?” the officer asked Baxley.

  “No, I haven’t. I wasn’t carrying it in public. I was only carrying it here in the house of my friend. I’ve got a right to protect the household of a friend.”

  “How did you get the gun here?”

  “No comment,” Baxley said. “If you want to prove I was carrying a concealed weapon when I came here, you go ahead and prove it.”

  “You’re a little belligerent, considering the position in which you find yourself,” the officer said.

  “I don’t find myself in any position,” Baxley said. “And you watch your step or you’ll be the one that’s finding yourself in a position. This lawyer is noted for unconventional tactics. You’re just taking his word for it that he was sitting there in the room where Katherine Ellis had been living. He had no right to be there. But how do you know he wasn’t prowling around the house trying to plant evidence which would weaken the case against his client. That’s his style.”

  The officer regarded Mason thoughtfully.

  Mason smiled disarmingly, said, “Sophia Atwood told me that Katherine Ellis could get the rest of her things at any time. It was Miss Ellis’ room where we were waiting. We got in with a key given us by Miss Ellis.”

  “When did she give it to you?”

  “Before she was arrested.”

  “All right’ the officer said, “we’re all going down to headquarters. We’re going to close the place up. I have an idea Lieutenant Tragg at Homicide will want a guard put out here. Fred, go call in and make a report. See if you can get Lieutenant Tragg personally. I know he’ll be interested in the idea of Mason being out here.”

  Stuart Baxley grinned.

  The officer who was in charge hesitated a moment, then said, “Take these three down to the car with you. Put them in the car. I’m going to take a look around the place myself and see if there’s any evidence anything’s been tampered with.”

  “You do that,” Stuart Baxley said, “and you’ll find that lawyer was in here for some reason. Look in the closet where the money was when it was stolen. A hundred-dollar bill taken out of a hatbox. See if you don’t find that this lawyer has planted a hundred-dollar bill somewhere in the back of the closet where he’ll claim that it fluttered out of the hatbox when a mouse knocked the hatbox off. That’s his style.”

  Mason grinned and said, “That tells the story, officer. Just search this man Baxley and see if he hasn’t got a hundred-dollar bill on him that he was planning to plant in the room occupied by Katherine Ellis.”

  Baxley jerked back a step. “You can’t search me,” he said. “You haven’t got a warrant.”

  “Keep your eye on his hands,” Mason said. “See that he doesn’t get rid of a hundred-dollar bill between here and headquarters. Then book him for breaking and entering and you have a right to search him then. You can tell from the way he’s acting now that I hit pretty close to home. He’s got a hundred-dollar bill on him.”

  “Is that a crime?” Baxley asked.

  Mason said, “It might be evidence of an intent to commit a crime.”

  “I always carry a hundred-dollar bill,” Baxley blustered. “I keep it as an emergency fund in case I happen to run short of ready cash or am called on to make an unexpected trip.”

  “All right,” the officer said, “come on. You’re all going down to headquarters, and don’t anybody try to ditch anything along the road.”

  The officers loaded Mason, Drake and Stuart Baxley in the back seat of the prowl car.

  Baxley used every argument at his command to effect his release, alternately threatening and pleading, stating that he would be insulted and his reputation damaged beyond repair if he were taken to headquarters.

  The officer drove steadily, skillfully, silently, apparently paying no attention to Baxley’s words.

  At headquarters, the desk sergeant listened to the story of the officers.

  “Who telephoned for the police?” he asked.

  “I did,” Drake said.

  “How did you and Mason get in the house?” the officer asked.

  “We had a key—a key given to me by my client, who was a tenant in the building,” Mason said.

  “You have that key with you?”

  “Yes, I have.”

  “Let me take a look at it.”

  Mason produced the key. The desk sergeant studied it thoughtfully, tapped it on the desk, started to put it into a drawer of the desk.

  “I’m sorry,” Mason said firmly.

  “You’ll have to give that key back to me.”

  “Why?”

  “My client has possessions in that room. I’m delegated to get them out.”

  The sergeant hesitated a moment, then returned the key to Mason.

  “How did you get in?” he asked Stuart Baxley.

  Baxley said, “I have long been suspicious that there were —”

  “How did you get in?” the sergeant interrupted.

  “Through the back door.”

  “Was it unlocked?”

  “Well, not exactly. Let us say the lock was very vulnerable.”

  “What do you mean ‘vulnerable’?”

  “Well, it’s a spring lock with a slanting latch. You can take a piece of stiff celluloid or plastic, push it against that latch and get in.”

  Mason said, “I believe Mr. Baxley was the one who got in through the back door and discovered the unconscious form of Sophia Atwood.”

  Baxley whirled on him angrily. “You keep out of this!” he snapped. “This is no business of yours.”

  Mason shrugged his shoulders.

  “That true?” the desk sergeant asked.

  “That’s true,” Baxley said. “It happens that I was fortunate enough to discover her. If it hadn’t been for that discovery, she would have been dead by this time, and Mr. Mason’s client would have been facing a murder charge.”

  “How’d you get in the time you discovered Sophia Atwood?”

  “The back door was standing half open.”

  “No spring lock?”

  “There was a spring lock, but it hadn’t been engaged.”

  “If it had been engaged, you could have sprung the lock anyway?”

  “I guess I could have. I didn’t know it at that time. It wasn’t until I looked around and studied the backdoor lock that I realized it was vulnerable.”

  “How did you know this stunt about using a sheet of stiff plastic to work a spring lock?”

  “I read it somewhere in a detective story.”

  The street door opened and Lt. Tragg came bustling in.

  “Well, well, well,” he said. “What’s all this? Some sort of a convention?”

  Mason grinned.

  The desk sergeant explained the situation briefly. “These three men were all in the Sophia Atwood house. Apparently Mason and this private detective, Drake, got in there first. They got in with a key to the front door and say they were in the room occupied by Katherine Ellis, Mason’s client.

  “They heard a crash and went out to find the water cooler had been tipped over and found Stuart Baxley in the house. They collared him and telephoned for the police.”

  “Which side telephoned for the police?” Tragg asked.

  “Mason and Drake.”

  Lt. Tragg turned to Baxley. “What were you doing there?” he asked.

  “I have a right to be there. I’m representing Mrs. Atwood.”

  “Got anything to prove it?”

  “I have her word.”

  “Unfortunately she can’t give us her side of the story now,” Lt. Tragg said. “You’ll have to have something in writing.”

  “Mason doesn’t have anything in writing,” Baxley blazed.

  “The situation is a little different with Mr. Mason,” Lt. Tragg said. “Your detective friend, Levering Jordan, says that Mason was authorized to enter the place all right that Mrs. Atwood visited with him while Mason was in the place and while the secretary, Della Street, was getting things together to take to Miss Ellis.

  “Jordan heard Mrs. Atwood say that Katherine Ellis could come back at any time to pick up the balance of her belongings. What Katherine Ellis can do herself she can do through an agent—that is, if it’s a reputable agent such as an attorney.”

  Baxley lapsed into impotent, angry silence.

  “Now, what were you doing in there?” Lt. Tragg asked. “What were you looking for?”

  “Evidence.”

  “The police have been all through the place.”

  “I was looking for something the police might have overlooked.”

  Mason said, “Perhaps he wanted to plant some evidence so it would look as if the police had overlooked it.”

  Tragg regarded Mason, frowning.

  “Such as a hundred-dollar bill in some place in Katherine Ellis’ bedroom … ?”

  “No, no, no!” Baxley protested, impatiently and indignantly. “You’ve got it all backwards.”

  “What do you mean backwards?” Lt. Tragg asked.

  “I wasn’t trying to plant any evidence at all.”

  Tragg regarded Baxley thoughtfully. “You got a hundred-dollar bill in your pocket?” he asked.

  “What’s that got to do with it?”

  “I don’t know. I just asked you a question, that’s all.”

  “That’s none of your business,” Baxley said. “You don’t have a search warrant for me.”

  “You were caught breaking and entering in a residence,” Lt. Tragg said. “We can book you on that, and when we book you, you empty your pockets at the desk. Now, I’m going to ask you again, have you got a hundred-dollar bill on you?”

  “All right,” Baxley said, “I’ve got a hundred-dollar bill on me.”

  “Let’s look at it.”

  Baxley took a card case from his pocket, pulled out a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill.

  “Where’s the rest of your money?” Lt. Tragg asked.

  “In a wallet in my coat pocket.”

  “Let’s take a look at it.”

  Baxley hesitated, then opened a wallet which he took from his inside coat pocket.

  Lt. Tragg counted the money. “You’ve got about forty-seven dollars in bills in there,” he said, “and I suppose you’ve got some loose change in another pocket?”

  Baxley plunged a hand into his right-hand side trouser pocket and brought out a small amount of loose change.

  “How long have you had that hundred-dollar bill?” Tragg asked.

  “I habitually carry a hundred dollars as a reserve in case I should lose my other money or should need some ready cash to meet an extraordinary expense.”

  “You mean you carry it with you all of the time?”

  “Yes.”

  “How often have you had to use it?”

  “As it happens,” Baxley said, “I’ve never had to use it. I carry it simply as an emergency fund.”

  “Then you’ve had this hundred-dollar bill for some time?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where do you bank?” Tragg asked.

  “The Seaboard Security.”

  “All right,” Lt. Tragg said. “If your story is true, then you haven’t drawn a hundred dollars out of your account recently. But from the looks of that bill I would say that it hadn’t been carried too long in that folder. Suppose we just check with the bank and … ”

  “I got this hundred-dollar bill out of the bank this morning,” Baxley said hastily, “if that’s what you’re driving at.”

  “I thought you told me you had it with you all the time.”

  “A hundred-dollar bill—not this hundred-dollar bill.”

  “What did you do with the other one?”

  “I—uh—had it changed.”

  “At your bank?”

  “No, not at my bank, at one of the other banks. I wanted some twenty-dollar bills and I got the hundred changed into twenties. Then I went to my bank and cashed a check for a hundred dollars to get this hundred-dollar bill to replace my reserve supply.”

  “I’d have liked your story a lot better if you had told it that way the first time,” Lt. Tragg said thoughtfully.

  “You have no right to adopt this attitude with me,” Baxley said.

  Lt. Tragg whirled suddenly to Mason. “All right, Mason,” he said, “you were playing a hunch of some kind. What was it?”

  Mason said, “I’m sorry, Lieutenant, all I can say is that I was playing a hunch. Paul Drake and I were watching the house.”

  “In other words,” Tragg said, “you were acting on the assumption that somebody would try to get in the Katherine Ellis room and plant a hundred dollars?”

  Drake gave Mason a hurried glance, then averted his eyes.

  Mason said, “I’m in a peculiar position in this case, Lieutenant. You have to realize that. I can tell you that I was in the house as a result of authorization by Mrs. Atwood, the owner of the house, and Katherine Ellis, who was the tenant of the room where Drake and I were waiting. I can’t tell you specifically what we were waiting for, but you have a trained mind as an investigator, and if you want to put two and two together, there’s nothing we can do to stop you.”

  Tragg grinned and said, “That is a beautiful example of double talk, but you certainly said one thing which is crystal clear, and that is that if I want to put two and two together in my mind, you can’t stop me.”

  Stuart Baxley said indignantly, “He put the first figure two in your mind, and then he put the second figure two in your mind, and the figure four that you arrived at is just the figure Perry Mason wanted you to arrive at.”