“You didn’t hit him with anything?”

  She shook her head vehemently. “Heavens, no! He was lying there. I thought he was drunk and so I looked around to try and find his signed copy of my contract.”

  “And you found it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where?”

  “In a briefcase.”

  “You took it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then what?”

  “I bent over him and it was then I noticed that he was hurt. The whiskey wasn’t on his breath, it was on his clothes.”

  “Then what?”

  “I ran out, drove to a phone booth about three blocks down the street, called the office of the motel, told the woman who answered that the man in Unit Number 10 had been hurt, and then hung up the phone before she could ask any questions.

  “Then I came up here.”

  “Dianne,” Mason said, “you’re still lying. You had to make quite a search to find that contract. You found Boring unconscious on the floor. You started looking through his baggage and through his clothes, trying to find that contract. You didn’t find it until nearly fifteen minutes had passed, and you found ten thousand dollars in money and you took that along with the contract.”

  She shook her head. “It was just as I told you. I took the contract. I didn’t see any money.”

  “How long were you in there?”

  “I don’t think it was two minutes.”

  “Then why did you try to lie to me at first?”

  “I was afraid that— Well, I thought I could escape responsibility by making it seem that he was alive and in good health when I left and … well, you know, we parted friends.”

  “Did he make passes at you?” Mason asked.

  “I tell you, he was unconscious. He was lying on the floor.”

  Mason said, “You’re the damnedest little liar I’ve ever tried to help. For your information, the police are going to be able to prove that you were in that cabin for nearly fifteen minutes.”

  “I tell you, I wasn’t! I didn’t— Oh, Mr. Mason, won’t you please believe me? I’m telling you the truth now. I swear to heaven that I am!”

  Mason regarded her coldly.

  “You’re angry with me,” she said. “You’re not going to represent me. You—”

  “I’ve taken your retainer,” Mason said. “I’m going to represent you. Before I get done I’m going to give you a damn good spanking and see if I can whale the truth out of you.

  “Now, Della has told you about the background of this thing, about your father being alive?”

  She nodded tearfully.

  Mason said, “You’re in a mix-up and—”

  The chimes sounded.

  Mason frowned thoughtfully for a moment, then said to Della Street, “See who it is, Della.”

  Della Street opened the door.

  A uniformed officer said, “You’ll pardon me, but I want to talk with Miss Dianne Alder.”

  “What do you want of her?” Mason asked, stepping forward.

  “Who are you?” the officer asked.

  “I’m Perry Mason. I’m her attorney. I’m representing her on a contract over which there’s been a dispute. What do you want of her?”

  “We want to question her about a murder.”

  “Whose murder?”

  “Harrison T. Boring. He was fatally injured earlier this evening. We want to ask Dianne Alder if she knows anything that would help us.”

  “Do you folks think she’s in any way responsible?” Mason asked.

  “We don’t know,” the officer said. “We’re trying to piece together what did happen.”

  “And why do you want to talk with Dianne Alder?”

  “We have a tip.”

  “Tips are a dime a dozen,” Mason said.

  “The chief sent me to bring her down to headquarters to answer questions.”

  “All right,” Mason said, “she isn’t going to headquarters. She’s upset and nervous and she’s had an emotional shock.”

  “In connection with this case?” the officer asked.

  “Don’t be silly,” Mason said. “The emotional shock was in connection with the loss of a modeling contract which she had expected would lead to movie and television appearances. She’s on the verge of hysteria.”

  The officer hesitated. “That may or may not be significant,” he said. “I was sent to bring her in. I—”

  “All right,” Mason said, “you’re not going to bring her in. For the time being she’s not going to talk with anyone. She’s going to have a strong sedative, and after she gets her emotions under control she’ll talk with the chief of police, the prosecuting attorney, or anyone who wants to talk with her. Right now she isn’t talking.”

  “That’s going to put her in rather a peculiar position. It may direct suspicion to her,” the officer said.

  “Direct suspicion and be damned!” Mason told him. “Do you want to adopt the position that the police force of this city is inhuman enough to question an emotionally upset, half-hysterical woman at a time when she’s in such an emotional state she should be under the care of a physician?”

  “I’ll report to the chief,” the officer said. “I don’t think he’ll like it.”

  “You do that,” Mason told him, “and you can tell the chief personally from me, that Dianne Alder is going to be out of circulation until tomorrow morning. She isn’t going to answer questions from the newspapers, from the police, or from anyone until she has her nerves under control and has recovered completely from emotional shock.”

  “We could take her into custody, you know,” the officer said.

  “That’s your right,” Mason told him. “Any time you want to swear out a warrant for her arrest you go right ahead. However, you know and I know that you haven’t a scintilla of evidence against her. The only reason that you’re here to question her is because you’ve received an anonymous tip from someone who is trying to add to her troubles. For your information, Officer, this young woman has been the victim of a colossal conspiracy. She’s just discovered what has happened and the emotional shock is tremendous.

  “If you can assure me that you have one iota of actual evidence against her, we’ll try and get a physician to quiet her nerves and then see if we can get a statement from her. But if you are acting on the strength of an anonymous tip telling you to get hold of her and question her, I’m going to tell you that that anonymous tip comes from the same individuals who have been trying to muscle in on this young, woman’s property rights-individuals who have played fast and loose with her emotions with absolutely no concern for the outcome.

  “Now, what do you want to do?”

  The officer grinned and said, “I guess you called the turn, Mr. Mason. In view of that attitude we’ll wait until she’s in condition to be questioned.”

  The officer indicated the tearful, frightened Dianne Alder. “That is Miss Alder?” he asked.

  “That’s Miss Alder,” Mason said, “and the young woman with her is Della Street, my secretary. I’m Perry Mason, her attorney.”

  “You’ll see she doesn’t leave town?” the officer asked.

  “I’ll be responsible for her,” Mason said.

  The officer turned to Dianne. “I’m sorry, Miss Alder,” he said, and left the room.

  Mason said to Della Street, “Get another suite fast, Della. Get Dianne out of here. Stay in that suite with her tonight. We won’t let anyone know where she is. I’ll close the door to this bedroom and if anyone who calls on me here jumps to the conclusion that you and she are behind that closed bedroom door, I can’t help it.”

  Mason turned to Dianne. “Whatever you do,” he said, “don’t lie. Tell the absolute truth. When you are feeling better you can tell your story in detail to Della Street, but if the police should try to question you, tell them that you aren’t going to make any statement except in the presence of your attorney, and send for me. Do you understand?”

  Dianne nodded.

  “I understand,” Della Street said. “Come on, Dianne, let’s go.”

  Chapter 12

  Della Street had been gone less than five minutes when Mason heard a soft code knock on the door; one rap, a pause, four quick raps, a pause, then two raps.

  The lawyer made sure the door to the north bedroom of the suite was closed, then crossed the parlor, opened the corridor door and saw Sid Nye on the threshold.

  “Hi,” Sid said. “I just thought I’d pass the word along that the police have a tip on Dianne.”

  “I know they do,” Mason said. “Who gave it to them?”

  “Probably Montrose Foster,” Nye said. “It was an anonymous tip. I also wanted to let you know that you aren’t going to have anything to worry about on that time schedule.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Moose Dillard had a wrestling match with his conscience and decided that it wasn’t necessary for him to make any report to the police. Of course, if they question him it’s going to be another matter.”

  “Did he get out of the place all right?” Mason asked.

  “Like a charm,” Nye said.

  “What happened?”

  “Actually it was pretty simple. I parked my car about a block down the street, walked up to the entrance to the parking place, walked toward the office of the motel as though I were going in there, then detoured around to the side and ducked in at Number 5.”

  “No one saw you?”

  “I’m quite certain they didn’t. They gave no indication if they did.”

  “Then what?”

  “I scouted the place, then went outside and got in Dillard’s car. He’d given me the keys to it. I started the motor, got it warmed up, then gave a signal to Moose. He came out and got in the car and we shot out of there fast.”

  “What did you do with the room key?” Mason asked.

  “Moose said he left it inside.”

  “Then what?”

  “I rode around with Moose for a while and talked with him. After that I had him take his car and I got my car. Moose went on his way and I came back here.”

  “You say you talked with him.”

  “That’s right.”

  “What did you talk with him about?”

  “You have two guesses.”

  “You didn’t make any suggestion that he should duck out, did you?”

  “Heavens, no. Far be it from me to make any suggestion like that—perish the thought! Of course, I pointed out to him that if the police wanted to question him they could, but he really didn’t have any obligation to do anything except report to Paul Drake—and he’s lost his notebook.”

  “Lost his notebook!” Mason said.

  “That’s right. It must have dropped from his pocket somewhere. Of course I pointed out to him that he’d cut rather a sorry figure if he didn’t have that notebook.”

  “Look here, Sid, let’s be frank. Did you steal that notebook or hide it?”

  “Not in that sense of the word. Dillard feels it must have fallen out of his pocket when he was getting in his car. He had his coat over his arm and he tossed the coat into the car.”

  “Will the police find it?”

  “I don’t think so. I saw it when it dropped to the floor of the car. I also have a vague recollection of seeing something fall out when I opened the car door to let Dillard out. I didn’t pay much attention to it at the time. I could go back and look in the gutter.”

  Mason frowned. “You can’t afford to take chances with the police in a murder case, Sid.”

  “Sure. I know that. On the other hand, I’m not Dillard’s guardian. They guy can go to the police later on if his conscience bothers him.

  “Now, what happened in connection with this anonymous tip on Dianne? Did the police question her?” Nye asked.

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “I wouldn’t let them.”

  “The police must be pretty soft here in Riverside.”

  “I was pretty hard,” Mason said. “If they’d had any evidence, they’d have taken her in, but to drag a nice young woman down to headquarters simply on the strength of an anonymous tip is poor business from a public relations standpoint.

  “Do you know where Dillard went?”

  “I wouldn’t have the slightest idea,” Nye said, looking up at the ceiling.

  “Suppose we should happen to need him? Suppose we should want to get in touch with him in a hurry?”

  “Wherever he is,” Nye said, “I’m quite certain he reads, or will read, the Riverside papers, and any ad that was put in the classified column would undoubtedly get his attention.”

  “I see,” Mason said.

  “Well, I must be going,” Nye told him. “I have quite a few things to do and I wouldn’t be too surprised if they didn’t put your suite here under surveillance a little later on. It might be just as well if I kept in touch with you by telephone.”

  “Your calls will go through a switchboard,” Mason warned.

  “Oh, sure,” Nye said. “I wouldn’t say anything that I wouldn’t want everybody to hear. Of course if I should talk to you about moose hunting, you’ll know what it’s all about.”

  “Sure,” Mason said, dryly.

  “And I can tell you the most likely place we could go to find a moose.”

  “I’m quite certain”, Mason said, “that the information would be of interest to me but only in the event I should want to hunt a moose. Right now I can’t imagine anything that would be further from my thoughts.”

  Nye grinned, said, “You know where you can reach me if you want me,” and went out.

  For some ten minutes Mason paced the floor thoughtfully, smoking a cigarette, his head bent forward in frowning concentration.

  Then the chimes sounded on the door.

  Mason crossed over and opened it.

  George Winlock stood on the threshold. “May I come in?” he asked.

  “Certainly,” Mason said. “Come right in, sit down.”

  Winlock entered, seated himself, regarded Mason thoughtfully from behind the tinted lenses of his glasses.

  Mason said, “You don’t need to wear those now, you know.”

  “I’ve worn them for fourteen years,” Winlock said. “I really do need them now.”

  “You had something in mind?” Mason asked.

  Winlock said, “I have a problem that’s bothering me.”

  “What is it?”

  “Dianne.”

  “What about her?”

  “I have been pretty much of a heel as far as she is concerned.”

  “Do you expect me to argue that point with you?”

  “Frankly I do not, but I want to make some sort of settlement, some sort of restitution.”

  “Such as what?”

  “Property.”

  “A girl who has been attached to her father and then is led to believe that her father is dead, and subsequently finds out that he has been alive all of the time but hasn’t cared enough about her to lift his finger to get in touch with her, is apt to have lost a good deal of her filial devotion.”

  “I can understand that. I thought perhaps you and I could discuss the property end of the situation and then later on, perhaps, Dianne could be made to see things from my viewpoint and realize that under the circumstances there wasn’t much else I could have done.”

  “I’am afraid that’s a view point that’ will be pretty hard for her to grasp.”

  “However,” Winlock said, “I see no reason for airing all of this in the press.”

  “It will be uncovered.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I do,” Mason said. “Montrose Foster, president of the Missing Heirs and Lost Estates, Inc., is on your trail.”

  “Exactly.”

  “You knew that?” Mason asked.

  “I know it now.”

  “You can’t hush anything up with Foster nosing around, prying into the background.”

  “I’m not entirely certain you’re right,” Winlock said. “Foster is basing his investigation upon the premise Dianne has some relative who died and left an estate in which she could share. Actually there was such a relative, a distant relative of mine, and the estate is small. I feel Foster can be handled in such a way he will go chasing off on a false trail.”

  “I see,” Mason said.

  “That leaves you,” Winlock said.

  “And Dianne,” Mason reminded him.

  “Dianne is a very considerate young woman. She isn’t going to do anything that would ruin the lives of other people.”

  “Meaning the woman who is known as your wife?”

  “Yes. I repeat, that leaves you, Mr. Mason.”

  “It leaves me.”

  “I could arrange to see that you received rather a large fee for representing Dianne, perhaps as much as a hundred thousand dollars.

  “I’m representing Dianne,” Mason said. “I’ll do what’s best for her.”

  “It won’t be best for her to make a disclosure of my past and her relationship to me.”

  “How do you know it won’t?”

  “It would simply complicate matters and get her involved.”

  Mason said, “You’re pretty influential here. The police have received an anonymous tip to question Dianne. You should have enough influence to get the police to disregard that anonymous tip. You don’t want her questioned-now.”

  Winlock thought for a moment, then said, “Get her out Of town.”

  “And then?” Mason asked.

  “That’s all there’ll be to it.”

  “You can control the police investigation?”

  “Within reasonable limits and indirectly, yes.”

  “That leaves the question of her property rights,” Mason said.

  “Her legal rights to any property are exceedingly nebulous.”

  “I don’t think so,” Mason said. “In this state, property acquired after marriage is community property.”

  “But I have been separated from my first wife for more than fourteen years.”

  “Forget the expression, your first wife,” Mason said. “You had only one wife.”