“But that ... why, Chief, that would even keep him from paying you an attorney’s fee.”

  He nodded.

  “And he can’t pay Paul Drake for detective service?”

  He shook his head.

  “And suppose a receiver is appointed, what then?”

  Mason said, “It depends on who the receiver is and how the Judge happens to look at things.”

  “But Mr. Kent has lots of business interests. How can she tie them all up?”

  “She’s claimed that he threatens to dissipate his property, make fraudulent transfers and a few other things. She found a judge who was willing to listen to her.”

  “You mean he was willing to look at a stare of baby innocence!” Della Street retorted indignantly.

  “You mustn’t be unjust,” Mason grinned. “Remember, she’s only a helpless woman, who wants to do what’s right. She states in her action that the alimony granted her in the divorce case shouldn’t be continued, because the whole divorce was a fraud on her and on the court. So she alleges in her complaint that she wants to have the fifteen hundred dollars a month discontinued.”

  “In other words, she wants to take all of Kent’s property instead of just part,” Della Street exclaimed.

  Mason grinned.

  “How can she get an injunction without putting up a big bond?”

  “Our Code Section. Look it up sometime. Section 529 provides that there’s no necessity for a bond whenever a court grants an injunction against a spouse in an action for divorce or separate maintenance.”

  “Then she can come into court and make any sort of perjured allegations she wants to and make it look as though she were really an injured party, and, when the judge tries the case and finds she hasn’t got a leg to stand on, Mr. Kent can’t do a thing about it?”

  “Hardly that,” Mason said, “but don’t worry about that baby not having a leg to stand on. When she gets into court, the judge will realize she’s got two very shapely legs to stand on. He’ll see plenty of them, too. She’ll make a good appearance on the witness stand. Kent won’t; he’ll be nervous, fussed and irritable. He’ll feel that he’s been unjustly held up. He’ll stutter and stammer, he’ll be so damned mad he won’t be able to impress his side of the case on the court. Mrs. Kent, on the other hand, will be very calm, cool and collected. Accent on the collected, Della! She’ll smile very sweetly at the judge and say that really, she doesn’t want to do any injustice to her poor, dear husband; that she was tricked into filing the divorce complaint; that she realizes now he wasn’t right mentally; that what he needs is someone to care for him; that he’s mentally sick; that now is the time he really needs his wife and that her place is by his side, and she wants to be there.”

  “Chief, why don’t you go into court and show her up?”

  “Can’t afford to,” he said. “Kent will have to make some sort of a settlement with her. He can’t afford to have his property tied up until this thing can be threshed out at a trial. He can’t afford to have a receiver in charge; and he can’t stand going through with all the litigation. He’s nervous anyway. It would drive him crazy. By the time he got into court, she’d have no difficulty sustaining the allegations of her complaint.”

  “Isn’t there anything you can do about it?”

  “Buy her off, that’s all.”

  “What makes you so certain she’d made a good impression on a judge?”

  “Her past record for one thing. She’s always done it. Remember, she’s been through the mill. She’s not an amateur when it comes to acting on the witness stand, she’s a professional.”

  “And you’re going to let her get away with it?”

  “I’m going to buy her off, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Then she’ll help Maddox collect some more money?”

  “Before she gets a settlement,” Mason promised,” “she’ll tell the truth about Maddox.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that she’ll have to admit Maddox called her up at three o’clock in the morning.”

  “You think Maddox will deny that?”

  “I’m practically certain he will.”

  “Why?”

  “Lots of things. The way they’re going about this business of pooling their interests, for one thing. What a fool Duncan is. He thinks he’s gaining an ally. As a matter of fact all he’s doing is letting himself be used as a cat’s-paw. She’ll use him as a club to hold over our heads. Then she’ll shake us down and very sweetly throw Maddox overboard in order to make her own settlement.”

  “When are you going to settle with her?”

  “The Grand Jury is going to indict Kent on a murder charge this morning,” Mason said. “The district attorney will make a play for an immediate trial. I’m going to consent. Maddox and Duncan will testify to a bunch of stuff. Then I’ll tear into Maddox, asking him where he was and what he was doing at three o’clock in the morning. He’ll stall around and either won’t answer or else will lie. Then I’ll take Doris Sully Kent out and make a settlement with her. I’ll explain to her that, if I could prove Maddox did telephone her, it possibly would clear up Mr. Kent’s difficulties so he would feel able to make a substantial cash settlement. Then Harris can go on the stand and testify to the telephone conversation and she’ll go on the stand and corroborate it. That will make Maddox out a liar.”

  “Of course, she’d have to swear she recognized Maddox’s voice and apparently it was the first time she’d heard from him.”

  “Technically, yes, practically, no. All I need to do is to put Harris on the stand, let him tell his story, call her to the stand and let it appear she’s a hostile witness. I’ll ask her if Maddox didn’t telephone her at that time. They’ll object. Then I’ll ask her if some man didn’t telephone at that time who said he was Maddox. They’ll probably object to that. The court may sustain them, unless she can testify she recognized Maddox’s voice.

  “I’ll pretend to be very exasperated then suddenly ask her, ‘Madam, what were you doing at the time the murder was committed, on the morning of the fourteenth-were you, or were you not at that time holding a telephone in your hand talking with some person over long distance?’

  “She’ll give a very faint and apparently reluctant ‘yes’ and that’ll be just about all the jury needs. I’ll dismiss her from the witness stand. The district attorney will be afraid to cross-examine her. Then I’ll introduce photostatic copies of the telephone company records.

  “How much is a settlement going to cost Peter Kent?” she asked.

  “He’s told me to go up to a hundred-and-fifty thousand dollars, if I have to.”

  “Will you have to?”

  “I don’t think so. I hope not, but she’s greedy. I’ll stall around a while before I make her any offer.”

  “You’ll deal through her attorney?”“

  “Yes.”

  “Won’t that make it more expensive.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why not deal directly with her?”

  “It wouldn’t be ethical.”

  “Somehow,” Della Street said, “she doesn’t impress me as being a woman who would want to pay a big slice of what she receives to an attorney.

  Mason was about to say something when the telephone bell rang and Della Street, picking up the receiver, cupped her hand over the transmitter and said, “it’s Mrs. Doris Sully Kent. She’s in the office now. She wants to see you, and says to tell you that she has discharged her attorneys, so that at present she has no one representing her.”

  Mason gave a low whistle.

  “So what do we do?” Della Street asked.

  Mason made an exaggerated bow in the direction of the outer office. “The little woman is clever,” he said; “we see her.”

  “You want me to take down everything she says?”

  “Yes. Through the interoffice loud-speaking arrangement, however. You wait in the law library and keep a line open to this office. Take down everything that’s said.

  “By the way, Della, have you ever seen her?”

  “No.”

  “Well, manage to get a look at her when she comes in, but keep out of sight yourself.”

  Della Street nodded, scooped up notebook and pencils, and headed for the outer office. Mason snapped the switch which operated the interoffice loud-speaking arrangement and said in a conversational tone of voice, “Tell Mrs. Kent I can give her just about five minutes.” He lit a cigarette and was apparently concentrating on the contents of a law book so that he didn’t hear her when she stepped into the room.

  She coughed, Mason raised his eyes, said, “Good morning,” waved his hand in the general direction of a chair, and returned to a perusal of the book.

  She hesitated for a moment, then walked toward his desk, stood very close to him and said, “If you’re busy, I won’t bother you.”

  “That’s all right,” he said without looking up, “I’ll see you in a minute. Don’t interrupt me.”

  She continued to stand very close to him. “I came as a friend,” she said. Her voice was seductively low.

  Mason sighed, pushed the book away, and pointed to a chair. “Go over there and sit down. Tell me about it and give me all the facts so I don’t have to ask for a lot of explanations.”

  She hesitated a moment, then with a little petulant shrug of her shoulders, seated herself, crossed her knees, and smiled at him.

  “Go ahead,” he told her.

  “I’ve discharged my attorney.”

  “Paid him off?”

  “Does that make any difference?”

  “It might. Particularly if he has any papers which belong to you.”

  “I’ve reached a complete understanding with him.”

  “Very well; what else?”

  “I want to talk with you.”

  “Go ahead, I’m listening

  “Has it ever occurred to you, Mr. Mason,” she asked, dropping her seductive manner, “that I hold the whip hand?”

  “No,” he said, “it hasn’t.”

  “Well, I do.”

  He made a gesture, as though to reach for his law book and she started a rapid fire of conversation.

  “Do you know what it’ll mean, if I get on the stand and swear that Peter got a carving knife and tried to kill me; that he was walking in his sleep, but that I knew he was lying? Well, I don’t want to do that. I want to help Peter. But, if Peter is going to fight me, I’ll have to fight Peter.”

  “Go on,” Mason said.

  “I just want you to understand I’m looking out for myself.”

  “I understand that.”

  “And don’t think I can’t do it!”

  “I also understand you’re fairly good at that.”

  “Well, I want to know where I stand.”

  “I’m sure I can’t tell you.”

  “Yes, you can. You’re Peter’s lawyer. I know Peter well enough to know that when it comes to standing up to a real knock-down-and-drag-out fight, he won’t do it. He’s too nervous. We can settle this thing. He’ll want to settle. He’s got to settle.”

  “What do you want, an income or a cash settlement?”

  “Neither. I want to have Peter take me back as his wife. I want to stand by him during this period of adversity. I want him to let me take my place by his side.

  “So after a few months, you can begin all over again and get a larger settlement and a larger chunk of alimony?” Mason asked.

  “That’s unkind, Mr. Mason. You have no right to say that. That isn’t what I want. I want to be Peter’s wife.”

  “Knowing,” Mason said acidly, “that he’s in love and wants to marry, you decide that you can throw more monkey wrenches into the machinery by keeping him tied up to you. He’ll eventually pay more to buy his freedom.”

  She produced a lace handkerchief, slowly, dramatically. Her eyes blinked rapidly, filled with tears, the corners of her lips quivered, then with a little, inarticulate cry, she raised the handkerchief to her eyes. Her shoulders heaved with sobs.

  Mason watched her unemotionally.

  “How much for a cash settlement?” he asked.

  “I don’t want a c-c-cash settlement.”

  “How much for a monthly income?”

  “I don’t want a m-m-monthly income. I w-w-want P-P-Peter. I w-w-want to help him. I w-w-want to t-t-testify that he’s not right mentally. I hope he c-c-can be c-c-cured. But, if he c-c-can’t, I want to s-s-stand by him.”

  Mason’s face showed indignation. He got to his feet, strode toward the sobbing figure and reached out as though to jerk the handkerchief from her eyes, then as he stood there, his eyes suddenly narrowed in thought. He stood in frowning concentration for a moment, then turned back to the desk and surreptitiously slid his forefinger to the push button which summoned Della Street to his office.

  A moment later, as his puzzled secretary noiselessly opened the door from the law library, Mason moved his hands about his head in a pantomime, indicating a hat. Then he made gestures about his shoulders, imitating the motions of one holding a coat collar tightly about the throat.

  Della Street frowned in a perplexed attempt to gather his meaning. Mrs. Kent continued to sob into her handkerchief.

  Mason walked over to her, patted her shoulder. “There, there, my dear,” he said sympathetically, “I didn’t mean to be harsh with you. Perhaps I’ve misunderstood you. Get your hat and coat and come back.”

  She peeked up at him from around the side of her handkerchief. “My hat and coat?” she asked, puzzled.

  “Oh, pardon me,” Mason said hastily; “what I meant was that I wanted you to return when you weren’t so emotionally upset.”

  Della Street noiselessly closed the door to the law library.

  “You were m-m-mean to me,” Doris Kent sniffled into her handkerchief.

  “I’m sorry,” Mason said, patting her shoulder; “I’m upset this morning and perhaps I did you an injustice.”

  She dried her tears, blew her nose, sighed tremulously and put the handkerchief in her purse. Her eyes glinted with the remains of unmistakably genuine tears.

  “Do you,” he asked casually, “still have keys to Peter Kent’s residence?”

  “Of course. I haven’t used them for a year, however. Why did you ask?”

  “Nothing in particular. I just wondered.”

  “Well, does it make any difference?”

  “Not necessary. What’s your attitude going to be toward Maddox?”

  She raised her eyebrows and said, “Maddox? ... Maddox? ... I don’t believe I know him.” “Maddox, from Chicago,” he said; “you know, the Maddox Manufacturing Company.”

  “Oh, that was something my lawyer discovered about my husband’s property. He said that the Maddox Manufacturing Company had patents that were worth millions and Peter had deliberately concealed the information from me, so he wouldn’t appear to be so wealthy when my divorce action was filed. But that’s all passed now.”

  “But don’t you know Maddox personally?” Mason asked.

  She looked at him with wide, astonished eyes, and said, “Certainly not.”

  “Nor Duncan, his attorney?”

  She shook her head, her face the picture of surprise.

  “I thought you talked with Maddox over the telephone.”

  “Why, whatever gave you that idea?”

  He shrugged his shoulders and said, “Skip it.”

  “No, but I want to know. I really am interested, Mr. Mason, because I feel that someone has been lying about me. Perhaps that’s why Peter feels about me as he does,”

  The door from the law library silently opened. Della Street, attired in a fur coat, gloved hands holding a black purse, a close-fitting hat tilted rakishly at an angle, raised inquiring eyebrows at Mason. He nodded.

  She took a dubious step into the room.

  Mason strode toward her, “Why, Miss Street,” he exclaimed, “Why, my dear Miss Street.”

  Doris Kent stared frigidly.

  “Why, how did you get in here?” Mason asked, coming toward her. “I’m busy. I wasn’t to be interrupted. I haven’t forgotten about your appointment...”

  Della Street came breezily toward him, gave him her gloved hand. “I’m sorry, if I intruded, Mr. Mason,” she said, “but I knew what a stickler you were for accuracy in appointments. Some girl in the outer office told me to go in the law library and wait because you were busy. Since I had a most definite appointment, and knowing how important my matter was, I simply couldn’t believe her. Therefore, after I’d waited a few minutes, I opened the door. I’m very, very sorry.

  “It just happened,” Mason explained, “that another matter interfered. . .ʺ He broke off and motioned toward Doris Kent, who got slowly to her feet.

  “I’m afraid,” Della Street said, watching Mason’s face, “that I must insist upon my appointment, however, Mr. Mason. I have only a very few minutes. You remember, you told me over the telephone that I wouldn’t have to wait. I know it was wrong for me to break in, but, after all, an appointment is an appointment.”

  Mason’s manner was embarrassed. He turned to Doris Kent and said, “I’m very sorry. You’ll remember, I told you I could only give you a few minutes. I’ve had this appointment with Miss Street. . .”

  “It’s quite all right,” Doris Kent said, throwing up her chin. “I’ll come back.”

  Mason caught Della Street’s eye, jerked his head toward Doris Kent. Della moved toward her.

  “I’m sure you’ll excuse me, won’t you, my dear, but I have only a few minutes available.”

  Mrs. Kent smiled graciously. “Not at all,” she said, “don’t mention it. I realize how busy Mr. Mason is. After all, I think he understands my position and . . .”

  “Where can I get in touch with you?” Mason asked.

  “At the Lafitte Hotel. I’ll be there for the next two or three days.”

  Mason gave a start of surprise and said, “Why, that’s your hotel, isn’t it, Miss Street?”

  “Yes, I’m staying there. It’s very nice,” Della Street remarked amiably.