She let her face show surprise.

  "What makes you think so?"

  "I don't think. I know. Look here."

  Tanner took a leather-backed notebook from his pocket, opened the book to thumb through the pages. "Here we are," he said. "Homan called me on the morning of the eighteenth, said he had an important job to do and didn't want to be disturbed, that I could get out. Well, I had just serviced the car, and filled the tank with gas. I keep track of the mileage. Here is the mileage on the speedometer. Thirteen thousand, four hundred and twenty-six miles. Now, I got the mileage after they brought the car back. They towed it in. Homan was going to junk it. He told me to get the tools out of it. Here is the mileage. Fourteen thousand one hundred and fifty-eight. Get it? Seven hundred and thirty-two miles between the morning of the eighteenth and the night of the nineteenth. I can prove Homan is lying."

  "Well?" Hortense asked, her eyes puzzled. "What is wrong with that? That isn't too much, is it? You can drive five or six hundred miles in a day ..."

  "I will tell you what's wrong with it. Everything's wrong with it. Sure, you can drive a bus like that seven or eight hundred miles a day if you want to, but remember Homan says he had the car sticking around until about noon on the nineteenth. You can't drive a car seven hundred and thirty-two miles between noon and ten o'clock at night, not to save your life."

  "Well, for heaven's sake!" Horty exclaimed. "How do you figure it out, Ernest?"

  "I don't figure it out ... not right here and now," he said, "but you can believe me, sister, I am going to let Homan do some explaining to me – privately. And I know the answer."

  "Say," she said with enthusiasm, "let me know how you come out. That man looks so much like the guy I used to work for that I would sure like to see him taken down a peg or two."

  "Oh, well," Tanner said, sliding his arm around her waist and drawing her close to him, "let's forget Homan – if we can. Did you notice a car has been following us? Oh, well, let him follow. Hey, driver, pull down this side street, and stop at the cafe in the middle of the block."

  Tanner paid the cab fare, gave the driver a half-dollar tip, and piloted Hortense into a small restaurant which had a distinctly individual atmosphere. They had sandwiches and beer. Tanner kept feeding nickels into the machine which played the latest records, and they danced to the music. After an hour, he took her to one of the best picture theaters, bought lodge seats, settled down beside her, and twisted his fingers around hers. "I should be grateful to you," he whispered. "If it wasn't for you, I would probably be in the can right now. As it is, I am feeling like a million. Here's where I relax and enjoy life."

  The sound tracks blared forth impressive music. On the flickering screen appeared a cast of characters, a list of names. As the cast of characters gave place to writers, technicians, and costumers, Tanner said, "They are having a big battle out in Hollywood. The manicurists for each star insist on having screen credit."

  She giggled.

  A blaze of light hit the screen. In huge, black letters appeared the legend, "A JULES HOMAN PRODUCTION."

  "Oh, cripes," Tanner said, grabbing her arm. "Let's get the hell out of here!"

  Chapter 16

  MASON PACED the floor of his office, thumbs pushed up in the armholes of his vest, head thrust forward in thought. Paul Drake, sprawled crosswise in the big leather chair, smoked silently.

  "Hang it, Paul. It is so near being right, it almost proves itself, and then it all goes haywire, like one of those puzzles that you can almost work the obvious way. Then you run into trouble."

  "I know," Drake grinned, "you think they made a mistake manufacturing the damn thing, and the wire should be bent a little bit so that other piece will slip through."

  "Uh-huh," Mason said. "Only in the case of a wire puzzle, it is a trap that the manufacturer made for you to walk into. In this thing – well, I don't know but what this is a trap someone made for me to walk into."

  Della Street came in from the secretarial office.

  "Gosh, Della," Drake said, "haven't you gone home yet?"

  She shook her head. "I was hoping someone would buy me dinner."

  "It is a swell idea," Drake told her. "They might even buy mine while they were doing it."

  "News from the battle front," Della said to Perry Mason. "Latest bulletin just in over the telephone."

  "What is it?"

  "Hortense Zitkousky. She must be quite a gal."

  "I have an idea she is," Mason said. "What about her?"

  "She sounds as though she were getting just a bit high. She said it's the first time she has had a chance to get away to the telephone. She is out with the chauffeur."

  "What has she found out?"

  "The chauffeur isn't the least bit worried about money. Homan fired him. The chauffeur's spending dough like a drunken sailor. The automobile was driven seven hundred and thirty-two miles between the morning of the eighteenth and the time of the accident on the nineteenth."

  "How does he know?" Mason asked.

  "He keeps a record of the speedometer figures. He has to service the car."

  Drake gave a low whistle.

  "Was that all she had?" Mason asked.

  "So far. She says to tell you she is not only getting to first base with the chauffeur, but is getting ready to steal second. She is trying to find out why he isn't worried about money. And she thinks he may have something else on Homan."

  Mason said, "I hope she is smart enough to try and find out about Spinney. Homan may be right about that. It may have been the chauffeur who was calling Spinney, and whom Spinney was calling. Know anyone out around Hollywood, Della?"

  "You mean movie people?"

  "Yeah."

  "A couple of writers and an agent."

  "You might try the agent," Mason said. "I would like to get some of the low-down on Homan and his meteoric success. There must be some gossip in connection with him. I would like to find out what it is. And I would like to get the low-down on his love life. That always helps."

  "I can put some men on the Job," Drake said.

  Mason shook his head. "A private detective in that atmosphere would stick out like a sore thumb on a waiter serving soup. The stuff I am after is the little inside gossip that would be confined to people who are in the game."

  Della said, "This agent is a card."

  "Man or woman?"

  "Woman. Used to be a secretary, then did a little writing, and started handling screen stuff."

  "Stories or talent?"

  "Stories."

  "Get in touch with her. See what you can find out," Mason said. "Make it casual if you can."

  "I can't."

  "Then take your hair down and get her to give you the low-down. How about meeting me in a couple of hours somewhere for a report? You should be able to get what we want in that time."

  "I will get on the phone and see what I can do."

  "Oh-oh," Drake said, "there goes my dinner date."

  Della Street smiled. "You wouldn't be any fun. You are getting to be a wet blanket, Paul. You are worrying too darn much. Why don't you be like Homan's chauffeur?"

  "I used to worry about my work," Drake admitted. "Now I am worrying Perry will get my license revoked. If I had no more to worry about than that chauffeur, I would be taking girls to dinner and spending money like a drunken sailor, too."

  Mason winked at Della Street. "Perhaps we could get that Hortense girl to take him out some night. It might cure him of worrying."

  "Meaning it may be the company I keep?" Drake asked.

  Mason jerked his head toward Della Street's office. "Go in and see if you can locate this agent friend of yours on the phone, Della. You can trust her?"

  "Asking if she is a good friend?"

  "Yes."

  "I shall say she is."

  "Well, come right out and tell her you want the low-down on Homan. After all, this case is in the papers. You couldn't make a stall that would stick. She would see through any attempt."

  "Okay, I shall see if I can get her."

  Della Street went into her office. They could hear the dial on her telephone whirring.

  Drake said to Mason, "Judge Cortright may turn Stephane Claire loose tomorrow. That Lions girl didn't make a good impression on him... And I shall bet Tragg is interested in what we are uncovering. I wouldn't doubt if he dropped in.

  "Will you work with him, Perry?"

  "It depends. I am going to get my client out from under. He can solve his own murders. Next time I give him a tip, he will follow it."

  "What tip did he muff this time?"

  "Homan."

  "Be your age. Homan would have gone in to the big shot in his company, and said, 'Mr. Whosis, I can't work on that script, because this lawyer has put the police on me, and they are asking me questions about what I had for dinner last Wednesday.' Then the big shot would pick up the telephone, call the Mayor. The Mayor would call the Chief. The Chief would call the Captain, and... you get the sketch."

  Mason smiled. "Homan has to be lying about that car."

  "Well, Tragg can't dig down into the hopper, pull out your dirty linen, and ..."

  Della Street emerged from her office to say, "I have located her, Chief. She is in her office. Still want me to run out there?"

  "Yes. Take my car. I will wait."

  "Here?"

  "Uh-huh. Let's eat when you get back."

  "Okay, I shall grab something to tide me over and meet you here."

  "You, Paul?" Mason asked the detective.

  "No. Della says I am a wet blanket."

  "Snap out of it," she said, smiling. "There is nothing the matter with you that four good cocktails won't cure."

  Drake said, "I shall let you know later. I hate to turn down a chance to dance with Della."

  She laughed. "You hate to waste a chance to eat your way through a deluxe dinner. Be seeing you. When I come back, I shall have all the inside Hollywood gossip. Give this girl a couple of drinks, and she talks a blue streak."

  Drake said, "Watch her, Perry. She is getting ready to turn in an expense account consisting of a lot of bar cheques. I know the symptoms."

  "You should," Della Street retorted, putting on her hat and coat in front of the mirror in the cloak closet. "It is a trick I learned from auditing your swindle sheets." She drew on her gloves. "It will take about two hours, and if I draw a blank, don't be too disappointed."

  "I won't," Mason said.

  Mason and Drake listened to Della Street's steps in the corridor of the deserted office building.

  "One in a million," Drake said.

  "Make it ten million, Paul."

  They smoked in silence for several seconds. Steps approached the door. Mason frowned as knuckles beat an authoritative tattoo.

  "Sounds like a cop," Drake said.

  "You don't need to be a detective to tell that," Mason remarked, opening the door.

  Lieutenant Tragg said, "Hello, boys. Trying to make one thought grow where two grew before?"

  Mason looked at his watch. "I shall bet it is bad news."

  Tragg walked in, and sat down.

  "Things didn't go so well for you in court today, Mason," Tragg said.

  "Oh, I don't know. I am satisfied."

  Tragg said, "I have a murder on my hands. You have got an intoxicated-driver manslaughter case. That case is in the county. I don't care a hell of a lot about it. The murder case is right down my alley. If I solve it, I get a pat on the back. If I don't, I get a kick in the pants."

  Mason said, "I believe you are leading up to something."

  "I am."

  "Spring it."

  "How would you like to be working with us for a change instead of against us?"

  Mason said, "I don't know. For all I know you might be trying to pin the murder on my client before you got done."

  Tragg said, "Well, we can go into that right now."

  "What about it?"

  "There are a couple of clues which point her way."

  Mason sat rigidly erect in his chair. "For the love of Mike, Tragg! All a person needs to do is to be a client of mine, and the police immediately ..."

  "Keep your hat on," Tragg said. "I am giving you a break."

  "Go ahead. Give it to me."

  "Let us talk about your client a while first."

  "All right, what about her?"

  "Her rich uncle showed up, plunked down a certified cheque for the bail, and took her out of the hospital where she was being held under detention and rushed her to the Adirondack Hotel. And where is the Adirondack Hotel with reference to the Gateview?"

  Mason said, "Let's see. From Seventh and... it's four blocks."

  "That's right. A person could walk those four blocks in less than five minutes."

  "Go ahead. I presume my client had the murder gun in her handbag when you searched it?"

  "No, but she had something else."

  "What?"

  "Well, you see she went to the hospital. It was a homicide and a county job, but they asked me to check on a couple of angles. I heard her story. She said she had taken a key out of the ignition switch on the automobile. I checked up with the garage to which the car had been towed. The ignition was locked. Naturally, I made an investigation of the girl's purse."

  "Without her knowledge?"

  "Oh, certainly."

  "Go ahead."

  "Well, there was a key ring with three keys on it. Now then, Mason, before I go any further, I want to know whether that was a plant."

  "I don't get you."

  Tragg said, "Naturally, I wanted to know about those keys. One of them looked like the key to an automobile ignition. I thought it would be better to find out first and ask the questions afterward. So while your client was laid up in the hospital, I had an expert locksmith bring an assortment of blanks. The nurse had slipped the keys out of the purse, and the locksmith made duplicates. I took the duplicate keys down and tried them on the car. The automobile key fitted the ignition okay. That left me with two other keys. I didn't know what they were for. Somehow or other, Mason, I distrusted those keys. It looked like the fine Italian hand of a master dramatist."

  "Go ahead."

  "You started beefing about Homan, so I made a quiet trip out to Homan's place, and tried the other two keys on his doors just to see if they would fit."

  "What was the big idea of all the secrecy?"

  "Oh, I just wanted to see what little surprises you had thought up for the D.A."

  "Well, did the key fit?"

  "No, not the door – but one of those keys is to Homan's yacht."

  "The hell you say!"

  "Surprised?"

  "Yes. Go on."

  "Well, I didn't say anything. I just sat back on the sidelines, waiting for the time to come when you would explode your bombshell."

  "I am listening."

  "Well, that time came this afternoon," Tragg said. "I naturally expected that you would build your case around those keys, which, by the way, the girl had already accounted for and introduced in evidence. I thought, of course, you would say to Homan, 'Mr. Homan, is this the key to the ignition on your automobile?' Homan would, of course, admit that it looked as though it might be the key to his car. Then you would ask him casually if he knew anything about the other keys or if they looked at all familiar to him. He would then either say with some surprise that one of them was the key to his yacht, or else he would say they didn't look at all familiar to him, and then you would ask him to produce his keys so that you could check the ..."

  Mason pushed back his chair and got to his feet.

  "Hell!" he said with disgust in his voice. "And I missed doing just that! I am going to find my client, give her back her fee, and beg her pardon."

  Tragg was watching him narrowly. "Why didn't you go after Homan on those keys, Mason?"

  "Lieutenant, I don't know. I was thinking about an entirely different angle of approach. I knew, of course, it was an ignition key to his car, but I ..."

  Tragg studied him for a moment as Mason ceased talking.

  "You had something else on your mind, something you are trying to develop, something you haven't told me about?"

  "Well?"

  Tragg said, "When you didn't spring that key business, I began to think that perhaps it wasn't a plant after all."

  "It wasn't."

  "You didn't plant them?"

  "Absolutely not. What is the third key?"

  "I haven't found out yet."

  "It isn't Homan's?"

  "No."

  "How about ..."

  "About what?" Tragg asked as Mason hesitated.

  The lawyer picked up a pencil from his desk, slid his thumb and forefinger up and down the smooth sides of the wood. "This," he said, "goes a long way toward refuting Homan's story that the car was stolen."

  "Unless he left his keys in it," Tragg said.

  "They would hardly be his keys," Mason pointed out. "There are only three keys on the ring. One of them is to the ignition of the automobile. One is to Homan's yacht. Homan would have had more keys than that, keys to his house, keys to his office in the studio."

  There were several seconds of silence, then Mason made a little bow to the police detective. "All right, Tragg, you win." He turned to Drake. "Tell him about the Warfield woman, Paul."

  "How much?"

  "Everything."

  "And about this man Spinney," Tragg said. "I am interested in Spinney."

  Mason said, "Shoot the works, Paul. Begin at the beginning, about the telephone bills, and what you have done on Spinney."

  Drake took a notebook from his pocket. Refreshing his recollection from that, he told Tragg the whole story. When he had finished, Tragg scowled. "And you guys were holding this out?" he asked.

  "I told you," Mason said, "that if you didn't go after Homan, you would have to ask us questions. We answered all your questions."

  "Someday," Tragg said to Drake, "you are going to cut things just a little too fine."

  Drake glanced at Mason.

  Mason said, "When Drake works on a case under me, he follows my instructions. I am responsible."

  Tragg grinned at him. "All right, let us come down to earth. I want to clear up this murder. You want to get Stephane Claire acquitted of driving the car. You haven't closed your case. That key ring should give you something to work on. Homan told me he was very careful to lock the car up when he left it, that he had his keys with him. The idea being to prove that whoever was operating the car was operating it without his permission. All right, Homan had his keys. The chauffeur must have keys. Now then, how is Homan going to explain the fact that the man who was driving the car had a key to his yacht?"