“You wouldn’t,” Della Street said.

  “Ouch!” Drake observed, laughing.

  Mason called the waitress, handed her a bill, and said, “Bring the gentleman over there half a dozen packages of gum.”

  “What flavor?” she asked.

  “Spearmint,” Drake said.

  “What brand?”

  “I don’t care, just so it’s gum.”

  When she had gone, Mason said, “You have to admit, Paul, Leeds makes a good host.”

  Drake said, “Well, a two-bit cigar would have been equally acceptable.”

  The lawyer shook his head. “You’re going calling on a lady,” he said. “A cigar on top of this dinner would make you feel at peace with the world, generous, kindhearted, and impulsive. I want you to be your own sweet self, nervous, gum-chewy, and deceptive.”

  Drake said, “Well, come on then. Let’s go and get it over with.”

  “How,” Della Street asked, as they drew up in front of the apartment house, “will you find out what apartment she’s in, Chief?”

  Mason said, “Oh, that’s routine to Paul. Just let him worry about it.”

  Drake said, “Let’s go,” and led the way up to the entrance of the apartment house.

  Mason pressed the button marked “Manager” and, a moment later, an electric buzz announced that the latch was released. The three pushed their way into an ornate little lobby, across from which a mahogany door bore the legend, “Manager.” Drake crossed and rang the bell. A few moments later, a tall, thin woman who had once had fire and charm in her wide brown eyes inquired, “Did you wish an apartment?”

  “No,” Drake said. “We’re collecting a bill.”

  The cordiality left her face.

  “One of your most recent tenants,” Drake went on, “is a girl who’s been here before and ran up a bunch of bills. She’s about twenty-five, good figure, recently used henna on her hair, big, limpid eyes . . . ”

  “She hasn’t been here before,” the manager said. “She’s new.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “Two years.”

  Drake frowned and said, “We’re from the Credit Bureau. My memo is that she was here about eighteen months ago under the name of Doraline Sprague.”

  “Well, that’s not the one.”

  “What name’s she going under now?”

  “Her own.”

  Drake said impatiently, “Well, let’s have it, if we’re on the wrong track, we want to know it.”

  “Helen Reid.”

  “What’s her number?”

  “Twelve B.”

  “What floor?”

  “Second floor.”

  Mason said, after the manner of one pouring oil on troubled waters, “Why don’t you go and have a frank talk with her, Paul? After all, the bill isn’t large. You don’t want to make a mistake. A lawyer will cost you money, and cause her a lot of trouble. You might make her lose her job.”

  Drake hesitated.

  “Go ahead. Talk with her, Paul,” Della Street pleaded. “I’m satisfied that’s the only way.”

  “What’s the use of talking with her?” Drake said. “She’d lie out of it. We’ve got all the stuff we need. Let her prove she isn’t the one. I think she is.”

  “I’m not so certain, Paul. Come on, let’s talk with her.”

  Drake heaved a sigh. “Okay,” he surrendered reluctantly.

  Mason flashed a reassuring smile at the manager. “Personally,” he said, “I think it’s a mistake.”

  They took the stairs, starting to climb leisurely, running up them two at a time as they got out of sight of the manager. Mason said, “Hurry, Paul. She may telephone, and let her know we’re on the trail.”

  They trooped down the corridor.

  Drake said to Della Street: “Tap on the door, Della. If she comes, all right. If she doesn’t, and wants to know who’s there, remember you’re the girl from across the hall, and you’re out of matches.”

  They paused in front of the door. Della Street tapped gently on the panel. After a moment of silence, a woman’s voice said, “Who is it please?”

  Della said gushingly, “Oh, I’m from across the hall, and I’ve run out of matches. My boy friend’s been working late, and I’m making a pot of coffee and some scrambled eggs. I’ll only need just a couple.”

  The door opened.

  The young woman who stood on the threshold was striking in appearance. The henna hair did not particularly become her, but the limpid, dark eyes, the very red, full lips, the smooth lines of her neck stretching down into perfectly formed curves visible beneath the sheer silk of the lounging pajamas, gave her a somewhat voluptuous appearance; while the dead white of her skin, drawn tight across the forehead and wide cheekbones, made her seem peculiarly exotic.

  Drake and Mason took charge without giving her an opportunity to collect her thoughts or take any independent action.

  “Okay, Inez,” Drake said, pushing his way into the room and taking care not to remove his hat. “The jig’s up.”

  Perry Mason tilted his own hat a little farther back on his head and nodded.

  Della Street glanced about her in swift appraisal, taking in little details which only a feminine eye would observe.

  Drake dropped into a chair, crossed his long legs, lit a cigarette, and said, “So you thought you could get away with it, eh?”

  Mason said, “Now wait a minute, Paul. Let’s give her a break. Let’s hear her side of the story before we do anything rash.”

  “Hear her side of the story!” Drake exclaimed scornfully. “She walks out of her apartment, tries to disguise her appearance, takes an assumed name. I suppose all that was just because her delicate nerves couldn’t stand the idea of living in an apartment house where a man had been murdered.”

  “You don’t think she did it, do you, Paul?” Mason asked.

  “Her boy friend did,” Drake said, with the complete detachment of one who is discussing a problem which holds no personal interest for him.

  Inez Colton said indignantly, “This is an outrage! What do you mean by tricking me in this way? You said you wanted matches.”

  “Forget it, sister,” Mason said. “I’m trying to do you a favor. This guy,” indicating Drake with a sideways gesture of his head, “is hard. If you don’t think he’s hard, just cross him. I claim you didn’t know what you were getting into, that you were in love, and that it’s up to us to give you a chance to come clean before we do anything drastic.”

  “What do you mean—drastic?” she asked, and there was a slight quaver in her voice.

  Drake laughed scornfully.

  Mason said, “Now listen, Paul, let’s be fair about this thing. She may not have been mixed up in that murder.”

  “Then what did she run away for?”

  “To protect her boy friend, of course.”

  “Well, you know the law. If she gives aid to a murderer to shield him, she becomes an accessory after the fact. And how about this talk Milicant had over the telephone . . . ”

  Mason said, “Now wait a minute, Paul. I’m going to be firm about this. You’re not going to condemn this young woman until we hear her side of the story.”

  Mason turned expectantly to Inez Colton.

  For a second or two, it seemed that she was on the point of rushing into swift speech. Then her eyes became hard and suspicious. She seemed to lower a veil over her thoughts. “What do you want?” she asked.

  Mason said, “The truth.”

  “I have done nothing wrong.”

  “Come on, come on,” Drake said. “Let’s have it.”

  Mason said, “Shut up, Paul. I’m going to insist that you have a chance to tell your story, Inez.”

  There was doubt in her eyes. She glanced appealingly at Della Street, then said, “Well . . . ”

  As she hesitated, Drake said, “We have a witness who saw Jason Carrel when he left your apartment, so there’s no good trying to cover up.”

  She whirled to face Drake. Her eyes narrowed slightly. Her muscles became poised, tense. “Jason Carrel leaving my apartment?” she asked.

  “That’s right,” Drake said.

  “Who are you and what do you want?”

  “I’m a detective,” Drake said.

  “Well, you’re barking on the wrong track, Mr. Detective. Jason Carrel was never in my apartment. I see it all now. You two are trying to run a bluff, figuring you’ll get me to talk. Thank you. I have nothing to say.”

  Mason said, “Suit yourself,” and handed the subpoena to Paul Drake.

  Drake, crossing over to her, said, “Under those circumstances, you get a subpoena to appear in court tomorrow morning at ten o’clock and testify on behalf of the defendant in the case of the People versus Alden Leeds.”

  “But I can’t come to court. I mustn’t.”

  Drake shrugged his shoulders, “That’s your funeral, sister.”

  “But I don’t know anything that would help anyone. I know nothing whatever about that murder.”

  “Save it for the witness stand,” Drake said.

  “All right, I will,” she said defiantly, “and don’t think my testimony is going to help Alden Leeds any, because it won’t.”

  “What do you know about Alden Leeds?” Drake asked.

  “That’s none of your business. Put me on the witness stand, and I’ll tell.”

  Drake said conversationally, “Too bad about Jason Carrel. He said he didn’t know you. Unfortunately, he was testifying under oath in a murder trial, and a court reporter took down what he said.”

  There was a triumphant glitter in her eyes. “Put me on the witness stand,” she challenged. “I dare you!”

  Abruptly, Mason, who had been watching her carefully, said, “I’m afraid, Miss Colton, that you’re getting a wrong impression. Mr. Drake isn’t very familiar with the various Leeds relatives, and apparently he’s made the mistake of confusing Jason Carrel with Harold Leeds. . . . What you mean, Paul, is that Harold committed the murder.”

  Inez Colton winced as though Mason’s words had been a physical blow. Consternation showed in her eyes. She said, in a stammering half whisper, “He . . . told me . . . you didn’t know.”

  Mason’s low laugh was filled with calm confidence. “He really thought that?” he asked. “It’s what we wanted him to think, of course, until we had him trapped. That’s why I refrained from asking Jason Carrel whether he had loaned his car to his cousin.”

  “Then you’re . . . you’re Perry Mason, the lawyer who’s representing Alden Leeds?”

  Mason nodded.

  “You can’t pin it on Harold.”

  Mason said patiently, “We’re not pinning anything on anyone—but Harold can never convince a jury he didn’t do it.”

  She said, “Harold went downstairs to see him, and he was dead.”

  “Went alone?” Mason asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And told you he was dead?”

  She nodded, in tight-lipped silence.

  “Why didn’t you notify the authorities?” Mason asked.

  “As far as that’s concerned, why didn’t Alden?”

  “I’m asking about you,” Mason said conversationally.

  “For the very good and sufficient reason that we couldn’t afford to mix into it. We didn’t think anyone knew. How did you find out?”

  Mason said, “Finding out things is our business, Miss Colton. Don’t you think you’d better make a complete statement?”

  Della Street, who had unobtrusively slipped her shorthand book from her purse and taken notes of the conversation, now shifted her position so that the notebook rested on the arm of her chair.

  “There’s nothing to tell. I . . . We . . . ”

  She broke off as a gentle tapping sounded on the panels of the door. Without making any move to answer, she raised her voice and said, “I have nothing to say. Even if you do accuse Harold Leeds of murdering Milicant, you can’t . . . ”

  Mason upset his chair, jumped to his feet and made for the door.

  Inez Colton screamed.

  Mason jerked the door open, said to the figure which was sprinting down the corridor, “Come back here, Harold, and face the music. Running away isn’t going to do you any good.”

  Harold Leeds paused uncertainly, turned a wan, frightened face toward Perry Mason.

  “The house is watched, you fool,” Mason said. “Come back here and face the music.”

  A door in one of the apartments opened. A fat, blonde woman with startled eyes stared wordlessly from Mason to Harold Leeds.

  “Come back,” Mason said. “Don’t leave Inez to face the music alone.”

  Harold Leeds turned and walked slowly back toward Mason.

  “Come on,” Mason said. “Hurry up. Don’t act so much like a dog coming to take a licking. You’ve played a man’s game. Now face the results like a man.”

  Harold Leeds glanced appealingly at the blonde woman in the doorway who was regarding them with startled, curious eyes. It was as though he hoped someone would come to his rescue, that he might wake up and find it was all a horrible nightmare.

  As Leeds came closer, Mason took his arm, escorted him to the door of Inez Colton’s apartment. Drake was sitting very much as Mason had left him. Inez Colton was in the chair, sobbing quietly. Della Street had changed her position slightly so that her raised knee partially concealed the shorthand notebook.

  Drake said conversationally, “Figured you could handle the situation out there, Perry. Thought I’d better keep an eye on the one here.”

  “Oh, Harold,” Inez Colton said tearfully. “Why did you do it? You promised you wouldn’t come near me.”

  Harold Leeds said sullenly, “Gosh, Inez, I made absolutely certain no one was following me. How did I know I was going to walk into this guy?” indicating Mason with a jerk of his head. “I simply had to see you.”

  Mason said, “Suppose you tell us all about it, Harold. Sit down where you can be comfortable, and get it off your chest. You’ll feel better then.”

  “I have nothing to say,” Harold Leeds said, “particularly to you. If I talk, it will be to the district attorney.”

  “That’s swell,” Mason said. “But first, young man, you’ll go on the witness stand as a witness for the defense. I’ll ask you why you went downstairs to John Milicant’s apartment, what your business dealings with Milicant were and why you deemed it necessary to kill him. You can answer those questions on the witness stand. Here’s a subpoena.”

  With a flourish, Mason handed him a subpoena to appear as a witness for the defense in court at ten o’clock A.M. the next day. The young man, as one in a daze, extended a quivering hand to take the folded oblong of legal-looking paper.

  Mason said to Paul Drake, “Okay, Paul, let’s go. Come on, Della. We have nothing more to do here.”

  Leeds said, “Wait a minute. You can’t . . . can’t put me on the witness stand.”

  “You just think I can’t,” Mason said.

  “No! No! You can’t! I wouldn’t help your case any. I’d hurt it, and I can’t afford to get mixed up in this thing.”

  “Why not?” Mason asked.

  “Because . . . because I can’t.”

  “That’s too bad,” Mason observed without sympathy, starting toward the door.

  Inez Colton straightened in the chair. “Oh, go ahead and tell him, Harold,” she said. “What’s the use of trying to lie out of it now.”

  Then, as Harold remained sullenly silent, she said to Mason, “All right. I’ll tell you if he won’t. Harold’s crazy about the ponies. He can’t keep away from them. Neither can I. I’m a married woman. I was married to a man who was a race track tout. We knew John Milicant, but we knew him as Louie Conway, a plunger. I met Harold out at the race track. I was having a squabble with my husband. Harold and I fell in love. I decided to leave my husband, and wanted some place to live where he’d never find me, because he’s just the type to make trouble. I spoke to Louie Conway, and asked him if he couldn’t get me a job. He could and he did. I took an apartment in the same building where he had an apartment. I went under the name of Inez Colton. Harold started calling on me, and one day he and Louie ran into each other in the elevator. Harold recognized Louie as John Milicant. Louie, of course, recognized him as Harold Leeds. That was all there was to it. Louie told Harold to keep quiet about what he knew. He was afraid his sister was going to find out what he was doing. Then when Harold found out that Alden Leeds had made a big check in favor of L. C. Conway . . . Well, Harold thought he should do something about it. Louie told him to come down and talk things over.

  “Harold went down to his apartment.

  “Milicant told a most amazing story. He said that he was actually entitled to a full one-half of all of the money Alden Leeds had ever made, that Alden Leeds secured his original start by stealing one-half of his fortune, that it all went back to the time when Leeds was in the Klondike, and . . . ”

  Mason, his eyes glinting with interest, said, “Are you, by any chance, going to say that Milicant claimed he was Bill Hogarty?”

  Her face showed surprise.

  “Yes,” she said, “that’s exactly what he did say and showed documents to prove it.”

  “Where are those documents now?” Mason asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  Harold Leeds said sullenly, “He was Hogarty all right.”

  “And Emily Milicant is his sister?” Mason asked.

  “She’s no more his sister than I am,” Inez Colton said. “Up there in the Yukon, Leeds took possession of the cabin and all of the grub. He beat up Hogarty and then drove him out of camp at the point of a gun, without blankets, without food, and, as he thought, without matches. Then Alden Leeds took all the gold, and mushed out to civilization. He was shrewd enough to take the name of Hogarty, making it seem that Leeds had been the one to disappear. That threw the authorities off the track. Hogarty almost died of cold and exposure. Leeds had hit him a terrific blow on the head in the fight which preceded his being driven out of camp. The fight was over Emily Milicant who had been Hogarty’s sweetheart. She was a Dawson dance hall girl.