Tragg took a deep breath, looked across at Karr.

  Karr said somewhat scornfully to Blaine, “You can keep your gossip to yourself. Your ideas of what I’m doing are crazy.”

  Blaine shrugged his shoulders, said, “I’m hired by you. I do a good job for you. I want to keep on doing a good job for you, but I know which side of the bread has the butter. I’m not going to tangle up with the police department.”

  “Where, may I ask, did you get your information?” Karr asked coldly. “Been snooping?”

  Blaine said indignantly, “I haven’t been snooping. I got it from you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “From little things you did, little hints you let drop, the expression on your face,” Blaine said impatiently. “After all, I’ve been a private detective, and I was a cop before that. What the hell do you think? That I’m going to associate with someone for a year and then not know what I’m hired to protect him against? Nuts!”

  Tragg got up, walked over to the window, stood looking out, his hands pushed down into his pockets; then he whirled to regard Perry Mason. “Personally, Mason, I think it’s a runaround. I’m not saying anything—not yet. It’s getting so that whenever we’re working on a case and you come into the picture, the hot trail we’re following develops a habit of running back to the starting point so that we’re tearing around in circles. It’s nothing except coincidence, yet—but it’s a hell of a lot of coincidence.”

  “Speaking of running around in circles,” Mason said, “did you come up here to pay this visit simply because you thought Miss Wickford was here and could give you some information on Karr’s past connections?”

  Miss Wickford said, “Don’t be silly. Lieutenant Tragg couldn’t have known I was going to be here, because I didn’t know it myself until the moment I picked up the paper and . . .”

  “I came up here to ask questions,” Tragg interrupted.

  “Exactly,” Mason said, “and, I take it, they were rather important questions; and since this interesting information which has been uncovered about Karr’s former partner has been purely fortuitous, I naturally am wondering just what really caused this visit. Or is Miss Wickford an undercover associate?”

  Tragg said, “Well, I’ll relieve your curiosity on that, Mason. I came up here to find out about a telephone.”

  “What telephone?” Mason asked.

  “A telephone which seems to have been something more than a telephone, one in which I thought Karr might have some interest.”

  Karr said wearily, “I’m not interested in telephones. I’m a sick man, and the experiences of the afternoon haven’t done me any good.”

  Gow Loong said, “Massah should have gone bed long time ago. Maybe-so go now.”

  Karr said, “All right, Gow Loong.”

  “Just a moment,” Tragg ordered. “I want to ask a couple more questions.”

  “Massah sick,” Gow Loong said. “No can talk.”

  “About that telephone,” Tragg insisted, putting a hand on Karr’s wheelchair.

  “What about the telephone?” Karr asked, his voice gone flat with weariness.

  Tragg said, “We have reason to believe that the person who committed that murder had a very definite reason for lifting the telephone receiver.”

  Mason avoided Tragg’s eyes.

  Karr said, “I suppose he wanted to call someone. You have to lift the receiver to do that, you know.”

  “When we first examined that telephone,” Tragg went on, ignoring Karr’s sarcasm, “we noticed only an ordinary desk telephone with two fingerprints which had been outlined in paint on the receiver. Then we made a more detailed investigation and found something which is very peculiar, to say the least.”

  Karr said, “Don’t beat around the bush. If you’re trying to accuse me of something, come out and say so.”

  Mason said, “He’s just trying to surprise you into an admission of something, Mr. Karr. It’s the way the police work. Apparently a person’s poor health doesn’t change their methods.”

  “I’m not accusing you of anything,” Tragg said, ignoring Mason’s interpolation, “but I’m telling you what we found.”

  “Well, what did you find?”

  “Concealed in the base of that telephone in such a way that it would hardly be noticeable on a superficial examination was a small hole. The telephone was bolted to the desk, which was unusual. We further found that the desk was screwed to the floor so that the telephone and desk were held in one position. That aroused our suspicions. We made a careful examination and found that the base of the telephone contained a very ingenious burglar alarm, a ray of invisible light which could be switched on so that it played across the door of that room. The only way the connection could be broken was by throwing a switch which was on the far side of the light beam, or by picking up the telephone receiver and lifting it from its cradle, which automatically had the effect of cutting off the beam of light.”

  Karr said, “It doesn’t mean a damned thing to me. I fail to see why you are telling me about it.”

  “Because,” Tragg went on patiently, “when any person walked across this beam of light without first lifting the telephone receiver, it caused a buzzer on the screen porch of the lower flat to sound. And that buzzer, Mr. Karr, was fastened to the side of the house so that it was directly below your bedroom window!”

  Karr placed his thin, wasted hand on the arm of the chair, gripped it so that the cords stood out plainly under the skin of the back of his hand. “Buzzer—under my window. Then that explains it.”

  “Explains what?”

  “That must have been what wakened me first, before I heard anything. I heard a peculiarly insistent sound which was like the buzzing of mosquitoes. It was high-pitched, distinctly audible, very irritating to a man of my nervous temperament. I kept listening, thinking at first it was a mosquito in the room, then realized that the sound was coming from outside of my window.”

  “How long did it continue?” Tragg asked.

  “Some little time. I don’t know how long it had been going before I woke up.”

  “How long before you heard the shots?”

  Karr said firmly, “There was only one shot.”

  Tragg sighed. “I take it,” he said, “I am indebted for the other shot to the versatile mind of Mr. Mason.”

  Karr said testily, “You are indebted for the extra shot to what I told Mr. Mason. At the time, I thought there might have been two shots. Since then, and on thinking it over, I have come to the conclusion that there was only one shot, and perhaps an echo from the side of the adjoining house.”

  “And how about the buzzing?” Tragg asked.

  “The buzzing,” Karr said, “continued for a few minutes after the sound of the shot, and then ceased.”

  “Think carefully. Did you hear it again?”

  “No,” Karr said positively. “I didn’t hear it after that.”

  Tragg studied him for a moment, then said, “It would have simplified matters if you’d told me this stuff when I first questioned you.”

  Karr, staring right back at him, said, “And it would have simplified matters if you’d told me about the telephone receiver.”

  “I didn’t know about the burglar alarm then.”

  “And I didn’t know that the buzzing of a mosquito was important.”

  “Then there was only one shot?”

  “I’ve come to the conclusion now there was only one shot.”

  “Do you know what time it was?”

  “I can’t tell you exactly, no. It was sometime after midnight, and I would say before one o’clock. And now if you’ll excuse me, Lieutenant, I’m going to retire. I’m not going to drive myself past the danger point for anyone. I’ve already put up with more than I should.”

  Without another word, Karr lowered his hands to the rubber tires of the wheelchair. But quick as he was, Gow Loong was the first to apply the pressure against the wheelchair which sent it into motion toward the rear of the house.

  Doris Wickford said to Mason, “Apparently I’m to camp on your doorstep until this is cleaned up.”

  Rodney Wenston shook his head. “I know the guv’nor pretty well,” he said. “Don’t rush him. He won’t do a thing if you crowd him.”

  Lieutenant Tragg said to Mason without any more expression in his voice than if he had been commenting on an unusual spell of weather, “Certainly is strange the number of coincidences there are in this case. And every time I come here I find you here.”

  Mason laughed. “I think of it as being the other way around. Every time I come to talk with my client, you manage to drop in. I was thinking that perhaps I was being followed.”

  “It might not be a bad idea at that.”

  Tragg started toward the stairway, then paused as he was near the first step, and beckoned Mason over to him.

  “I see nothing for it but to arrest young Arthur Gentrie and charge him with murder.”

  “Whose murder?” Mason asked.

  Tragg smiled amicably. “Thought you’d catch me on that one, didn’t you? Well, just to put your mind at rest, when we discovered the body of Mrs. Perlin, we made a complete search of the premises. We went through everything, even cleaning out the ashes in the furnace, and in those ashes we found some interesting things, a few bits of charred cloth, some buttons, the remnants of a pair of shoes. On the portions that hadn’t been completely destroyed by fire, we found dark stains. An analysis shows they were made by human blood. You might think that over, Mason. And now if you’ll pardon me, I’ll run along. I want to talk with young Gentrie as soon as he gets back from the hardware store.”

  Chapter 14

  Mason got Della Street on the telephone a few minutes after five o’clock.

  “Closing up?” he asked.

  “I was waiting for you. How’s everything going?”

  “Oh, so-so. Want to take a trip?”

  “Where?”

  “San Francisco.”

  “How?”

  “Reservations on the six o’clock plane. I’ll meet you at the airport.”

  Della Street said, “A dab of powder on my nose, and I’m headed for the elevator.”

  “Okay,” Mason said, “make it snappy. I’ll be aboard the plane. There’ll be a ticket for you at the ticket window. Just pick it up and climb aboard.”

  “Be seeing you,” she promised, and hung up.

  The late afternoon rush was on at the airport. Speeding cars came dashing in or went roaring out. People milled around in little groups, saying farewells or greeting arriving passengers. The loud speaker blared forth the fact that the six P.M. plane for San Francisco was ready for departure, and Mason, giving one last look around, was starting for the gate when Della Street came sprinting through the door. She gave him a friendly wave of her hand, then ran over to the ticket window to pick up her transportation. She joined him as he was getting on the plane.

  “Skin of my eyeteeth,” she said. “A lot of traffic. Been here long?”

  “Ten or fifteen minutes. Anything new at the office?”

  “No. Drake’s got a lot of men out and is picking up a few details. That must have been vile whiskey. He was taking his third Bromo-Seltzer when I ran in to tell him I was checking out for the night.”

  “Didn’t tell him where you were going?”

  “No.”

  They settled themselves in the comfortable reclining seats of the plane. A few moments later the sign flashed on requesting that passengers cease smoking, that seat belts be fastened, and then the motors, which had been clicking away at idling speed, roared into a deep-throated song of power. The plane taxied down the field, turned into the wind. The pilot applied brakes, tested first the port, then the starboard motor, then sent the plane skimming along the smooth runway.

  “Always like to watch them take off,” Mason said, looking out of the window at the ground speeding past.

  “They do it so smoothly now you hardly know you’ve left the ground,” she said.

  Mason made no reply. He was watching the ground as it suddenly seemed to drop away. The plane was up in the air, smoothly gliding over the roofs of houses, across a railroad track, over a busy street congested with thousands of automobiles fighting their way foot by foot through the rush hour of traffic.

  The sun had just set, turning a few streamers of western cloud into long bars of ruddy gold. Down below, lights on automobiles were being turned on. Neon signs began to gleam. Then suddenly all traces of civilization dropped behind. The plane was flying over mountains covered with chaparral and mesquite. The dark shadows of the valleys and canyons were in sharp contrast with the diffused gleam of sunset light which clung to the tops of the high mountains.

  Far below, an automobile road wound and twisted its devious way up the mountains. Abruptly it drifted behind. There was a stretch of sagebrush-covered mesa, then more high mountains, this time crested with great pines. Slowly, twilight drew a curtain over the landscape, and lights within the plane blotted out what little view remained.

  Mason settled back in his seat, said to Della, “I always like this trip.”

  “What’s it all about?” she asked.

  Mason said, “After I left you, I ran into Tragg. We had a talk, and then I went out and bought some San Francisco papers.”

  “What happened up at Karr’s place?” Della Street asked curiously. “Did the girl make a good impression?”

  “Apparently so. At least, on everyone except the Chinese houseboy.”

  “What about him?”

  “I don’t know,” Mason said. “You can’t exactly place him. Chinese are rather inscrutable at times.”

  “Did you find out anything of what it was all about?”

  Mason said, “Evidently this man who was going under the name of Dow Tucker and Elston Karr had a partnership sometime in 1920 and 1921. In the latter part of 1920 a third partner was taken in. He betrayed the outfit. Tucker was evidently captured, either executed or murdered. Karr managed to escape, and evidently he had a portion of the partnership funds with him.”

  “Who was the third partner?” she asked. “Anyone important?”

  “Robindale E. Hocksley.”

  Della Street stared at Mason in surprise. “Surely Karr didn’t admit that, did he?”

  “Yes.”

  “But, good heavens, if that’s the case—why, Karr’s on the spot. They’ll make him logical suspect number one.”

  “Don’t overlook those fingerprints on the telephone,” Mason said. “They’re young Gentrie’s fingerprints all right. Lieutenant Tragg’s in something of a quandary.”

  “And this trip is to steal a march on him?” she asked.

  Mason said, “Not exactly.”

  “What is it for?”

  “Oh, just to look up a certain party,” Mason said.

  “I suppose that means I’m not to try to worm a more definite answer out of you?”

  “Don’t crowd me,” he said, smiling. “If I’m right, I want to do something spectacular. If I’m wrong, I don’t want to lose my reputation.”

  “How’s Lieutenant Tragg coming?”

  “Right on my tail. I’m not certain but what he may even be a couple of jumps ahead of me by morning, unless I take a short cut.”

  “And this is the short cut?”

  “Yes.”

  Mason settled his head back against the chair cushions and closed his eyes. Della Street studied his profile for a few moments. Then she, too, settled back in her chair. Mason’s hand came over to fold over hers. “Good girl,” he said, and drifted off into dozing slumber.

  The plane settled swiftly down on the San Francisco field, gliding in just over the tops of coarse brush grass to settle on the runway and taxi up to the place where passengers were scheduled to disembark. A man in dark blue, wearing a chauffeur’s cap, touched two fingers to the celluloid visor and said, “Mr. Mason?”

  Mason nodded.

  “The car’s ready.”

  Mason said, “We’ll get in it and wait right here. Be ready to start at any minute.”

  The man held the door open for them to get in.

  Mason said to Della Street, “Well, I guess we have a while to wait.”

  “How long?”

  “Perhaps an hour, perhaps longer.”

  “I suppose,” she said, “this has something to do with our lisping aviator, Rodney Wenston.”

  Mason nodded.

  “Did you gather the impression that he was pretty much disconcerted when that girl began to produce proofs that she was the daughter of Karr’s former partner?”

  “His expression didn’t indicate that he was exactly pleased,” Mason said with a grin.

  “I was watching him closely. Would her showing up with the claim which she will probably make against Karr have some effect on Wenston?”

  “It might affect the size of the estate he expects to inherit eventually. If there’s any estate, and if he expects to inherit it,” Mason said, smiling. “Come on, Della, let’s move down toward this end of the field. Wait a minute. We may as well be comfortable. Here, driver. How about moving your car down toward this end of the field away from the lights, where we can sit and be comfortable?”

  “Okay,” the driver said, “I can move down as far as the edge of this fence.”

  “All right, go ahead. Got a radio?”