"That was Wednesday the nineteenth," Judge Cortright asked.

  "Yes, Your Honor."

  "At what time?"

  "I would say about five or six o'clock in the afternoon."

  "Have you any explanation as to how this stain of lipstick got on your shirt?"

  "No, Your Honor."

  Judge Cortright looked down at Lieutenant Tragg. "Is there," he asked, "any reason to doubt this evidence? In other words, is there anything to indicate it has been fabricated?"

  "I hadn't thought so," Lieutenant Tragg said, his voice showing that he was badly perplexed. "But apparently – well, something must be wrong. Of course, if Mr. Homan can account for his whereabouts at the time of the accident ..."

  "I can," Homan said calmly. "I was at my home in Beverly Hills. I reported the car as being stolen as I have said. I had a conference with a representative of the police of Beverly Hills, and then I went to the studio, taking the script on which I had been working and had a conference with a certain department head."

  "What time did that conference start?" Judge Cortright asked.

  "At about nine o'clock in the evening, and continued through until nearly midnight."

  Cortright and Tragg exchanged glances, then Tragg and Hanley went into a whispered conference.

  Mason said suavely, "These, gentlemen, were your questions, not mine."

  Judge Cortright looked down at Mason. "Evidently, Counselor," he said with some acerbity, "you knew exactly where to stop in your examination."

  Mason smiled serenely at the baffled judge. "Quite evidently I did, Your Honor."

  Hanley got slowly to his feet. "Your Honor," he said, "some of this evidence comes as a distinct surprise to us. We had anticipated that the examination of the witness would be more complete, that there would be some effort to show the identity of all the keys on this key ring. It might even be the police could furnish Mr. Mason with an opportunity to get this evidence, or at any rate to see if this witness ... Well, we shall cooperate with Mr. Mason in any and every way." He stopped and looked across at Mason, but Mason returned his gaze with eyes which showed only bland disinterest.

  Hanley turned back to Judge Cortright. "The situation is one which is very peculiar, Your Honor. The district attorney's office doesn't wish to be a party to any injustice. As the court may well know, further developments in this case have become exceedingly grave and somewhat complicated. We feel that in justice to all concerned, the hearing should be continued while we check Mr. Homan's testimony carefully."

  "Does that mean I have got to come back here again?" Homan demanded indignantly.

  Judge Cortright studied the indignant picture producer for several thoughtful seconds, then said quietly, "It does. The court will continue this case until Monday morning at ten o'clock at which time the witnesses will return to court."

  "But, Your Honor, I can't keep trotting back and forth here to court..."

  "You are a witness," Judge Cortright said. "Furthermore, Mr. Homan, there are some matters in your testimony which have not been explained to the court's satisfaction. The case is continued until Monday morning at ten o'clock. The defendant remains on bail, Mr. Deputy District Attorney?"

  "She is on bail at the present time."

  "Is there any motion to have that bail increased?"

  Hanley said, "No, Your Honor, I guess not," and then added, "The defendant seems to have a perfect and complete alibi for all of yesterday evening when the second murder was committed."

  "Very well," Judge Cortright said, "the court will take a recess for ten minutes, and then take up the Case of People versus Sampson."

  As Judge Cortright left the bench, Tragg came over to Mason. "What is the idea, Mason?" he asked.

  Mason said, "It is your move, Tragg. You said you would give me until this morning, and unless I could make some satisfactory explanation, you would arrest me after I had cross-examined Homan. Well, here I am."

  Tragg said, "Mason, you knew about that murder last night."

  Mason smiled and said nothing.

  "I have enough circumstantial evidence to hold you – at least as a material witness."

  "Do it," Mason said, "and you will regret it as long as you live."

  Tragg sighed. "I wish," he said to Mason, "we could get along. After all, we should be working together on this case."

  "We could if you weren't always trying to get something on me," Mason said.

  "Get something on you! Good Lord, you play tag with corpses, violate half of the laws in the penal code, and then expect me to tag along with a happy smile. How the hell did you know it was Homan's shirt?"

  Homan, who had marched from the witness stand and was standing on the outskirts of the group, pressed forward and said, "Gentlemen, I dislike to interrupt, but I simply want to tell Mr. Mason I think his questions are impertinent."

  Mason merely smiled.

  Tragg said, "Mr. Homan, I don't want to bother you, but it is imperative that we check up on your statements as to what you were doing on Wednesday. Will you kindly sit down over there and write the names of every person with whom you talked on Wednesday afternoon?"

  "Gladly, sir," Homan snapped. "I will do everything in my power to contribute to a solution of this case. I know I wasn't driving that automobile, and I don't believe Adler Greeley was driving it. What I object to is the manner in which my private affairs are being pried into."

  "I understand your position perfectly," Mason said. "You object. You have made your objection – and it is overruled." He turned his shoulder.

  Homan glowered indignantly, then strode over to the table which Tragg had indicated, whipped some paper from his brief case, adjusted his horned-rimmed spectacles, and started to scribble.

  Mrs. Greeley came walking toward them from the back of the courtroom. She said, "Mr. Mason, I had no idea that was not my husband's shirt when I brought it to you last night. But I knew Adler wouldn't have been guilty of the things they claim the driver of this car did. And I most certainly had no idea that shirt belonged to Mr. Homan. You evidently know something I don't. Apparently, there is some mysterious connection between my husband and Mr. Homan. Can you tell me what it is?"

  Mason shook his head. "Not right now, Mrs. Greeley. But if you can wait a few hours, I think I will have a lot more information."

  She said, "You were so helpful last night, Mr. Mason, so… so encouraging. You made things so much easier for me."

  "I am glad I did. And here is one way you can help. In going over your husband's correspondence, did you find anything that would connect him with a Mrs. Warfield?"

  She frowned. "There is nothing at the house. Perhaps his secretary at the office could tell you."

  "I would prefer to have you try to dig it up, Mrs. Greeley." He turned to Tragg and said, "After all, Lieutenant, Della Street is the one who really called my attention to the key clue in the entire case."

  "What's that?" Tragg asked as Jackson Sterne came up to stand diffidently on the edge of the group.

  "Mrs. Warfield. She didn't leave the Gateview Hotel that night. On the other hand, she certainly didn't sleep in her room."

  Tragg said, "I don't get you, Mason."

  Mason smiled. "I am going to the Gateview Hotel. I am going to take a room, and I am going to question the various employees in detail concerning a theory I have. Any objections?"

  Tragg's eyes narrowed. "No objections right at the moment, but until you have accounted for that feather, Mason ..."

  "Really, Lieutenant, you mustn't attach too much importance to these inanimate clues. It is much more satisfactory to analyze motivations and opportunities, and deduce what must have happened. Well, I shall be seeing you."

  He picked up his briefcase and calmly walked away.

  Jackson Sterne stood watching him, blinking slowly.

  Mrs. Greeley watched Mason's back with eyes in which there were quick tears. "He is going to clear Adler of getting out of that car and leaving Miss Claire to take the blame," she said in a voice which carried conviction.

  Hanley said with feeling, "There never was a more clever outlaw. Essentially, the man is nonsocial, nonconventional, a nonconformist. He may respect justice, but he certainly has no regard for the letter of the law!"

  "But," Tragg pointed out, "he has done more to solve murders than any man on the force; but ... well, damn him!"

  Chapter 20

  MASON SAT in his room in the Gateview Hotel. From time to time he looked at his watch. The pile of cigarette stubs in the ash tray mounted higher. Toward noon, Mason called his office. "Anything new, Della?"

  "Everything quiet and serene at this end."

  Mason sighed. "I am afraid Tragg's interference has wrecked my little scheme. If you don't hear from me in half an hour, call Tragg and ask him to come up here, will you?"

  "Okay. Anything else?"

  "That is all. Be seeing you, Della."

  Mason clicked the receiver into place, took another cigarette from his hammered silver case, and heard a knock at the door. "Come in," he called. The door opened. Mrs. Greeley entered. Mason jumped to his feet. "Why, Mrs. Greeley, I had no idea you were coming!"

  "I hope I haven't disturbed you, Mr. Mason, but I have found something..."

  Mason glanced at his wrist watch. "Can't it wait, Mrs. Greeley? I am expecting someone else."

  "It will only take a minute."

  Mason hesitated, then quickly closed the door, and placed a chair for her. "I don't want to seem inhospitable," he said, "but I am expecting someone who may come at any minute."

  "Mrs. Warfield?" she asked.

  "What makes you think of her?"

  "Because I have found that correspondence you were asking about."

  "Where is it?"

  "Here." She indicated a brief case. "Do you want to look at it now?"

  Mason once more consulted his watch, hesitated, said, "Could you leave it with me?"

  "Yes."

  "I am sorry," he apologized, "but seconds are precious. I am trying to ..."

  "I understand," she interrupted. "I shall just put these over on the bed. I am frightfully nervous, Mr. Mason. I am wondering if my own life isn't in danger."

  "Frankly," Mason said, "I think it is."

  "Mr. Mason, did you know what was in these letters?"

  "I had an idea."

  "Do you know who the man was my husband was protecting?"

  "I think I do."

  "Can you tell me?"

  "I would prefer not to – not right now."

  She said, "There is something in that first letter, the one on top, I would like to have you read now."

  Mason reached for the letter. "This one?" he asked.

  "Yes. That ..."

  Mason whirled. His hand clamped on her wrist.

  An involuntary half scream left her lips. Something heavy dropped from her right hand, struck the edge of the bed, thudded to the floor. The fingers of her left hand continued to clutch at the pillow. Her right hand sought his arm, gripped it until her fingers dug into his muscles.

  Mason said, "You are perfectly safe here, Mrs. Greeley, but you are not going to be safe if you carry that gun and draw it at the slightest noise."

  "There is someone at the door! Someone turned the knob!"

  Mason strode quickly to the door, and jerked it open.

  There was no one in the corridor.

  "I heard someone," she said. "Someone was turning the knob, very slowly and stealthily. The door was sliding open."

  Mason frowned. "I am afraid you have ruined everything."

  "I am sorry."

  "It is as much my fault as yours. And as for carrying that gun – you are foolish. Your life is in danger but it is nothing you can ward off with a gun. The persons who are after you are far too clever to be disposed of that way.

  "Now, look here, you are nervous, unstrung, and hysterical. Go to your family physician and ask him to give you a narcotic which will make you sleep for at least twenty-four hours. How long since you have slept?"

  The corners of her mouth twitched. "Not more than an hour or two since ... " Her face was distorted by a spasm. "I can't get it out of my mind! I can't. I can't! I am going to be next. I know it. I have been followed. I have been . . ."

  Mason said, "Mrs. Greeley, I want you to go see a doctor right now. I can't give you any more time now. Promise me you will go to your doctor at once. Will you do that?"

  His hand patted her shoulder.

  Her eyes blinked up at him through tears. "Mr. Mason, you are absolutely wonderful. I shall go at once."

  She took a deep breath, and tried to smile. "I am sorry I lost control," she said. "Good-bye, Mr. Mason."

  "Good-bye."

  Mason closed and locked the door. Some thirty minutes later, in response to another knock, he tiptoed to stand on one side of the door so that a bullet sent crashing through the panels would miss him.

  "Who is it?" he asked.

  "Tragg."

  "I don't recognize your voice."

  "What is the idea?" Tragg asked. "Can't you..."

  Mason unlocked the door. "I just wanted to be sure."

  "Why all the caution?"

  "I am expecting the murderer to call on me."

  "So I gathered. What is the idea?"

  Mason dropped into a chair, lit a cigarette. "Mrs. Warfield came to this hotel. She didn't stay in her room that night."

  "Certainly not. She went to Greeley's room. I found her baggage there."

  "Where did she go after that?" Mason asked.

  "She stayed right there."

  "After shooting Greeley?"

  "Yes. Why not?"

  "She couldn't be certain someone hadn't heard the shot."

  "No, of course not," Tragg admitted, "but it didn't sound like a shot. Two or three people heard the noise, but thought it was a car exhaust."

  "She, of course, had no way of knowing that."

  "What are you getting at?"

  "She didn't leave the hotel until the next morning."

  "She stayed there in the room, with Greeley's body?"

  "Why not?"

  "The bed wasn't slept in. She would hardly be down with a corpse and go to sleep."

  "And she would hardly sit up all night in the room with a dead man. Granted that she has a pretty strong stomach, it is still asking too much."

  "What did she do?" Tragg asked.

  "Spent the night in another room."

  "Whose?"

  Mason shrugged. "There are a lot of things about this case that can't be proved – yet. But, Tragg, we know what the answer is, and if there is anything wrong with my reasoning, point it out."

  "All right, go ahead."

  "When I realized what must have happened here at the hotel, I had Drake look up the registrations. Two single rooms were rented within fifteen minutes of the time Mrs. Warfield registered. One was to a man who answered the description of the driver of the car. So I didn't bother with the other. I realize now I should have."

  "Who was the other?"

  "A woman. Don't you get it?"

  "No. I don't."

  "Mrs. Warfield must have spent the night with that woman."

  "But her baggage was in Greeley's room...."

  "Certainly," Mason said. "Mrs. Warfield registered and went to her room, then she went back to the lobby to try and pick up some back numbers of Photoplay Magazine. I had shown her a photograph of Homan. I asked her if it wasn't her husband or Spinney. She had been trying to locate Spinney – to find out who he really was. She thought this was Spinney's picture. Through him, she thought she could reach her husband. When she found she couldn't get the magazine she wanted, she returned to her room. Greeley was probably there waiting for her."

  "You think Greeley was Spinney?"

  "Yes."

  "Then who was her husband?"

  "Greeley."

  "I don't get you.

  "Greeley created Spinney out of thin air to give himself a go-between."

  "Go ahead," Tragg said.

  "Now Greeley takes Mrs. Warfield down to his room. Naturally, he takes her baggage along. Remember he is her husband, and she is crazy about him."

  "You think he was waiting for her when she got back from the lobby?"

  "Sure. Otherwise she would have at least washed up and used the soap and a towel. All right, now we have got Mrs. Warfield in Greeley's room. He makes the mistake of trying to confess and ask her forgiveness. In place of that, he gets a bullet in his brain. Mrs. Warfield has been through too much to do any forgiving. She has been working to the limit of her endurance, and sending every cent she could possibly spare to a man whom she loved. When she finds out he has been deliberately milking her of money so she wouldn't have enough carfare to come to the Coast and investigate ..."

  "All right, she shot him," Tragg interrupted. "Then what?"

  "She goes back to her room, prepares to make an escape. That's when the woman found her."

  "Who was the woman?"

  "Mrs. Greeley."

  "What?"

  "Yes. It must have been."

  "And what did Mrs. Greeley want?"

  "Mrs. Greeley was suspicious. She didn't have proof – not then. She wanted to pump Mrs. Warfield."

  "What happened?"

  "Mrs. Warfield recognized a marvelous opportunity to escape. She strung Mrs. Greeley along, stayed with her that night, and calmly walked out in the morning."

  "That's a pretty fancy story."

  "It checks with the evidence. Mrs. Greeley is in love with Jules Homan. In Hollywood, they handle those things very nicely. The husband steps aside. There is a quiet divorce, and the parties marry. But Greeley wasn't of the Hollywood crowd. He became suspicious and wanted to hook Homan for big damages for alienation of affections. Homan couldn't stand that. It would hurt his business career."

  "How do you get all this?" Tragg asked.

  Mason said, "Homan must have been driving that car Tuesday. Mrs. Greeley must have been with him on Tuesday night and Wednesday morning. That's the only way you can put the evidence together so it fits. They left Beverly Hills Tuesday, went to a mountain cabin which Homan owns in the mountains back of Fresno. You will probably find the third key on that ring fits the lock on that cabin. Those were Homan's keys, an extra set he kept for his expeditions with Mrs. Greeley when he could get away – sometimes on the yacht, sometimes up to this mountain cabin."