He said, “I’m afraid I lost my temper with Mr. Paul Drake last night.”

  “Apologies are always in order,” Mason told him. “Sit down.”

  Attica sat down, glanced at Della Street, cleared his throat significantly.

  “It’s okay,” Mason said, “she stays.”

  Attica said, “I haven’t much time but there are some things I wanted to discuss with you before my witness appeared.”

  “I don’t know what they can be.”

  Attica said, “I am going to release Marion Shelby’s real story to make the Sunday newspapers. It’s an intensely dramatic story. A story that will tug at the heartstrings of every woman in the world.”

  “That’s nice,” Mason commented.

  “That story,” Attica said, “deals with the broad basic human factors of life, Mr. Mason, particularly as they concern a woman, a woman who is married and has given her all to the man who has promised to love and cherish her until death parts them.”

  “Does them part, I believe is the way you want to express it in front of a jury,” Mason said.

  Attica made a deprecatory motion with his hand. “Don’t be like that, Mason. It really doesn’t become you.”

  “I don’t give a damn what becomes me and what doesn’t,” Mason said. “Thank heavens I’ve lived my life so I can do pretty much as I please.”

  “That’s nice. That’s a very interesting philosophy. Very interesting indeed, but I am talking now about a person to whom you have a certain moral responsibility.”

  “Do I?”

  “I think so. She lied to you. I will admit that. You have every right to resent that falsehood. But, after all, she was young, she was inexperienced and she was frightened. She didn’t realize that the truth was her best weapon, was her only weapon. She felt that the truth would absolutely condemn her, in place of which, the truth may actually save her life, or as I shall quote to the jury, ‘The truth shall set you free.’ ”

  “Very interesting,” Mason said. “There’s no use wasting it on me. Why don’t you save it for the jury?”

  “Because,” Attica went on, “there is going to be an enormous amount of publicity in connection with this. Before she tells her story it’s just another murder case; but the minute she tells that story, it becomes something which is brought right home to every woman in the world. Women can look at their Sunday newspapers, glance across at their husbands, look at the security of the home about them and wonder if it really is a security, wonder just how firmly entrenched they are.”

  “There, but for the Grace of God go I, eh?” Mason asked.

  “Exactly.”

  “Nice stuff,” Mason said. “You’re collecting it. I’m not.”

  “Now, it occurs to me,” Attica went on, “that here is an opportunity for you to enhance your prestige in connection with this case, Mr. Mason. If you’ll let it appear that you deliberately had drawn the district attorney off balance by keeping this story bottled up so that you could spring it purposely as a surprise, after he had been forced to disclose the entire ramifications of the case he had against the defendant …”

  Mason said, “Let’s quit beating around the bush. You want me to back your story up. Is that it?”

  “At least not deny it.”

  Mason was thoughtful for a few moments. He said, “Attica, I don’t see any way that I can deny any story you put out without betraying the confidence of a client, and I’m not going to do that. I’m not going to tell anyone what a client did or did not say to me. Those are my ethics.”

  Attica’s face beamed. “That is very, very satisfactory, Mr. Mason. Very satisfactory indeed. And now, since you’ve been so broad-minded on that, I think that I’m in a position to talk about a fair compromise of this case against you and Mr. Drake. After all, it was purely a natural mistake. A very unfortunate matter, I think that for payment of a nominal consideration, my client would be willing to let the matter drop.”

  “How much?”

  “Oh, well, the financial end of it is relatively unimportant. After all, it’s a question of human emotions having been aroused and …”

  “How much?”

  “Well, Mr. Mason, frankly I think two hundred and fifty dollars would cover the out-of-pocket expenses. You see, inasmuch as I am attorney for Mrs. Lacey and inasmuch as her good name has now been vindicated, and inasmuch as the whole thing can be handled in such a way that it might look as though the filing of the suit was part of a shrewd move to draw the district attorney off balance. Well, you know how those things are. There’s going to be an enormous amount of publicity in this case.”

  Mason said, “You wouldn’t sell out one client in favor of another, would you?”

  “Certainly not.”

  “You mean that Mrs. Lacey is willing to accept a settlement of two hundred and fifty dollars?”

  “She hasn’t said so, but I think she would say so if I advised her to.”

  “And you would so advise her?”

  “Is there any reason why I shouldn’t?”

  “The best reason I can think of,” Mason said, “is that I’m not going to pay her two hundred and fifty dollars. I’m not going to pay her a damn cent.”

  “Why, that’s absurd!” Attica exclaimed. “I was being nice to you. The nuisance value of the case alone is far greater than two hundred and fifty dollars. Think of it, Mr. Mason, that would only be a hundred and twenty-five from you and a hundred and twenty-five from Mr. Drake.”

  Mason yawned, looked at his watch, said, “It’s approximately ten o’clock. Is your client going to be here?”

  “There won’t be any need to go ahead with the deposition if the case is settled.”

  Mason said doggedly, “The case isn’t going to be settled, not as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Why Mr. Mason, you absolutely astound me! Mr. Drake let me understand over the telephone last night that he personally would be willing to settle for somewhere in the vicinity of a thousand dollars.”

  “Let him settle if he wants to,” Mason said.

  “Suppose he should pay the entire financial consideration?”

  Mason said, “The plaintiff can always dismiss the action if she wants to but, as far as I’m concerned, I’m not going to pay a cent, and I’m going to have it definitely understood that I didn’t pay a cent. I can’t make any statement to the press about what Marion Shelby did or did not tell me without betraying the confidence of a client. But I certainly can tell the truth about this case. It’s ten o’clock, bring in your client.”

  “But Mr. Mason, surely you can’t be bullheaded enough …”

  “It’s ten o’clock,” Mason said. “Bring in your client.”

  Attica got to his feet, his face flushed. “All right, if you want it that way, that’s the way it’ll be. You’ll find out that we don’t have to cooperate with you, Mr. Perry Mason. As a matter of fact, it won’t take but just a little gossip to tarnish your prestige very greatly over this case. There are many people even now who are thinking that the defense of Marion Shelby was badly botched—under the circumstances.”

  “Let them think,” Mason said. “It’s ten o’clock, bring in your client.”

  Attica turned to the door with dignity. “Where do you wish to take the deposition?”

  “In the law library,” Mason said.

  “Very well, my client will be there.”

  Della Street glided from the room, returned in a few minutes and nodded to Mason. “Everything’s all set.”

  “Drake there?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Attica’s client?”

  “He’s waiting for her. He expects her any minute. He told her to be here at ten o’clock.”

  “It’s ten minutes past now.”

  “Yes I know. I don’t think Attica expected there would be any necessity for her to be here.”

  “It isn’t what he thinks that counts,” Mason said, “it’s what happens. Let me know as soon as she comes in and let me know as soon as Drake comes in.”

  Della Street nodded, stepped back into the law library and Mason could hear the sound of chairs being dragged over the floor as last minute preparations were made for the deposition.

  It was ten-seventeen when Drake arrived with “two friends” who were not introduced but who unobtrusively sat back in a corner.

  At ten-twenty Della Street entered Mason’s office, said, “You don’t suppose she’s standing you up, do you?”

  “There was a stipulation that she’d be here at ten o’clock,” Mason said. “In the event she doesn’t show up, I’m going to put it up to Attica to get her here no matter where she is.”

  “He’s telephoning now. … What happened, Chief? You seem all perked up. Have you found out something?”

  Mason opened the morning newspaper, pointed to the half page photograph in the pictorial section. “Seen that?” he asked. “It’s a new one.”

  “Yes.”

  “Nice stuff,” Mason said. “I’ve been asleep at the switch. Listen to this. Here’s the caption. ‘PHOTOGRAPH OF PICNIC TAKEN WITH KODAK SELF-TIMER WHICH WILL FIGURE IN QUARTER MILLION DOLLAR SLANDER SUIT—THIS SHOWS ELLEN CUSHING, NOW MRS. ARTHUR LACEY, AND HER HUSBAND ON THE FAMOUS PICNIC WHICH IS INVOLVED IN A TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY THOUSAND DOLLAR SUIT FOR DEFAMATION OF CHARACTER, MR. PERRY MASON, THE NOTED ATTORNEY, AND PAUL DRAKE, THE DETECTIVE, BEING DEFENDANTS.’ ”

  “What about it?” Della Street asked.

  “Nice picture,” Mason said. “Nice composition. The man standing on the raft. The girl opening various boxes, spreading out plates on the ground, and above all a piece of ice reposing on the blanket.”

  “What about it, Chief?”

  “Beautiful cloud effect,” Mason said. “Just notice those beautiful billowy clouds. Lights and shadows. A darn fine picture. It might have been used for an advertisement for a film company. Clear, full of tone value.”

  “Chief, what are you getting at?”

  Mason grinned and said, “Every cloud, Della, has a silver lining.”

  “I don’t get you …”

  The door opened. Gertie leaned forward with the door, holding the knob of the open door with one hand, the jamb with the other. She said, “Mrs. Lacey’s here. Attica wanted me to tell you. He says if you want to see him first …”

  Mason folded the newspaper, opened his knife, slit out the printed copy of the photograph, folded it and put it in his pocket.

  “Tell Attica I definitely don’t care to see him. Come on, Della, let’s go.”

  Mason entered the law library. Ellen Cushing Lacey, wearing dark glasses, a dark hat, a trim dark blue suit, blue gloves and blue shoes, regarded the lawyer coldly. The white rims of the dark glasses gave her face a weird, owl-like look.

  Attica said, “All right, all right. Let’s get going. This is the time heretofore fixed by stipulation for the deposition of Ellen Cushing Lacey in the case of Cushing vs. Perry Mason and Paul Drake.”

  Mason said, “That’s right. This deposition is being taken pursuant to the provisions of the Code of Civil Procedure by which I have the right to take the deposition of an adverse party and to cross-examine a party of record on the other side without being bound by the answers.”

  “Very well,” Attica snapped. “Go ahead with your questions.”

  Mason drew up a chair and sat down, said, “Let the witness be sworn.”

  The notary public swore the witness, then quietly left the office. “I’ll return whenever the deposition is concluded,” she said.

  Mason glanced over at Paul Drake, at the faces of the two newspapermen who were making themselves as inconspicuous as possible.

  Mason said, “Mrs. Lacey, you’re suing Mr. Drake and myself for damages because of defamation of character.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Growing out of the fact that you claim we told the officers something about the wet blanket and the pair of wet shoes?”

  “That and the fact that you told them I was harboring Scott Shelby, that he wasn’t dead at all, and that I had participated in a frameup in order to make it look as though he had died, that I had had a man in my bedroom all night.”

  “Now you explained that wet blanket by saying that you used it to carry ice in.”

  “Yes. Do I have to go through that all over again?”

  “Not necessarily, if you’ll refer to the testimony which you gave in court yesterday and say that it is substantially correct.”

  “It is.”

  “I hand you herewith a newspaper clipping setting forth that story. I’ll ask you to glance through it and see if it conforms to the facts of the case.”

  “I’ve already seen it. It does.”

  Mason said, “Just to save time I’d like to have this introduced in evidence.”

  “Very well,” Attica said.

  “It might be attached to the deposition,” Mason said, and handed it to the court reporter, who was taking down the answers in shorthand. “Now then, Mrs. Lacey, you told me, I believe, about the fact that the man who is at present your husband proposed to you on this day that Scott Shelby was murdered?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Proposed to you at about what time?”

  “Around eleven-thirty in the morning.”

  “And what did you do?”

  “I’ve already gone into that with you.”

  “Would you mind going into it again?”

  “We decided to go on a picnic. We went out in the country where there was a lake. In case you have to know the exact location, it was a place that I had listed for sale, an estate of some four hundred acres, with a beautiful lake and some timber on it, an ideal place for a picnic. I had fallen in love with it the minute I had seen it. I didn’t have money enough to buy it myself, but I was rather romantic about it. I had sat down on the shores of that lake and visualized that Arthur might propose to me there. And so I wanted my dream to come true.”

  “So you went down and picked up a lunch at the delicatessen store?”

  “I put up some myself. Arthur went to the delicatessen store.”

  “Now this was on the day that Scott Shelby was murdered, Thursday the twelfth, I believe.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And you didn’t see Mr. Shelby from the time you left on that picnic?”

  “No, sir. From eleven o’clock in the morning I didn’t see him. I never saw him again alive. The next time I saw him, he was dead in the morgue and they called on me to identify the body.”

  “Exactly,” Mason said. “You put up some sandwiches for the picnic?”

  “I did.”

  “And Mr. Lacey went down to the delicatessen store to pick up some food?”

  “He did.”

  “And you had some beer, and I believe halfway out it occurred to you that you didn’t have any ice for the beer; so you got some ice and put it in a blanket so you could have the beer cold?”

  “That’s right. My heavens, do I have to keep going over and over all this?”

  “And in the press today there is a picture showing you on that picnic. Who furnished them with that picture?”

  “I did.”

  “It was one you took?”

  “Yes. I had a shutter attachment that gave me time to get in the picture.”

  “That was taken on Thursday, the twelfth?”

  “That’s right. Thursday, the twelfth. That was the day Mr. Shelby was murdered by … Well, by someone.”

  “At what time was that picture taken?”

  “Along in the afternoon, three or four o’clock, I guess.”

  “After you’d eaten lunch or before?”

  “After we’d eaten lunch, of course.”

  “And what time did you get out there?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I think we arrived about half past one or two o’clock.”

  “And had lunch when?”

  “Almost immediately after we arrived.”

  “And the way the blanket in the garage got wet was because this ice was carried in it?”

  “Yes. Again and again and again. YES!!!”

  “And Mr. Lacey’s shoes got wet because he was playing around on that raft?”

  “Yes!”

  “And what time did you come home from the picnic?”

  “We stayed out there until five o’clock. I had to hurry to meet my mother.”

  “And as I understand it, Mr. Lacey went to the train with you to meet your mother?”

  “He did and the train was late, so he couldn’t wait.”

  “But he came early the next morning to cook breakfast so he could meet her then?”

  “He did.”

  “He is, then, a good cook?”

  “At one time he was a highly paid chef.”

  “Now when he found the train was late, he couldn’t wait for your mother to arrive because he had an important appointment?”

  “Mr. Mason, I’ve told you that over and over and over.”

  “But there was a friend at the station who drove you and your mother home?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then Mr. Lacey must have taken your car?”

  “He borrowed it, yes. We were good friends. He took it once in a while.”

  “Mrs. Lacey, why are you wearing those dark glasses? Are your eyes bothering you?”

  “I like them.”

  “Are your eyes weak?”

  “No.”

  “You have perfect vision?”

  “Yes.”

  “There must be some reason for the dark glasses.”

  “The glare of light bothers me.”

  “But there’s no glare in here.”

  “I like the style. I like the white rims.”

  “After all,” Attica said sarcastically, “after having slandered this young woman you certainly aren’t going to criticize her wearing apparel, are you? Those dark glasses are really an article of dress. They are the stylish things to wear. Sort of a Hollywood touch to them.”

  Mason said, “I was just wondering why she was wearing them.”