“How about these other people?” Mason asked. “Where were they?”

  “I was here alone,” Karr said. “I don’t ordinarily stay alone. I . . .”

  Mason said to Gow Loong, “If that’s Tragg, stall him along as much as you can, but let him in. Go ahead and open the door. All right, Karr, let’s hear the rest of it.”

  “Heard someone running, heard a door slam,” Karr said. “Then I didn’t hear anything more for ten or fifteen minutes. Then I heard someone moving around cautiously. I heard a man’s voice talking. Might have been telephoning.”

  “Then what?” Mason asked.

  “Nothing more for an hour. Then things moving again, a sound of something being dragged across the floor, and out the side door. It sounded like a body being dragged by someone who couldn’t lift it. There were two people, I think. I was in bed. I couldn’t even get to the window or the telephone. Never have a telephone by my bed. Makes me too nervous if it rings at night.”

  “The side door?” Mason asked.

  “That’s right. The side door is right opposite the garage over at the other house—that one on the north. Hocksley rents that garage, keeps his car there. His stenographer uses it sometimes.”

  “Hear anything else?” Mason asked.

  “Voices. I think one of them was a woman. I heard a car start and drive out. It was gone about an hour, came back to that garage. Gow Loong was back by that time.”

  “And Mr. Blaine?” Mason asked as he heard steps on the stairs.

  Blaine said, “I got in about two o’clock.”

  The steps on the stairs were louder. Gow Loong said, “You come topside upstairs, please. Solly no come sooner. No savvy policee man. Massah in here, please.”

  Lieutenant Tragg, standing in the doorway, surveyed the group for a minute before his eyes segregated Perry Mason from the others. As he recognized the lawyer, a slight flush deepened his color, but there was no other indication of surprise or annoyance. “Well, well,” he said, “fancy seeing you here! May I ask what’s the occasion of the visit?”

  Mason said, “My client, Mr. Karr, is nervous. You understand how it is when a man of law-abiding habits is suddenly brought into contact with lawlessness. He naturally becomes apprehensive. Mr. Karr has been intending to make a will for some time, and the unfortunate occurrence downstairs tended to emphasize the uncertainties of life. He sent for me to . . . to come on a legal matter.”

  “So you’re drawing a will?” Tragg asked skeptically.

  Mason started to say something, then apparently caught himself, and said, “Well, I don’t think there’s anything to be gained by discussing Mr. Karr’s private business. You may draw your own conclusions, Lieutenant.”

  “I’m drawing them,” Tragg said significantly.

  Mason performed the introductions. “Mr. Karr,” he said, “Mr. Johns Blaine, and Gow Loong, the number one boy.”

  Lieutenant Tragg said, “I’ve met the others. Mr. Karr’s the one I want to talk with.”

  Mason said, “I’m afraid Mr. Karr can’t help you very much. I’ve been asking him generally about the murder. Just the natural questions that one would ask out of curiosity, you know.”

  “Yes,” Tragg said, and added, after a duly significant pause, “just out of curiosity.”

  Mason grinned. “Certainly, Tragg. I hope you don’t think that if I were interested in what had gone on downstairs, I’d be approaching it in this roundabout method.”

  Tragg said, “Experience has taught me that your methods of approach are sometimes oblique, but always deadly.”

  Mason laughed. “Come on over and sit down. I’m afraid Mr. Karr can’t help you very much. You see, he heard two shots in the wee small hours of the morning, but thought they were from the exhaust of a truck, and . . .”

  “Two shots!” Tragg interrupted.

  Mason regarded him with wide-open, innocent eyes. “Why, yes. Weren’t there two?”

  Tragg said, “What time was this?”

  “Oh, perhaps one or two in the morning. He didn’t look at his clock. But he thinks it was right around in there.”

  “Why does he place the time as being around in there if he didn’t look at the clock?”

  “Well, he’d awakened about twelve-thirty, and he was just getting back to sleep again,” Mason said.

  Tragg frowned. “That doesn’t agree with statements made by some of the other witnesses.”

  “The deuce it doesn’t,” Mason said in apparent surprise. “Well, Mr. Karr can’t be very certain about any of it, Tragg. There is, of course, a chance he actually did hear a truck backfiring, and didn’t hear the actual shots, which may have been fired earlier in the night.”

  “Shot,” Tragg said. “There was only one.”

  Mason gave a low whistle.

  Tragg looked at Karr. “You’re certain there were two?”

  Karr said, “I don’t think I can add anything to what Mr. Mason has said.”

  “I’ve been talking it over with him,” Mason observed easily, “and he isn’t certain of a thing, Tragg. That’s why I told you I didn’t think he could help you much.”

  Tragg said to Karr, “What do you know about this man, Hocksley, who lived in the flat below you?”

  “Not a thing,” Karr said. “I’ve never so much as set eyes on the man. You see, I’m confined to my wheelchair and bed. I’m not interested in the neighbors, and I don’t particularly care about having them interested in me. Even if Hocksley had lived a completely normal, ordinary life, I probably would never have seen him; but he didn’t.”

  “In what way didn’t he?”

  “I think,” Karr said, “the man must have slept most of the day, because I’d heard him up at all hours of the night. He did a lot of talking down there. It sounded as though it was dictation he was pouring into a dictating machine . . .”

  “Why not to a stenographer?” Tragg asked.

  “It may have been,” Karr said, “but it sounded more like a dictating machine, a steady, even monotone of fast dictation with virtually no pauses. I’ve noticed that when people dictate to stenographers, they pause every little while—that is, most of them do. Then they’ll have intervals of real long pauses while they’re waiting for ideas. Something about a dictating machine which speeds up a man’s concentration. He feeds the stuff right into it. Anyway, that’s the way I’ve always thought about it.”

  Tragg frowned and looked down at the toes of his shoes. After a while he said, “Humph,” then turned to regard Mason thoughtfully.

  “Oh, well,” Mason said cheerfully, “it’ll probably work out all right. It’s been my experience there are always these little discrepancies in a case. What happened, Tragg?”

  Tragg said, “Hocksley had that flat downstairs. He had a housekeeper, a Mrs. Sarah Perlin. A stenographer, Opal Sunley, came in and transcribed records. You’re right, Mr. Karr. The man dictated to a machine. In any event, that’s what Opal Sunley says, and I was glad to get your corroboration on that.”

  “What was his line of business?” Mason asked.

  Tragg said, “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know!” Mason exclaimed. “Haven’t you talked with his stenographer?”

  “That’s just it,” Tragg said. “His stenographer tells an absolutely impossible story.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Apparently, Hocksley was engaged in some sort of exporting business. He wrote a great many letters giving detailed specifications about bills of lading, shipments, shipping directions, and all that sort of stuff. He wrote to a manufacturer’s agent about buying merchandise. He wrote to steamship companies about deliveries. And every damn letter in the outfit was a phoney.”

  “What do you mean?” Mason asked.

  Tragg said, “The letters were some sort of code stuff. Because from what the Sunley woman tells me, I know darn well that, with shipments in the condition they are today, the letters weren’t what they seemed to be on their face.”

  “Did she know it?” Mason asked.

  “No. She’s one of the slow, plugging kind that sticks a head clamp over her head, turns on the dictating machine, transcribes the letters, and forgets about them.”

  “How about carbon copies?” Mason asked.

  “That’s just it. Hocksley would have her make carbon copies, but she didn’t do any filing. She doesn’t know where the carbon copies are, or what became of them, and we can’t find any.”

  “Hocksley was killed?”

  “Hocksley or his housekeeper or both. They’re both missing, and there’s evidences of a shooting. We’d been acting on the theory that either Hocksley killed his housekeeper, or the housekeeper killed Hocksley, because we’d only been able to account for one shot. But if there were two shots, that might make the situation entirely different.”

  Mason said, “If there’s anything we can do, don’t hesitate to call, Tragg. But Mr. Karr is intensely nervous. He’s had a nervous breakdown, and his doctors have told him to live in seclusion where he wouldn’t meet strangers, not to cultivate acquaintances, or form any new friendships. It would be a lot better if you’d limit his contacts as much as possible.”

  Tragg pushed back his chair, got to his feet, shoved his hands down deep in his trousers pockets, and looked down at Karr. “You won’t think I’m getting too nosey if I ask you why the wheelchair?” he inquired.

  Karr said tersely, “Arthritis. In my knees and ankles. Can’t stand any weight on them at all. Have to be lifted. Get in one position and I’m fairly comfortable. Make any moves with my legs, and there’s intense pain. Doctors recommended diathermy. I tried it for a while and came to the conclusion I could do the same thing by keeping a blanket over my legs and keeping them warm all the time. I drink lots of water and fruit juices. I’m getting better.”

  “You haven’t a doctor now?”

  “No, sir. Got tired of paying them so much money, and having them do me so little good. Man gets something acute wrong with him, and a doctor can help cure him. When it’s something chronic, doctors can’t help. They know it. They try to kid the patient along so he keeps cheerful. To hell with that stuff. I don’t want it. I never have been kidded along, and I don’t want to start in now. Put it up cold turkey to the last doctor. He got mad and told me I never would get any better, that in the course of time, I’d probably get worse. They’ve looked me all over for bad teeth and focal infections. I’m getting along all right. Last few months I’ve been better than ever before. Keep my legs warm all the time.”

  Tragg regarded him with an air of detached interest, as though he were looking at some specimen in a glass case. Then he turned to regard Mason thoughtfully. Abruptly, he said, “Well, I’m sorry I disturbed you, Mr. Karr. I just had to complete my checkup. Just a matter of routine, you know. It probably won’t be necessary to bother you again. Sorry you’ve been having your troubles and hope I didn’t aggravate them too much.”

  “Oh, that’s all right,” Karr said. “Like to talk with a man who has intelligence. Afraid some square-toed, brow-beating cop was going to come messing around here, asking a lot of damnfool questions. You’re all right. Come in any time.”

  “Thanks,” Tragg said. “I’ll try and handle this end of it myself, so you won’t be meeting new people.”

  “I’ll certainly appreciate that,” Karr said. “I will for a fact.”

  “Now then,” Tragg went on in a deliberately casual manner, “how about Rodney Wenston? Does he . . .”

  “Just a blind,” Karr interrupted. “He’s my stepson. Lives down toward the beach somewhere. I have the telephone in his name, and his name on the door. In fact, he rents the flat. I’ve done that deliberately so as to let myself stay in the background. When peddlers come here and ask for Mr. Wenston, we can tell them quite truthfully he’s out and we don’t know when he’ll be back. I don’t want to be annoyed with people. I use Wenston as a sort of buffer.”

  Tragg appeared quite favorably impressed with the explanation. He nodded his head sympathetically and said, “I understand perfectly. Is there any particular reason why you are avoiding people, Mr. Karr?”

  “There certainly is,” Karr snapped. “I’m a nervous man—irritable—highly irritable. The doctors tell me to conserve my nervous energy. I can’t do it when I meet people, particularly strangers. Strangers ask too damn many questions. Strangers get sympathetic. Strangers talk too damn much. Strangers come to visit and stay too long. I don’t like them.”

  Tragg laughed good-naturedly, and said, “And, I take it, the fewer questions I ask and the shorter I make my stay, the more popular I’ll be?”

  “Poppycock,” Karr exploded. “I didn’t mean you, didn’t mean you at all. You’re here on business.”

  “In any event, I’ll be going,” Tragg said. “I trust it won’t be necessary to bother you again, Mr. Karr.”

  Mason watched him out of the room, then frowned and lit a cigarette. He was still frowning at the cigarette smoke when the sound of the lower door closing seemed to ease the tension.

  Karr said, “What was the idea telling him about two shots, and making the time later, Mason?”

  Mason said, “It would have been a good gag if it had worked.”

  “Don’t you think it did?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why was it a good gag?”

  “Because when an officer’s working up a case, he talks with a lot of witnesses. From them he gets a pretty good idea of what happened and when it happened. Naturally, an officer likes to get newspaper publicity, so he stands in pretty well with the newspaper reporters. Otherwise he doesn’t stay on the force. The newspapers see to that. So when you tell a man like Lieutenant Tragg to keep your name out of the newspapers, it doesn’t mean a damn thing. But if you give him testimony which is at variance with the facts in the case he’s working up, then he’s certain to see your name is kept out of the newspapers.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if the newspapers state you don’t recollect things just as the other witnesses do, or that your testimony is at sharp variance with theirs, it means that the person who actually committed the murder, and whom the police are after, is encouraged. It means that when that person is arrested, the lawyer he retains will know immediately where to go to find a witness who will contradict the testimony of the prosecution’s witnesses.”

  Karr’s face lit up into a smile. “Clever,” he said. “Damned clever. That’s what I wanted you for, Mason. Fast thinking . . .”

  “Well, don’t be too happy about it,” Mason warned, “because I don’t think it worked.”

  “Why not?”

  Mason said, “Tragg’s too damned intelligent. That man’s just nobody’s damn fool.”

  “You think he saw through what you were doing?”

  “I’m practically certain of it,” Mason said, “but that isn’t what’s worrying me.”

  “What is?”

  Mason said, “The way he suddenly started getting sympathetic, and telling you that he’d keep the reporters from annoying you.”

  “Well, isn’t that just what we want?”

  “It is except for one thing,” Mason said.

  “What’s that?”

  Mason looked down at the blanket thrown over Karr’s knees. “If any of this invalid business is part of the buildup you’re using to give yourself an alibi, and if your legs are in such shape you can walk, you’re going to find yourself Lieutenant Tragg’s very favorite suspect—leading the rest of the field by about a dozen lengths.”

  Karr’s face, which had twisted with some emotional reflex as Mason expounded his theory of Tragg’s reactions, suddenly broke into a relieved smile. “Well, as far as that’s concerned,” he said, “I can give you absolutely definite assurance, Mr. Mason. I can’t walk. I can’t put any weight on my legs. I can’t even move from a chair to a bed or a bed to a chair. I have to be lifted. I can’t even get to a telephone without help.”

  “If that’s the case,” Mason said, “it might simplify matters to have me suggest to Lieutenant Tragg that he call in his own doctor and make an examination.”

  “Wouldn’t that indicate that I had something on my mind? Wouldn’t it be going out of my way to make it appear that I thought he was considering me as a suspect?”

  “Sure it would,” Mason said. “After all, you’re a man of average intelligence. You were in the house. You were alone when the shot was fired. You’ve surrounded yourself with a good deal of mystery. Your Chinese servant isn’t going to help any. Blaine here could very well be considered a bodyguard. The way he described that housekeeper, you know at once he’s been a cop. Lieutenant Tragg comes up here to find what you know about what happened. Your story is at variance with that of everyone else. He finds you talking to me. In fact, by this time, it’s doubtless occurred to him that I was the one who furnished just about all the information. in other words, I did most of the talking.”

  “Well?”

  “Unless Lieutenant Tragg has uncovered some clues pointing to the person who actually did commit the murder, he’s getting ready to pin the blue ribbon right on your chest.”

  Karr said, “That would be unfortunate.”

  “I gathered as much,” Mason said, “and may I remind you that Tragg’s inopportune arrival prevented you from telling me just why it was you wished to consult me?”

  Karr sighed. “It’s about that old partnership,” he said, “but I don’t feel up to going into it now. Tell me, Mr. Mason, what’s the legal position of a surviving partner with reference to partnership business?”

  Mason said, “The death of a partner dissolves the partnership. It’s the duty of the surviving partner to wind up the affairs of the partnership and make an accounting to the executor or administrator of the dead partner.”

  “What do you mean by winding up the affairs of the partnership?”

  “Reduce them to cash.”