“Well, I don’t know the law,” Boom said, “but I want to get this thing straight. If there’s any evidence here I don’t want anything to happen to it.”

  “That’s exactly the point,” Mason said. “On the other hand if it isn’t evidence but if it is some valuable property I want to make certain that it doesn’t leave the estate.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Mason said, “How do I know that this envelope which is to be opened in the event of his death isn’t a will? Or perhaps it may be some negotiable securities that he wanted to give to this secretary. For all we know it may be cash.”

  “Well, the best way to find out what it is is to open the letter and find out.”

  “On the other hand,” Mason said, “it may be something that is of vital importance to the estate, something that should be kept confidential.”

  “But he gave the letter to his secretary.”

  “That’s exactly it,” Mason said. “He didn’t. He let her keep the letter. He didn’t give it to her. She has admitted herself that at any time he called for it she’d have given it to him.”

  “Well, that isn’t what I meant,” Mabel Norge said. “I meant that he’d given it to me to give to the officers at the time of his death.”

  “Did he say give it to the officers?” Mason asked.

  “It was to be opened in the event of his death.”

  “He didn’t say give it to the officers?”

  “Well—I don’t remember exactly what he did say.”

  “There you are,” Mason said.

  “She’s taking notes,” Mabel Norge said, pointing to Della Street. “She’s taking down everything we say.”

  “Any objection?” Mason asked.

  “Well, I don’t think that’s fair.”

  “Why? Did you want to change some of the things you’re saying now after you’ve had a chance to think them over?”

  “I think you’re horrid.”

  “Lots of people think so,” Mason said.

  The officer said doggedly, “That isn’t getting past this question of evidence. Now I don’t know what’s going on here but this young woman who works here says that there’s an envelope to be opened in the event of his death, and that there’s information in it that may lead to … to—”

  “To apprehending the person guilty of his murder,” Mabel Norge said firmly.

  “Are you now stating he was murdered?” Mason asked.

  “He may have been.”

  “But you don’t know that he was.”

  “I know that he expected he might be.”

  “You also knew that he was under treatment from a physician, didn’t you?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “And that he had been advised that with his blood pressure and the condition of his arteries he might pop off at any time?”

  “He didn’t confide in me in all of his personal matters.”

  “He confided in you about his wife.”

  “Well—not exactly.”

  “Then you don’t know what’s in that letter except by inference?”

  “Well, I know what I thought was in it. We can soon enough find out.”

  Boom said, “Where is the letter?”

  “In my desk, in a lockbox.”

  “Get it,” Boom said.

  “Now wait a minute,” Mason said. “This procedure is highly irregular and highly illegal.”

  “I’m taking a chance on it,” the officer said. “I’m going to see that this young woman doesn’t take anything out of the desk except that letter, but if there’s a letter there I want to make mighty certain that nothing happens to it. I don’t know who you are but apparently you’re representing the widow. You got on the job mighty fast.”

  “And probably a good thing I did,” Mason said, smiling affably. “I’m trying to conserve the estate.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  Mason nodded toward Mabel Norge, who was unlocking the right side of the desk. “What was she doing here at this time of night?”

  “She works here.”

  “At night?” Mason asked.

  The officer frowned. “Say,” he said, “what were you doing here?”

  “I—I was driving by and I saw lights,” she said.

  “Where were you driving to?” Mason asked.

  “Just by.”

  “This is a dead-end road,” Mason pointed out.

  “Well, I—all right, I drove by. I—”

  “Were you coming in?” Mason asked.

  “That’s none of your business,” she blazed.

  “There you are,” Mason said. “She was here. She had no business being here. She doesn’t have any work to do at this hour. What was she doing?”

  “Now look,” the officer said, “this thing is all mixed up. I don’t want to get in bad.”

  “You’re getting in bad right now. The minute you use your authority to touch any article in this room you’re in bad.”

  The officer moved over to stand by Mabel Norge. “I don’t want you to touch anything except that one letter,” he said. “Now where is it?”

  “In a lockbox in this drawer.”

  “All right. Now I’ll take the letter out.”

  “The box is locked,” she said, opening the drawer.

  Boom picked up the box, said, “It isn’t locked.”

  “Well—I thought it was. It should have been.”

  Boom opened the box, looked at the envelope.

  “I advise you not to touch that envelope,” Mason said.

  Boom regarded the envelope in the box, then slowly closed the lid.

  “What do you think should be done with it?”

  “Turn it in to court as part of the estate.”

  “Suppose something should happen to it?”

  “See that it doesn’t.”

  “You mean I’m to—?”

  “Exactly,” Mason interposed. “Lock it up. Take it to court. Have the judge of the probate court open it in the presence of inheritance tax appraisers.”

  Mabel Norge stamped her foot. Tears of exasperation were in her eyes. “Open it, you fool!”

  Mason held the officer’s eyes with his. “Suppose it’s filled with money, perhaps thousand-dollar bills that he wanted to give to his secretary in the event of his death? Do you want to be responsible for tearing open the envelope, asking a probate court and an inheritance tax appraiser to take your word for the amount of money there? Suppose they claim you took out a couple of thousand-dollar bills?

  “You know what the law is on a safe-deposit box. You wouldn’t dare to open that. Neither would the bank dare to open it. It has to be sealed until it’s opened in the presence of an inheritance tax appraiser.” “That’s right,” Boom said, turning to Mabel Norge.

  “You fool!” she blazed.

  Boom’s face turned red.

  “I tell you,” Mabel Norge charged, “that his wife was planning to kill him. He knew it. There’s evidence in there that will connect her with one other murder.”

  Mason shrugged his shoulders and said, “It’s your responsibility, Officer. I take it you’re under bond.”

  The officer hesitated.

  “Go ahead and open it,” Mabel Norge said. “Can’t you see he’s just talking, trying to keep you from getting the very evidence Mr. Davenport wanted you to have.”

  The officer picked up the envelope.

  “Wait a minute,” Mason said. “Don’t take your legal advice from me. Don’t take it from that girl. You have a district attorney here. Call him up. Ask him what to do.”

  “Now there’s an idea,” Boom said

  He moved over to the telephone.

  Mason said, “It is my suggestion that this envelope can be opened only when an inheritance tax appraiser is present. I also suggest that if there is any doubt on your part as to what may happen, that the contents of this evidence be impounded”

  “What do you mean, impounded?”

  “It’s in a lockbox,” Mason said. “Take it and put it in a safe-deposit box. But you want to be very, very careful to see that no one tampers with the contents of that envelope.”

  “Don’t let him talk you out of doing your duty,” Mabel Norge said. “Open it. Get the evidence.”

  Mason yawned. “Really this is rather tiresome. I don’t like to wrangle. As far as I’m concerned I ‘m perfectly willing to let you take the envelope in to the district attorney, provided proper precautions are taken to see that the envelope isn’t opened by any unauthorized person.”

  “Well, let me talk with the district attorney,” Boom said.

  He picked up the telephone, placed the call, then said to the district attorney, “This is Officer Boom. I’m out at Paradise. I’m sorry to bother you at this time of night, but I’m up against a question. I’m dealing with a lawyer here who says he’s representing an estate—Ed Davenport died. There’s a letter in his office that’s to be opened in the event of his death. This lawyer who is representing the widow says no one has authority to open it except in the presence of an inheritance tax appraiser…. No, it isn’t addressed to the officers. It simply says on the envelope, ‘To be opened in the event of my death and contents delivered to the authorities.”

  Mabel Norge said, “Tell him that he gave it to me, that it was in my possession.”

  “It wasn’t in your possession,” Mason said. “It was in your desk. Your employment has been terminated.”

  “Oh, will you be quiet! I hate you!” she flared.

  “You probably would,” Mason told her.

  “And tell the district attorney that this woman here is taking down everything that’s said,” Mabel Norge said.

  “Hush,” Boom told her. “Let me listen.”

  Boom listened at the telephone for a while, then said, “This lawyer is Perry Mason…. Oh, you have heard of him? … Well, the name’s rather familiar…. That’s right…. He says he has no objection to the envelope being kept in a lockbox and kept in your custody until it’s opened in the presence of the court and an appraiser. He thinks there’s money in it.… Okay.”

  Boom hung up.

  Mason said, “We are, of course, going to hold you personally and officially responsible, Mr. Boom.”

  “That’s right. I’m responsible.”

  “You II take that box in to the district attorney.”

  “I’ll see that it gets to the district attorney.”

  “You’re taking it in at once?”

  “Not at once. I’ve got a job to do out here. I’ll take it in to him tomorrow. He said tomorrow would be all right. But I’ll take care of it and see that nothing happens to it in the meantime.”

  “That’s fine,” Mason said. “I object to your taking it, but if you insist upon taking it I shall expect you to see that the envelope is unopened.”

  “Well, I’ll take it with me,” Boom said. “Now in order to get this thing straight I want to have one of your cards, and in case it should turn out that you’re not representing the widow—Well, you’re a lawyer. I don’t need to tell you your business.”

  “That’s right, you don’t,” Mason said cheerfully. “Here’s one of my cards.”

  Officer Boom, with the lockbox under his arm, started back toward his car

  “I’m going with you,” Mabel Norge said

  Della Street waited until the front door had banged shut, then she looked up at Mason.

  “Get that teakettle off the stove quick,” Mason said. “Incidentally you might run a rag over it to make sure there aren’t any fingerprints, and also polish off the controls on the stove. They may think of that before they’ve gone very far.”

  Della Street dashed into the kitchen. A few moments later she was back. “Everything’s okay,” she said.

  “All right,” Mason told her, “we’ll turn out the lights and let it go at that.”

  “Chief, that secretary is going to talk Boom into opening that letter.”

  “Not right away,” Mason said “Our main problem, Della, is to keep that letter intact until after the mucilage has had a chance to dry thoroughly. If they get to fooling around with it too soon they’ll realize that the envelope has been steamed open and sealed shut again.”

  “Well, she’s going to talk him into opening it.”

  “Not until after he’s gone to the district attorney.”

  “You want to bet?” Della Street asked.

  Abruptly the telephone bell shattered the silence.

  Mason glanced across at Della Street.

  The phone rang again.

  “Do we answer it?” Della Street asked.

  Mason nodded. “You take it, Della. Be noncommittal. Find out who is talking before you say anything.”

  Della Street picked up the telephone, said, “Hello”

  She was silent for a moment, then said, “Yes,” and, putting her hand over the mouthpiece, said to Perry Mason, “Bakersfield is calling from a pay station. They’re dropping coins.”

  “Any name?” Mason asked.

  “Just Bakersfield, calling station-to-station.”

  Abruptly Della Street took her hand from the mouthpiece, said, “Hello.”

  For a moment she seemed puzzled, then grabbed her pencil and made swift notations on a sheet of paper.

  She glanced at Perry Mason, her eyes puzzled. “Hello,” she said. “Hello … hello … hello. … Operator, my party seems to have been disconnected. I was talking with Bakersfield…. You’re certain … ?”

  Della Street gently replaced the receiver.

  “What was it?” Mason asked.

  “As soon as I said hello a man’s voice came on the line,” she said. “It was a station-to-station call from a pay telephone booth in Bakersfield. The man said, ‘Pacific Palisades Motor Court, San Bernardino, unit thirteen’ and then the connection broke. I thought we’d been disconnected. The operator says he hung up.”

  “Now what the devil!” Mason said. “He didn’t give any name?”

  “No, it was just a man’s voice.”

  “And on a station-to-station call.”

  “That’s right.”

  Mason got up from his chair and started pacing the floor.

  Della Street watched him anxiously.

  “What will happen if and when Mabel Norge gets Boom to open that envelope?” she asked.

  “Then,” Mason told her, “there’s going to be hell to pay. Whenever that envelope is opened the assumption will be that I took out the pages which contained evidence, statements relating suspicions, conclusions and accusations, destroyed them and substituted pages of blank paper.”

  “Can anyone tell that the envelope was steamed open?” she asked.

  “Sure. An analysis of the adhesive on the flap will show that it came from this mucilage container and was not the prepared substance that is used on the flap of an envelope to be moistened and sealed.”

  “And then what will happen?’

  “Once the accusation is made,” Mason said, “we’ll find ourselves in a county where we have no friends, where we are looked upon with suspicion and where the authorities may well take action predicated on suspicion.”

  She smiled. “Which is a roundabout way of saying we may be arrested?”

  “I may be.”

  “Then wouldn’t it be advisable to … ?”

  Again the phone rang.

  Mason nodded to Della Street.

  She picked up the receiver, said, “Hello…. Yes….”

  She covered the mouthpiece with her hand and said, “Can you take a call from Fresno, Chief?”

  “Find out who’s talking.”

  “Who’s calling?” Della Street asked.

  She looked up. “Mrs. Davenport.”

  Mason nodded and Della Street handed him the receiver.

  “Hello,” Mason said.

  “Is this Mr. Perry Mason, the attorney?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Just a moment. Mrs. Davenport is calling.”

  A moment later Mason heard the flat, toneless monotone of Myrna Davenport’s voice.

  “Mr. Mason, there’s been a terrible mistake. He’s gone.”

  “Who’s gone?”

  “My husband.”

  “That’s what Sara Ansel told me. He died this afternoon and—wait a minute, is that what you meant?”

  “No. I mean he’s gone. He’s really gone.”

  “You mean he isn’t dead?”

  “Yes, Mr. Mason, that’s what I mean. He isn’t dead. He wasn’t dead at all. He couldn’t have been He’s gone.”

  “Where?” Mason asked

  “I don’t know.”

  “When did he go?”

  “I don’t even know that. He got in a car and disappeared.”

  Mason, fighting back anger, said. “What kind of a run around is this? What are you trying to put over? Sara Ansel told me distinctly that Ed Davenport was dead. That was around three o’clock this afternoon. She said he had died about fifteen minutes earlier.”

  “That’s what we thought. That’s what the doctor told us. We all thought he’d passed away, but evidently he was only unconscious. We didn’t know where to catch you before you got to this number and by that time we were pretty much confused because—”

  “Where are you now?”

  “We’re at a drugstore, but we’re leaving right away. We’ll go back to Los Angeles.”

  Mason said, “Don’t go back to Los Angeles. Catch the first available plane, train or bus for San Francisco, whichever is the first available means of transportation. Go to the San Francisco Airport. Go to the mezzanine floor. Sit there and wait. Now do you understand those instructions?”

  “You.”

  “Will you do that?”

  “I’ll have to ask Aunt Sara.”

  “Where is she?”

  “She’s right here.”

  “Well, ask her,” Mason said impatiently.

  He held the phone for a moment, conscious of Della Street’s anxious eyes, then heard Myrna Davenport’s voice, “Very well. We’ll follow your instructions.”

  “Don’t talk to anyone. If anyone should ask you questions, don’t answer. That relates to anyone. Do you understand? Anyone.”

  “I understand what you’re telling me but I don’t understand why.”