“But not you?” Mason asked.

  Della Street’s answer was to flash him a single glance.

  “Well, bring her in,” Mason said, smiling. “After this build-up, I’m bound to be disappointed.”

  “You won’t be,” she told him.

  Della Street ushered Mrs. Guthrie Balfour into Mason’s private office.

  Mason arose, bowed, said, “Good morning, Mrs. Balfour. I’m afraid you’ve had rather a hard trip.”

  Her smile was radiant. “Not at all, Mr. Mason. In the first place, I was here at home by one-thirty this morning. In the second place, traveling on air-conditioned planes and sitting in sponge rubber reclining seats is the height of luxury compared to the things an archeologist’s wife has to contend with.”

  “Do sit down,” Mason said. “Your husband seemed very much disturbed about the case against his nephew.”

  “That’s putting it mildly.”

  “Well,” Mason said, “apparently, the young man’s attorney worked out a deal with the prosecutor. Did you read the morning paper?”

  “Heavens, nol Was there something in there about the case?”

  “Yes,” Mason said. “Perhaps you’d like to read it for yourself.”

  He folded the paper and handed it to her.

  While she was reading the paper. Mason studied her carefully.

  Suddenly Mrs. Balfour uttered an exclamation of annoyance, crumpled the paper, threw it to the floor, jumped from the chair, and stamped a high-heeled shoe on the paper. Then abruptly she caught herself.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t realize.”

  She stepped carefully off the paper, disentangling her high heels, raising her skirts as she did so, so that she disclosed a neat pair of legs. Then, dropping to her knees, she started smoothing the newspaper out.

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Mason,” she said contritely. “My temper got the best of me … that awful temper of mine.”

  “Don’t bother about the paper,” Mason said, glancing at Della Street. “There are plenty more down on the news-stand. Please don’t give it another thought.”

  “No, no … I’m sorry. I … let me do penance, please, Mr. Mason.”

  She carefully smoothed out the paper, then arose with supple grace.

  “What was there about the article that annoyed you?” Mason asked.

  “The fool!” she said. “The absolute fool! Oh, they should never have let that braggart, that loudmouthed egoist handle the case—not for a minute.”

  “Mortimer Dean Howland?” Mason asked.

  “Mortimer Dean Howland,” she said, spitting out the words contemptuously. “Look what he’s done.”

  “Apparently,” Mason said, “he’s made a pretty good deal. In all probability, Mrs. Balfour, while the jury was out, Howland approached the prosecutor, suggested the possibility of a hung jury, and the prosecutor probably didn’t care too much about retrying the case. So it was agreed that if there was a hung jury, the case could be submitted to Judge Cadwell on the evidence which had been introduced, which was, of course, equivalent to pleading the defendant guilty, only it saved him the stigma of such a plea.

  “The prosecutor, for his side of the bargain, agreed that he would stipulate the judge could pass a suspended sentence and the case would be cleaned up. Of course, the trouble with a stipulation of that sort is that on occasion the judge won’t ride along, but takes the bit in his teeth and insists on pronouncing sentence. Judge Cadwell, however, is known for his consideration of the practical problems of the practicing attorney. He virtually always rides along with a stipulation of that sort.”

  Mrs. Balfour followed Mason’s explanation with intense interest, her large brown eyes showing the extent of her concentration.

  When Mason had finished she said simply, “There are some things that Ted Balfour doesn’t know about. Therefore, his attorney could hardly be expected to know them. But they are vital.”

  “What, for instance?” Mason asked.

  “Addison Balfour,” she explained.

  “What about him?” Mason asked.

  “He’s the wealthiest member of the family, and he’s terribly prejudiced.”

  “I thought your husband was the wealthy one,” Mason ventured.

  “No. Guthrie is pretty well heeled, I guess. I don’t know. I’ve never inquired into his financial status. Under the circumstances, my motives might have been misunderstood,” she said, and laughed, a light, nervous laugh.

  “Go on,” Mason said.

  “Addison Balfour is dying and knows it. Eighteen months ago the doctors gave him six months to live. Addison is really a remarkable character. He’s wealthy, eccentric, strong minded, obstinate, and completely unpredictable. One thing I do know—if he ever learns that Ted Balfour has been convicted of killing a man with an automobile, Addison will disinherit Ted immediately.”

  Ted is mentioned in his will?”

  “I have reason to believe so. I think Ted is to receive a large chunk of property, but Addison is very much prejudiced against what he calls the helter-skelter attitude of the younger generation.

  “You see, Ted took his military service. He’s finished college and is now taking a six-months’ breathing spell before he plunges into the business of Balfour Industries.

  “Ted had some money which was left him outright by his father. Addison didn’t approve of that at all. There is also a fortune left Ted in trust. Ted bought one of these high-powered sports cars that will glide along the highway at one hundred and fifty miles an hour, and Addison had a fit when he learned of that.

  “You see, my husband is childless, Addison is childless, and Ted represents the only one who can carry on the Balfour name and the Balfour traditions. Therefore, he’s an important member of the family.”

  “Ted wasn’t driving his sports car the night of the accident?” Mason asked.

  “No, he was driving one of the big cars.”

  “There are several?”

  “Yes.”

  “The same make?”

  “No. My husband is restless. He’s restless mentally as well as physically. Most people will buy one make of car. If they like it, they’ll have all their cars of that make. Guthrie is completely different. If he buys a Cadillac today, he’ll buy a Buick tomorrow, and an Olds the next day. Then he’ll get a Lincoln for his next car, and so on down the line. I’ve only been married to him for two years, but I guess I’ve driven half a dozen makes of cars in that time.”

  “I see,” Mason said. “Now, just what did you have in mind?”

  “In the first place,” she said, “this man Howland must go. Do you have any idea how it happened that Ted went to him in the first place?”

  Mason shook his head.

  “You see, my husband and I left for Mexico the day of the accident. This happened the night we left. Ted was very careful that we didn’t hear anything about it. We’ve been back in the wild barranca country. We came to Chihuahua for mail and supplies and there was a letter there from the trustee of Ted’s trust fund. Guthrie called you immediately after he’d read that letter. He simply had to return to base camp, and from there he’s going out on a very dangerous but exciting expedition into very primitive country.”

  “You went by train?”

  “Yes. My husband doesn’t like airplanes. He says they’re nothing but buses with wings. He likes to get in an air-conditioned train, get single occupancy of a drawing room, stretch out, relax and do his thinking. He says he does some of his best thinking and nearly all of his best sleeping on a train.”

  “Well,” Mason said, “the case has been concluded. There’s nothing for me or any one else to do now.”

  “That’s not the way my husband feels about it. Despite the court’s decision, he’ll want you to check on the evidence of the witnesses.”

  “What good would that do?”

  “You could get the stipulation set aside and get a new trial.”

  “That would be difficult.”

  “Couldn’t you do it if you could prove one of the main witnesses was lying?”

  “Perhaps. Do you think one of the main witnesses was lying?”

  “I’d want to have you investigate that and tell me.”

  “I couldn’t do anything as long as Howland was representing Ted.”

  “He’s finished now.”

  “Does he know that?”

  “He will.”

  Mason said, “There’s one other matter you should know about.”

  “What?”

  “Without discussing details,” Mason said, “I was retained to sit in court yesterday and listen to the evidence in the case.”

  “By whom?”

  “I am not at liberty to disclose that. I’m not certain I know.”

  “But for heaven’s sake, why should any one ask you simply to sit in court and listen?”

  “That,” Mason said, “is something I’ve been asking myself. The point is that I did it. Now I don’t want to have any misunderstandings about this. I have had one client who asked me to sit in court and listen.”

  “And you sat in court and listened?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did you think of the case?”

  “There again,” Mason said, “is something I have to discuss cautiously. I came to the conclusion that one of the principal witnesses might not be telling the truth.”

  “A witness for the prosecution?”

  “Yes. The defense put on no case.”

  “Well, is that going to disqualify you from doing what we want?”

  “Not unless you think it does. It complicates the situation in that Howland will think I deliberately watched the trial in order to steal his client.”

  “Do you care what Howland thinks?”

  “In a way, yes.”

  “But it’s not going to be too important?”

  “Not too important. I would like to have the matter adjusted so that Howland can understand the situation.”

  “You leave Howland to me,” she said. “I’m going to talk with him, and when I get done telling him a few things, he’ll know how my husband and I feel.”

  “After all,” Mason said, “Ted is apparently the one who retained him, and Ted is over twenty-one and able to do as he pleases.”

  “Well, I am going to talk with Ted, too.”

  “Do so,” Mason said. “Get in touch with me after you have clarified the situation. I don’t want to touch it while Howland is in the picture.”

  Mrs. Balfour whipped out a checkbook. “You are retained as of right now,” she said.

  She took a fountain pen, wrote out a check for a thousand dollars, signed it Guthrie Balfour, per Dorla Balfour, and handed it to Mason,

  “I don’t get it,” the lawyer said. “Here’s a case that’s all tried and finished and now you come along with a retainer.”

  “Your work will lie in convincing Addison that Ted wasn’t really involved in that case,” she said. “And there’ll be plenty of work and responsibility, don’t think there won’t be.

  “For one thing, you’re going to have to reopen the case. Frankly, Mr. Mason, while Addison may blame Ted, he’ll be furious at Guthrie for letting any such situation develop. He thinks Guthrie puts in too much time on these expeditions.

  “Just wait until you see what you’re up against, and you’ll understand what I mean.

  “And now I must go see Ted, let Howland know he’s fired and … well. I’m going to let you deal with Addison. When you see him, remember we’ve retained you to protect Ted’s interests.

  “Will you hold some time open for me later on today?” she asked.

  Mason nodded.

  “You’ll hear from me,” she promised and walked out.

  When the door had clicked shut, Mason turned to Della Street. “Well?”

  Della Street motioned toward the crumpled newspaper. “An impulsive woman,” she said.

  “A very interesting woman,” Mason said. “She’s using her mind all the time. Did you notice the way she was concentrating when I was explaining what had happened in the case?”

  “I noticed the way she was looking at you while you were talking,” Della Street said.

  “Her face was the picture of concentration. She is using her head all the time.”

  “I also noticed the way she walked out the door,” Della Street said. “She may have been using her mind when she was looking at you, but she was using her hips when she knew you were looking at her.”

  Mason said, “You were also looking.”

  “Oh, she knew I’d be looking,” Della Street said, “but the act was strictly for your benefit.”

  CHAPTER 7

  It was ten-thirty when Mason’s unlisted phone rang. Since only Della Street and Paul Drake, head of the Drake Detective Agency, had the number of that telephone. Mason reached across the desk for it. “I’ll answer it,” he said to Della, and then, picking up the receiver, said, “Hello, Paul.”

  Paul Drake’s voice came over the wire with the toneless efficiency of an announcer giving statistical reports on an election night.

  “You’re interested in the Ted Balfour case, Perry,” he said. “There have been some developments in that case you ought to know about.”

  “In the first place, how did you know I am interested?” Mason asked.

  “You were in court yesterday following the case.”

  “Who told you?”

  “I get around,” Drake said. “Listen. There’s something funny in that case. It may have been a complete frame-up.”

  “Yes?” Mason asked, “What makes you think so?”

  “The body’s been identified,” Drake said.

  “And what does that have to do with it?” Mason asked.

  “Quite a good deal.”

  “Give me the dope. Who is the man?”

  “A fellow by the name of Jackson Eagan. At least that’s the name he gave when he registered at the Sleepy Hollow Motel. It’s also the name he gave when he rented a car from a drive-yourself agency earlier that day.”

  “Go on,” Mason said.

  “The people who rented the car made a recovery of the car within a day or two. It had been left standing in front of the motel. The management reported it; the car people assumed it was just one of those things that happen every so often when a man signs up for a car, then changes his mind about something and simply goes away without notifying the agency. Since the car people had a deposit of fifty dollars, they simply deducted rental for three days, set the balance in a credit fund, and said nothing about it. Therefore, the police didn’t know that Jackson Eagan was missing. The motel people didn’t care because Eagan had paid his rent in advance. So if it hadn’t been for a fluke, the police would never have discovered the identity of the body. The features were pretty well damaged, you remember,”

  “What was the fluke?” Mason asked.

  “‘When the body was found there was nothing in the pockets except some odds and ends that offered no chance for an identification, some small coins and one key. The police didn’t pay much attention to the key until someone in the police department happened to notice a code number on the key. This man was in the traffic squad and he said the code number was that of a car rental agency. So the police investigated, and sure enough, this key was for the car that had been parked in front of the motel for a couple of days.”

  “When did they find out all this?” Mason asked.

  “Yesterday morning, while the case was being tried. They didn’t get the dope to the prosecutor until after the arguments had started, but police knew about it as early as eight o’clock. The reason it didn’t reach the prosecutor was on account of red tape in the D.A.’s office. The guy who handles that stuff decided it wouldn’t make any difference in the trial, so he let it ride.”

  “That’s most interesting,” Mason said. “It may account for the sudden desire on the part of a lot of people to retain my services,”

  “Okay. I thought you’d be interested,” Drake said.

  “Keep an ear to the ground, Paul,” Mason said, hung up the telephone and repeated the conversation to Della Street.

  “Where does that leave you, Chief?” she asked.

  “Where I always am,” Mason said, “right in the middle. There’s something phony about this whole business. That Haley woman was reciting a whole synthetic lie there on the witness stand, and people don’t lie like that unless there’s a reason.”

  “And,” Della Street said, “young women like Marilyn Keith don’t give up their vacation to Acapulco unless there’s a reason.”

  “Nor women like Mrs. Guthrie Balfour literally force retainers on reluctant attorneys,” Mason said. “Stick around, Della. I think you’ll see some action.”

  Della Street smiled sweetly at her employer. “I’m sticking,” she announced simply.

  CHAPTER 8

  By one forty-five Mrs. Balfour was back in Mason’s office.

  “I’ve seen Ted,” she said.

  Mason nodded.

  “It’s just as I surmised. Ted was given a loaded drink. He passed out. I don’t know who had it in for him or why, but I can tell you one thing.”

  “What?”

  “He wasn’t the one who was driving his car,” she asserted. “A young woman drove him home—a cute trick with dark chestnut hair, a nice figure, good legs, and a very sympathetic shoulder, I think I can find out who she was by checking the list of party guests. It was a party given by Florence Ingle.”

  “How do you know about the girl?” Mason asked.

  “A friend of mine saw her driving Ted’s car, with Ted passed out and leaning on her shoulder. He’d seen her at the parking space getting into Ted’s car. She had Ted move over and she took the wheel. If anyone hit a pedestrian with the car Ted had that evening, it was that girl.”

  “At what time was this?” Mason asked.

  “Sometime between ten and eleven.”

  “And after Ted got home what happened?” Mason asked.

  “Now as to that,” she said, “you’ll have to find the young woman who was driving and ask her. There were no servants in the house. Remember, Guthrie and I had taken the train. Before that there’d been a farewell party at Florence Ingle’s. I’d told all of our servants to take the night off. There was no one at our house.”