“During the time you were there in the cabin, did Mr. Sabin use the telephone?”

  “He put through two calls.”

  “Do you know whom the calls were to? Did you listen to the conversation?”

  “No.”

  “Do you have any idea who might have killed him, any inkling whatever as to …”

  “Not the slightest.”

  “And I don’t suppose,” Mason went on casually, “that you know anything about the weapon with which the murder was committed?”

  “Yes,” she said unexpectedly, “I do.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about it?” Mason asked.

  “That weapon,” she said slowly, “is part of a collection at the San Molinas Public Library.”

  “There’s a collection of guns there?”

  “Yes, there’s a museum in one room, in connection with the library—that is, it isn’t exactly operated in connection with the library, but it was presented to the city, and, under an arrangement with the library committee, the librarian has charge of the room. The janitor, who takes care of the library, does janitor work, and …”

  “Who took this gun from the collection?”

  “I did.”

  “Why?”

  “My husband asked me to. He … No, I don’t think I’m going to talk about that, Mr. Mason.”

  “To whom did you give this gun?”

  “I think we’ll just skip everything about the gun.”

  “When did you first know your husband was really Fremont C. Sabin?”

  “This morning, when I saw the picture of the cabin in the paper … well, I suspected it then. I didn’t know what to do. I just waited, hoping against hope. Then the afternoon papers published his picture. Then I knew.”

  Mason asked abruptly, “Just what do you have to gain in a financial way?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Was there any will, any policy of insurance, any …”

  “No, of course not,” she interrupted.

  Mason stared thoughtfully at her. “What are your plans?” he asked.

  “I’m going in and meet Mr. Sabin’s son. I’m going to explain the circumstances to him.”

  “His wife is in there now,” Mason said.

  “You mean Fremont C. Sabin’s wife?”

  “Yes.”

  She bit her lip, then sat silently digesting that bit of information.

  Mason said gently, “You know, Miss Monteith, the authorities are not going to understand how that gun happened to be one to which you had access … Look here, you didn’t find out, by any chance, who he was, and find out about his wife, and get angry because …”

  “You mean and kill him?” she interrupted.

  “Yes,” Mason said.

  “The very thought is absurd! I loved him. I have never loved any man …” she broke off.

  “He was,” Mason pointed out, “considerably older than you.”

  “And wiser,” she said, “and gentler, and more considerate, and … You have no idea how grand he was; contrasted with the young men whom I meet around the library—the fresh ones who try to take me out, the stupid ones, the ones who have lost all ambition …” Her voice trailed away into silence.

  Mason turned to Della Street. “Della,” he said, “I want you to take Miss Monteith with you. I want you to keep her some place where she won’t be annoyed by newspapermen, do you understand?”

  “I think I do,” Della Street said quietly from the back seat, and her voice sounded as though she had been crying.

  “I don’t want to go anywhere,” Miss Monteith said. “I understand that I’m in for a disagreeable ordeal. The only thing I can do is face it.”

  “Do you want to meet Mrs. Sabin?” Mason asked. “I understand that she’s rather disagreeable.”

  “No,” Helen Monteith said shortly.

  Mason said, “Miss Monteith, I think the developments of the next few hours may make a great deal of difference. Right at present the police haven’t identified that murder weapon; that is, they haven’t found out where it came from. When they do … well, you’re going to be arrested, that’s all.”

  “You mean and charged with murder?”

  “You’ll be booked on suspicion of murder.”

  “But that’s absurd.”

  “It isn’t absurd, looking at it from the police viewpoint,” Mason said. “It isn’t even absurd looking at it from any common-sense reconstruction of the evidence.”

  She was silent for a few seconds, thinking over what he had said, then she turned to him and asked, “Just whom do you represent?”

  “Charles Sabin.”

  “And what are you trying to do?”

  Mason said, “Among other things, I’m trying to clear up this murder case. I’m trying to find out what happened.”

  “What is your interest in me?”

  “You,” Mason told her, “are in a spot. My training has been to sympathize with the underdog and fight for him.”

  “But I’m not an underdog.”

  “You will be by the time that family gets done with you,” Mason told her grimly.

  “You want me to run away?”

  “No, that’s exactly what I don’t want. If the situation hasn’t clarified itself by tomorrow, we’ll … well, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  She reached her decision. “Very well,” she said, “I’ll go.”

  Mason said to Della Street, “You’ll go in her car, Della.”

  “Shall I communicate with you, Chief?” she asked.

  “No,” Mason said. “There are some things I want to find out, and other things I don’t want to know anything about.”

  “I get you, Chief,” she said. “Come on, Miss Monteith. We haven’t any time to waste around here.”

  Mason stood on the curb, watching the car, until the tail-light became a red pin-point in the distance. Then he turned toward the huge, gloomy house with its somber atmosphere of massive respectability.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  RICHARD WAID, the secretary, opened the door in response to Mason’s ring. His face showed his relief at seeing the lawyer. “C.W. has been trying to get you on the phone,” he said. “I’ve been calling every few minutes.”

  “Something wrong?” Mason inquired.

  “Mrs. Sabin is home—the widow.”

  “Has that resulted in complications?” the lawyer asked.

  “I’ll say it has. Listen, you can hear them in there now.”

  Richard Waid stood slightly to one side, and the sound of a woman’s excited voice came pouring through the doorway. The words were undistinguishable, but there could be no mistaking the harsh, rasping sound of the voice itself.

  “Well,” Mason said, “perhaps I’d better join in the fight.”

  “I wish you would,” Waid said, and then, after a moment, “It may be that you can tone her down a bit.”

  “Does she have a lawyer?” Mason asked.

  “Not yet. She’s threatening to hire all the lawyers in the city.”

  “Threatening?” Mason inquired.

  “Yes,” Waid said shortly, and as he led the way into the living room, added, “And that’s putting it mildly.”

  Charles Sabin got to his feet at once, as Mason entered. He came forward to grasp the lawyer’s hand, with evident relief. “You must be a mind reader, Mr. Mason,” he said. “I’ve been trying to get you for the last half hour.”

  He turned and said, “Helen, let me present Perry Mason. Mrs. Helen Watkins Sabin, Mr. Mason.”

  Mason bowed. “I am pleased to meet you, Mrs. Sabin.”

  She glared at him as though he had been an insect impaled with a pin and mounted on a wall board. “Humph!” she said.

  She was heavy, but there was nothing flabby about her heaviness. Her body was hard beef, and her eyes held the arrogant steadiness of a person who is accustomed to put others on the defensive and keep them there.

  “And her son, Mr. Watkins, Mr. Mason.”

  Watkins came forward to take Mason’s hand in a firm, cordial grasp. His eyes sought those of the lawyer, and his voice as he said, “I’m very glad to meet you, Mr. Mason,” lent emphasis to his words. “I’ve been reading so much about you, from time to time, that it’s a real pleasure to meet you in the flesh. I was particularly interested in the newspaper accounts of the trial of that case involving the murder of the insurance man.”

  “Thank you very much,” Mason said, letting his eyes take in the bulging forehead, the well-rounded cheeks, the steady blue eyes, and the fit of the well-pressed flannels.

  “I’ve had quite a trip,” Steve Watkins said by way of explanation. “I flew from New York down to Central America to pick up mother, and came back with her. Haven’t even tubbed yet.”

  “Did you fly your own plane?” Mason asked.

  “No, I didn’t, although I do quite a bit of flying. But my job wasn’t exactly tuned up for a long flight. I went on a passenger plane to Mexico City, and then chartered a private plane down and back. We had another plane fly down to wait for us in Mexico City.”

  “You have had quite a trip,” Mason agreed.

  Mrs. Sabin said, “Never mind the personal amenities, Steve. I see no occasion to waste time trying to meet Mr. Mason on friendly terms. You know perfectly well he’s going to try to knife us. We may just as well start our fight and get it over with.”

  “Fight?” Mason asked.

  She pushed forward her chin aggressively and said, “I said ‘fight.’ You should know what the word means.”

  “And what,” Mason asked, “are we going to fight about?”

  “Don’t beat around the bush,” she said, “it isn’t like you—not from all I’ve heard, and I don’t want to be disappointed in you. Charles has employed you to see that I’m jockeyed out of my rights as Fremont’s wife. I don’t intend to be jockeyed.”

  Mason said, “Perhaps in the circumstances, Mrs. Sabin, if you retained your attorney, and let me discuss matters with him …”

  “I’ll do that when I get good and ready,” she said. “I don’t need any lawyer—not right now. When I need one I’ll get one.”

  Steve Watkins said, “Just a minute, Moms, Uncle Charles only said that …”

  “Shut up,” Mrs. Sabin snapped, “I’m running this. I heard what Charles said. All right, Mr. Mason, what have you to say for yourself?”

  Mason dropped into a chair, crossed his long legs, grinned across at Charles Sabin, and said nothing.

  “All right, then, I’ll say something. I’ve told Charles Sabin, and now I’m telling you. I know only too well that Charles has resented me ever since I married into this family. If I had told Fremont one half of the things that I’ve had to put up with, Fremont would have had Charles on the carpet. He wouldn’t have stood for it for a minute. Regardless of what Charles may think, Fremont loved me. Charles was so afraid that some of the property was going to get away from him, that he was completely blinded by prejudice. As a matter of fact, if he’d been disposed to be fair with me, I might have been fair with him now. As it is, I’m in the saddle, and I’m going to do the driving. Do you understand, Mr. Mason?”

  “Perhaps,” Mason said, lighting a cigarette, “you could explain a little more clearly, Mrs. Sabin.”

  “Very well, I will explain clearly. I’m Fremont’s widow. I think there’s a will leaving the bulk of his property to me. He told me he was making such a will. If there is a will I’m the executrix of it; if there isn’t, I’m entitled to letters of administration. In any event, I am going to be in charge of the estate, and I don’t want any interference from any of the relatives.”

  “You haven’t the will with you?” Mason asked.

  “Certainly not. I’m not in the habit of carrying my husband’s wills around with me. I presume it’s in his papers somewhere, unless Charles has destroyed it. And in case you don’t know it, Mr. Mason, Charles Sabin is perfectly capable of doing just that.”

  Mason said, “Can’t we leave the personalities out of it, Mrs. Sabin?”

  She stared defiantly at him, and said simply, “No.”

  Richard Waid started to say something, then checked himself.

  Mason said, “Look here, Mrs. Sabin, I want to ask you a personal question. Hadn’t you and Mr. Sabin separated?”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Just what I say. Hadn’t you separated, hadn’t you decided that you were not going to live together any longer as man and wife? Wasn’t your trip around the world in accordance with such an understanding?”

  “Absolutely not, that’s ridiculous.”

  “Didn’t you have an agreement with Mr. Sabin by which you were to get a divorce?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  Waid said, “Really, Mr. Mason, I …”

  He broke off as Mrs. Sabin glowered at him.

  The telephone rang, and Waid said, “I’ll answer it.”

  Mason turned to Charles Sabin and said significantly, “I have recently come into the possession of certain information, Mr. Sabin, which leads me to believe that your father had every reason to believe that by Monday, the fifth of this month, Mrs. Sabin would have obtained a divorce. I can’t interpret the information I have received in any other light.”

  “That’s a defamation of character,” Mrs. Sabin said belligerently.

  Mason kept his eyes on Charles Sabin. “Do you,” he asked, “know anything about that?”

  Sabin shook his head.

  Mason turned back to Mrs. Sabin. “When were you in Paris, Mrs. Sabin?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “Did you get a divorce while you were in Paris?”

  “Most certainly not!”

  “Because,” Mason went on, “if you did, I’ll find out about it sooner or later, and I’m warning you now that I’m going to look for evidence that will …”

  “Bosh,” she said.

  Richard Waid, who had been standing in the door near the hallway in which the telephone was located, came striding into the room and said, “Well, it isn’t bosh, it’s absolute fact.”

  “What do you know about it?” Mason asked.

  Waid came into the room, met Mrs. Sabin’s eyes, and turned to Charles Sabin. “I know everything about it. Look here, Mr. Sabin, I realize there’s going to be a family fight. I know enough of Mrs. Sabin’s character to know that it’s going to be a free-for-all. As she pointed out to me, within a few minutes after she arrived, I can best safeguard my interests by keeping my mouth shut and keeping out of it. But my conscience won’t let me do that.”

  “You and your conscience,” Mrs. Sabin said, her voice rising shrilly. “You’re nothing but a paid ‘yesman.’ My husband had completely lost confidence in you. You may not know it, but he was getting ready to discharge you. He …”

  “Mrs. Sabin,” Waid interrupted, “didn’t go around the world, at all.”

  “She didn’t?” Mason asked.

  “No,” Waid said, “that was just a stall to fool the newspaper reporters so she could get a divorce without any publicity. She boarded a round-the-world boat. She only went as far as Honolulu. Then she took the Clipper back, and established a residence at Reno. She obtained a divorce there. All this was done under Mr. Sabin’s direction. She was to receive one hundred thousand dollars in cash when she furnished Mr. Sabin with evidence that she had received her divorce. Then she was to fly to New York, pick up a round-the-world boat, come back through the Panama Canal, and then let Mr. Sabin, at such time as he thought best, announce the divorce. That was the agreement between them.”

  Mrs. Sabin said with cold finality, “Richard, I warned you to keep your mouth shut about that.”

  Waid said, “I didn’t tell the sheriff because I felt it wasn’t up to me to discuss Mr. Sabin’s business. I didn’t tell Mr. Charles Sabin because Mrs. Sabin told me that it would be to my own good to keep my mouth shut. She said that if I co-operated with her, she’d co-operate with me once she got in the saddle.”

  “The question,” Mason said, “is whether this divorce was actually obtained.”

  Mrs. Sabin settled back in her chair. “Very well,” she said to Richard Waid. “This is your party. Go ahead and furnish the entertainment.”

  Waid said, “I will. The facts in this case are bound to come out sooner or later, anyway. Fremont C. Sabin had been unhappy for some time. He and his wife had been virtually separated. He wanted his freedom; his wife wanted a cash settlement.

  “For some reason, Mr. Sabin wanted to have the matter remain a closely guarded secret. He didn’t trust any of his regular attorneys with the matter, but went to a man by the name of C. William Desmond. I don’t know whether any of you gentlemen know him.”

  “I know of him,” Mason said, “a very reputable attorney. Go ahead, Waid. Tell me what happened.”

  Waid said, “An agreement was reached by which Mrs. Sabin agreed to get a divorce in Reno. When she presented a certified copy of the divorce decree to Mr. Sabin, he was to pay her the sum of one hundred thousand dollars in cash. It was stipulated as part of the agreement that there was to be absolutely no publicity, and that the responsibility was up to Mrs. Sabin to arrange the matter in such a way that the newspapers would not get hold of it.”

  “Then she didn’t go around the world, after all?” Mason asked.

  “No, of course not. As I told you, she went only as far as Honolulu, took the Clipper ship back, established a six weeks’ residence in Reno, secured a decree of divorce, and went to New York. That was what Mr. Sabin telephoned to me about on the evening of the fifth. He said that everything was arranged and Mrs. Sabin was to meet me in New York with the decree of divorce. As I’ve already explained to the officers, Steve was waiting at the airport with his plane all tuned up and ready. I stepped in and we took off for New York. We arrived in New York on the afternoon of the sixth. I went directly to the bankers to whom Mr. Sabin had directed me, and also to the firm of solicitors who represented Mr. Sabin in New York. I wanted them to check over the certified decree of divorce before I paid over the money.”