“Rather frank with me, aren’t you?” Mason asked.

  Tragg met his eyes. “What I’m trying to do, Mason,” he said, “is to show you exactly how much of a case we have against your client, so in case Della Street is acting under your instructions and keeping her out of circulation, you won’t be able to plead afterward that you didn’t know the true facts in the case. If you’ve whisked her away from right under my nose, you’ll have the full responsibility. I want Diana Regis. I want her as a material witness. I want her as a possible suspect for murder. And I’ve been very careful to see that you know exactly what I have on her and why I want her, Mr. Perry Mason.”

  “Nice of you, Lieutenant Tragg, I’m certain,” Mason said.

  The telephone exploded the somewhat intense silence which followed.

  Tragg made a dive toward it and found Mason’s shoulder in the way. “You already had your call, Lieutenant,” Mason pointed out, and then added, “Remember?”

  “ Music?” she asked, puzzled.

  “Here.”

  “Yes.”

  “Can’t you tune it out?”

  “No.”

  “Music,” Della Street repeated thoughtfully. “You mean that it has to be faced?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to get across.”

  “By Diana?”

  “All three.”

  “Am I to bring her up there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you want her to talk when she gets there?”

  “No.”

  “Want her to keep absolutely mum?”

  “Yes.”

  “Suppose there’s something she can explain? Should she try?”

  “No.”

  “Okay,” Della Street said, “we’ll be up.”

  “Be seeing you,” Mason said, and hung up the telephone.

  Lieutenant Tragg sighed, reached across Mason’s shoulder, picked up the telephone as soon as the lawyer had dropped the receiver in the hook and dialed a number.

  “Hello,” he said. “Put me on with the Transmitting Department … . Hello, radio? Lieutenant Tragg. I guess you can pick up that car now … . Yeh, the one that Diana Regis and Della Street are running around in … . That’s right.

  “Trap didn’t work?” Mason asked.

  “Going so soon, Lieutenant?” Mason inquired solicitously.

  “Yes. I’ve got to be up at Headquarters when they bring Diana in and see if I can get anything out of her. I don’t suppose I can.”

  “Going to file a charge against her?”

  “That depends. Going to represent her?”

  “Can’t tell yet,” Mason told him.

  “Well, good night, wise guy.”

  “Good night,” Mason retorted.

  “Where you can get a taxi?” Mason asked.

  “Not very well at this hour of the night.”

  “Okay,” Mason said, “where are you?”

  “Wait there,” Mason said, “and I’ll pick you up. I think we’re going to go to the office and make a petition for a writ of habeas corpus for Diana Regis.”

  Chapter 7

  “Now this is a job you’ll have to handle with kid gloves. It’s dynamite. The police will be on the ground, probably within an hour. I want the apartment covered immediately and kept covered until the police get there.”

  “After that you don’t want it covered?” the operator asked.

  “After that,” Mason said, “it will be useless. But until then, I want to know everything that happens, everyone who enters or leaves that apartment, or who so much as rings the bell. In order to be on the safe side, you’ll have to get at least two and probably three good men on the job, each one with a car. But don’t wait until you can get all three. Get someone who’s immediately available and … ”

  “We have a man right here in the office,” the operator said. “He’ll start immediately, and I can have two others on the way within ten minutes.”

  “Okay,” Mason said. “I’m going to come up to my office. I’ll drop in within an hour or so and see what reports you’ve had. Be sure to tail anyone who shows any interest in that apartment. And here’s something else. Send a couple of good men out to the residence of Jason Bartsler, 2816 Pacific Heights Drive. I want the place covered. There’s Jason Bartsler, around fifty-six, Frank Glenmore, about thirty-eight, Mrs. Bartsler, young, good looking and bitchy, and Carl Fretch, twenty-two, her son. See when they come in. If they go out, let me know when.”

  The operative said, “I can’t line up enough men to shadow all those people, Mr. Mason. I can put a man on the job to report, and I can get operatives to tail people who go to the apartment, but the way things are now … ”

  “Okay,” Mason interrupted. “Cover the apartment and tail the people who show up and get me a report on the Bartsler residence. The apartment is the most important. Handle that first.”

  “Forget it,” Mason said.

  “You’d think that an ordinary dumbbell would have had sense enough to check up and find whether she was being followed,” Della said disgustedly.

  “Forget it. It was a trap.”

  “I don’t care what it was. I should have known we were being followed. I’ve been sitting in there in the drugstore and literally kicking myself.”

  “There wasn’t anything you could have done about it, Della. Tragg knew that Diana Regis had been in the apartment even before he entered the place. Her car was out front. So Tragg planted an extra car somewhere in the block to follow you in case you happened to come out after he went in. There wasn’t anything you could have done about it. We were licked before we started. You couldn’t possibly have driven your light coupe around the city so you could have ditched the police car, and they’d have closed in on you the minute you tried it.”

  “Well,” Della said somewhat mollified, “at least I might have had sense to know that I was being followed. But I never had the faintest idea anyone was behind me. I suppose, of course, they were driving a good part of the time without lights. The first thing I knew this car came whizzing up from behind as though it intended to pass, then crowded me into the curb. And I looked up and saw that it was a police car and two big cops in there grinning like baboons.”

  “You told Diana not to talk?”

  “Yes.”

  “Think she will?”

  “I don’t know, Chief. I told her what you said and impressed upon her the importance of following instructions to the letter.”

  “What did the cops say, anything?”

  “Asked her if she was Diana Regis.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Said that she was.”

  “Then what?”

  “Asked her if that was her car.”

  “Then what?”

  “She told them they were at liberty to look at the registration slip.”

  “So what did they do?”

  “Told me they’d drive me back to the drugstore from which——”

  “That two way radio is a great thing,” Mason said.

  “And you think that it was a trap?”

  “Sure it was a trap,” Mason said. “And what is particularly irritating is the fact that I almost walked into it.”

  “How?”

  “Tragg was very careful to tell me some of the things he had against Diana Regis and the reasons he wanted to get in touch with her. Then knowing that they wanted to question her as a witness in connection with a murder, and knowing that there were certain bits of circumstantial evidence that indicated her guilt, I would have put myself in a sweet spot by trying to keep her away from the police. And, of course, it was a temptation to do just that.”

  “And you think that’s why Tragg deliberately told you all that?”

  “Of course.”

  “What did he want?”

  “Wanted to either grab me as an accessory after the fact, or at least get something he could take up with the Grievance Committee of the Bar Association.”

  “And you were too smart to walk into the trap?”

  “Nothing particularly smart about it,” Mason said thoughtfully. “I haven’t been particularly brilliant tonight.”

  “You did nobly,” Della Street said with quick feeling. “You kept Tragg from trapping you. I’m the one that’s been dumb. What do we do now?”

  “We go to the office,” Mason said, “and make an application for a writ of habeas corpus for Diana Regis. We’ll force them either to fish or to cut bait. They’ll have to put a charge against her or turn her loose. But we won’t be able to get a judge to give us a writ until tomorrow morning, and that will give them all night to work on her. They can do a lot in that time.”

  “The key to the apartment she and Mildred shared. I thought perhaps you might find some evidence up there. At least that you’d want to take a look.”

  “Good girl,” Mason said. “I didn’t think of that myself.”

  “Want to go there?”

  “No, Della, I’m afraid of it. We’d get caught there and, hang it, I don’t know enough about Diana Regis. If they try to pin this murder on her … No, Della, let’s go to the office and get a writ of habeas corpus.”

  “Heard anything yet?” he asked the night operator.

  “Okay,” Mason said. “I’ll be in my office in case anything develops.”

  Dictating directly to the typewriter, Mason made a petition on behalf of Diana Regis, alleging that she was unlawfully deprived of her liberty by the police who had filed no charge against her, but were holding her in violation of her rights, asking that a writ of habeas corpus be issued returnable before the court, and that the said Diana Regis be admitted to bail in the sum of two hundred and fifty dollars pending a hearing on said writ.

  “What?”

  “One of the men missing from in front of the Palm Vista Apartments—the first man on the job. He was gone when the other two got there.”

  “The police there now?”

  “Not yet. They’re probably busy questioning Diana.”

  Mason said, “It could be anything—could be a boy friend trying to get in touch with her. It could be someone calling for Mildred Danville, and it could be something really big.”

  “Such as what?”

  “Can’t tell,” Mason said. “We haven’t been particularly lucky so far. Things may turn our way.”

  “Well, there’s nothing to keep us from hoping.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Suppose they charge Diana Regis with murder, Chief, are you going to represent her?”

  Mason said, “Ordinarily I’d wait to take a look at the evidence^ but now she thinks I spirited her out o£ your apartment when Tragg first came to the door. That means I’m elected. I wouldn’t want her to spill that story, either to the police or to some other lawyer.”

  “I wonder just where Mildred Danville fits into the picture,” Della said.

  Mason said thoughtfully, “Shortly after Diana told Mildred about getting a black eye, Mildred became all excited. Now it probably wasn’t the fact that Carl gave Diana the black eye that got Mildred so worked up. It might be the fact that Carl was in Diana’s room.”

  “That sounds logical,” Della said.

  “I can’t see a thing,” Della said.

  “Where did Carl get the key, Della?”

  “Out of Diana’s purse.”

  “And what else was in Diana’s purse?”

  “Why I … I don’t know.”

  “Something,” Mason said, “that threw Mildred into a panic when she knew Carl Fretch had been in the purse.”

  “Well,” Mason asked, “what was it?”

  “The place where the child was being kept!” Della exclaimed^ “That must have been it. There was something in the purse … ”

  “Wait a minute,” Mason said. “If there was something in Diana’s purse that showed where the child was being kept, how did it get there?”

  “Not then,” Mason said, “she hadn’t. She’d only taken the driving license. She’d borrowed Diana’s driving license and car keys. She didn’t actually take Diana’s purse until after Diana got back from Bartsler’s—that is, as far as we know. Of course she may have taken it before, and we don’t know about it.”

  “License number of the car?” Mason asked.

  “We have it. We’ve checked it. It’s registered in the name of Helen C. Bartsler, sixty-seven fifty San Felipe Boulevard.”

  “Who’s driving?” Mason asked.

  “A rather trim blonde.”

  “Where is she? Did he lose her? Did he … ”

  “No, he followed her to twenty-three twelve Olive Crest Drive. The woman parked the car in front of a bungalow and went in. The car’s out there. The woman’s inside. There wasn’t any place nearby where the operative could telephone in a report, so he took a part out of the distributor head so she couldn’t get the car started, and beat it to a telephone. He wants to know what to do.”

  “How about the part for the distributor?” she asked.

  “Tell him to throw it in the river,” Mason said, and hung up. He said to Della, “Grab your hat. We’re off.”

  “Having trouble?” he asked.

  “What seems to be the trouble?”

  “I don’t know. It just won’t start.”

  “Don’t happen to have a flashlight, do you?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Let’s raise the hood and take a look. Now I’ll disconnect one of these wires and hold it close to the spark plug. If you’ll just step on the starter, we’ll see if we’ve got any spark.”

  “Having domestic troubles?” the lawyer asked cheerfully.

  “Is there,” Mason asked, “anything I can do?”

  “Do you have a tow rope?”

  “Yes, but it’s rather difficult to go down these slippery roads on the end of a tow rope. You’d want to know something about driving behind another car. Have you ever been towed before?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “It’s the house right here,” the woman said.

  “Oh, is it?”

  “May I ask why you wanted to ask questions at that house?”

  “It happens that I just came out of there,” the woman said.

  “Oh,” Mason announced, “permit me to introduce myself. My name is Mr. Mason. I’m a lawyer and … ”

  “Not Perry Mason?”

  “The same,” Mason said. “Oh.”

  “And,” Mason went on, “I’m investigating a matter for a client, and I understand there’s a lead—a rather important lead at this address.”

  “Not at all,” Mason said. “I’m investigating the disappearance of a child. A … ”

  “Mr. Mason, how did you find this address?”

  “That is something I am not at liberty to divulge.”

  “Are you retained by … by a man whose first name is Jason?”

  “Are you?” she asked.

  Mason said, “Well, to be perfectly frank I may be retained by Mr. Jason Bartsler in order to determine certain matters in connection with the estate of his son and a possible grandson, but that is in the offing at the present time. Right at present I am interested in investigating an angle of a murder case.”

  “A murder case!”

  “Yes.”

  “Why, Mr. Mason, I … Who was murdered?”

  “A young woman by the name of Mildred Danville.”

  “Well, well!” Mason exclaimed.

  “I don’t think it would do you any good to interview Ella right at this time, Mr. Mason. She is upset and … Well, she doesn’t know anything anyway, and … Mr. Mason, are you certain that Mildred Danville was murdered?”

  “The police seem to think so.”

  “Where?”

  “Out on San Felipe Boulevard. I believe the number was sixty-seven fifty.”

  “Good Heavens, Mr. Mason, that’s where I live.”

  “Indeed,” Mason said and then added, after a discreet moment, “Perhaps you’d like to be present when I interview Ella Brockton.”

  Helen Bartsler slid across the seat, stepped to the pavement and slammed the car door. “If you insist upon an interview at this hour, I certainly want to be there.”

  “Come on, Della,” Mason said.

  “Ella,” Helen Bartsler said, “this is Mr. Perry Mason, the lawyer, and … I don’t believe I got the name of the person with you, Mr. Mason.”

  “Della Street, my secretary.”

  “Ask me questions?” the woman asked in a tired monotone which gave no hint as to the state of her inner emotions.

  “Yes. It’s in connection with the … ”

  “Just a moment,” Mason interrupted. “Suppose you let me ask the questions, Mrs. Bartsler, and I’d prefer to not say why I’m interested until after I’ve asked the questions.”

  “Come in,” Ella Brockton invited in the same tired expressionless voice.

  “I’ll help you hang them up,” Helen Bartsler announced, taking Della Street’s raincoat.

  “A murder!” the woman exclaimed, pausing with her hand on the door of the closet.

  “Mildred Danville,” Helen Bartsler said defiantly.

  “Well, it serves her right,” the woman announced.

  “I see no reason why you should control my actions at all, Mr. Mason.”

  “Well,” Mason said, “that makes it nice. We’re out in the open now. You’re on one side and I’m on the other.”

  “Exactly,” Helen Bartsler snapped, “and I want to tell you, Ella, that this man has no right to ask you any questions and you don’t have to give him any answers.”

  “That’s entirely correct,” Mason said. “And furthermore, I want to warn both of you that I may have interests that are adverse to those of Mrs. Bartsler and that she is attending this interview at her own request; that it is my suggestion that she leave and get some lawyer to represent her in case she wants to make a fight.”

  “What do I have to make a fight about?” Helen Bartsler asked.

  “You’ve kept a child concealed from others, haven’t you?”

  “I haven’t told Jason Bartsler about his grandchild,” she said. “I don’t know how he happened to find out about it.”

  “And why didn’t you tell Jason Bartsler about his grandchild?”