“But this taxi driver did?” Mason asked.

  “This taxi driver did. That is, my operative thinks so because he turned and said something to his passenger. After that the woman passenger sat stiffly erect.

  “My operative thinks that the driver spotted the tail and told her that she was being followed.”

  “Let your operative stay on the job,” Mason said. “We’ll go to my office from here, but I want the names of the owners of those cars parked in front of the Gillco plant.”

  Drake relayed instructions to his operative, and they drove back to Mason’s office quietly thoughtful.

  At the office Mason said, “Ring up Kelsey Madison at Madison’s Midtown Milestone, Della. I want to talk with him about his waitress.”

  Della Street nodded and a few moments later said, “Mr. Madison on the line, Chief.”

  Mason picked up his telephone, said, “Hello, Kelsey. How’s business down there?”

  “Same as usual,” Madison said. “We’re over the rush of the lunch hour. We’ll have a cocktail rush at the bar and some early diners.”

  “You’ve got a waitress there—Katherine Ellis,” Mason said. “I’d like to talk with her. Would it be all right if she took about an hour off? This should be during the slack time.”

  “For you, Counselor, it would be a pleasure,” Madison said. “Where do you want her?”

  “Up at my office.”

  “She’ll be there.”

  “It won’t inconvenience you?”

  “Not at all. We can double up on any business that’s coming in now. … Say, wasn’t she the same waitress who waited on you a couple of days ago?”

  “That’s right.”

  Madison’s voice suddenly became hard. “She didn’t proposition you, did she, Perry?”

  “No,” Mason said, “I propositioned her.”

  Madison laughed. “That’s all right, then. That’s a customer’s prerogative. I’ll tell her to get on up there.”

  “Thanks,” Mason said.

  The lawyer hung up the phone, got up from his desk, walked over to the window and stood staring moodily down at the street. At length he turned and said, “You’re sure about the shoes, Della?”

  “I’m sure about the shoes.”

  Mason said, “Anything you hear as my secretary is a confidential privileged communication. Anything you see with your own two eyes is something different you become a witness. What you have seen is evidence. It’s illegal to suppress evidence—but we have to be mighty sure it is evidence.”

  The lawyer turned back from the window, started pacing the office floor, his head thrust slightly forward, his eyes on the carpet.

  Della Street—knowing the symptoms of intense concentration on the part of her employer—sat perfectly still, doing nothing to distract his attention.

  Chapter 9

  It was three-thirty when Della, answering the telephone from the reception desk, said to Mason, “Katherine Ellis is here.”

  “Tell her to come in,” Mason said. Katherine Ellis entered the inner office with a smile for Della Street and then crossed over to stand opposite Perry Mason.

  “What is it, Mr. Mason?” she said. “Mr. Madison said I was to come up here.”

  Mason nodded. “Sit down, Katherine. We’ve just got back from a little trip of exploration—Paul Drake and I.”

  “You mean something connected with the case?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you learn anything?”

  “Let me ask you a few questions first,” Mason said. “Have you heard anything from your aunt today?”

  She shook her head.

  “Have you heard anything about her?”

  “About her? Why? Is there something I should know?”

  “Your aunt,” Mason said, “was assaulted sometime last night—apparently by an intruder who struck her over the head with a big five-cell flashlight and … ”

  “That big flashlight!” she exclaimed. “Why, that’s my flashlight!”

  Mason regarded her thoughtfully.

  “How is she, Mr. Mason? Is she badly hurt? Good heavens, I must go to her. Is she at home or … ”

  “She was in the receiving hospital the last I heard,” Mason said, “in a coma. Apparently she’d been unconscious for some hours.

  “Doctors say there’s a blood clot on the brain of a type known as a subdural hematoma. This is a clot which is quite frequently fatal and can be brought on, particularly in an aged person, by a blow on the head. The clot forms under the lining of the skull and brings pressure to bear on the brain. Moreover, if the clot is venous blood, the injury may reopen from time to time, causing more blood to infiltrate into the clot.”

  She was watching Mason with wide startled eyes.

  “Now then,” Mason said, “when was the last time you saw your aunt?”

  “Why, you know—when I left the house.”

  Mason shook his head.

  “What do you mean shaking your head?” she asked.

  Mason said, “We left you at the motel. Sometime after we left you went back to your aunt’s house.”

  “How do you know?” she asked. “Did you … did the taxi… ?”

  “I know,” Mason said, “and probably the police will know, because of your shoes and the clothes you’re wearing—the plaid skirt.

  “You asked Della Street particularly about the alligator-skin shoes. Those were your working shoes. Being on your feet as much as you are there at the restaurant and not being accustomed to handling the job as waitress, you were having lots of trouble with your feet.

  “When Della Street went to get your things, you forgot to tell her about your shoes and when Della brought your things to you, you asked particularly about the alligator-skin shoes. Della told you she hadn’t brought them. Yet this noon when you were waiting on the tables, you were wearing them.

  “That very definitely means that you went to the house and got those shoes before you went to work. Now, did you do it early this morning or late last night?”

  “I did it late last night,” she said. “Oh, Mr. Mason, this is terrible!”

  “All right,” Mason said, “you did it late last night. How late?”

  “It was after you had left the motel—probably a couple of hours. I tried to sleep. I kept thinking about how my feet were going to be killing me if I tried to wait tables in those black shoes. And then I realized I had a key to the house and I could run up and get my shoes and get out, all in a matter of minutes. Particularly if Aunt Sophia was asleep.”

  Mason said, “You’d better give me that key, Katherine.”

  She opened her purse, handed the lawyer a key.

  “Now,” Mason went on, “tell me, just what did you do?”

  “I took some of the money that you had left with me for taxi fare. I called a taxi and had him wait down in front of the house. I used my key and went in. The house was dark and silent. I slipped off my shoes and went upstairs in my stocking feet. I didn’t hear a sound.”

  “What did you do for light?”

  “I just groped my way up the stairs and along the upper corridor until I got to my room. Then I switched on the light, picked up my alligator shoes, this plaid skirt and some clothes that I thought I would be wanting, turned out the light and groped my way to the turn in the upper corridor, then went down the stairs and out the front door. I wasn’t in the house more than three or four minutes altogether.”

  “You say that big flashlight is yours?”

  “Yes, I had a big five-cell flashlight which someone before me had had in the room where I was sleeping. I took the old batteries out of it, put fresh batteries in, and used that flashlight at night after Aunt Sophia had gone to bed. In that way I didn’t need to turn on the corridor lights when I got up and awaken Aunt Sophia. Can you find out how she is, Mr. Mason?”

  The door from the outer office opened and Police Lt. Tragg came walking in. “How do you do, Della,” he said. “Hello, Perry. You’ll pardon me coming in unannounced this way, but there’s always a tendency on the part of attorneys to leave me cooling my heels in the outer room if I announce myself. The taxpayers don’t like to have me waste my time, and I don’t like to talk with a suspect who has been coached.

  “I take it from the description I have that this is Katherine Ellis. And I’m sorry to state that I have a warrant for your arrest, Miss Ellis. I wish to advise you at this time that any statement you may make will be held against you that you are not required to make any statement that you are entitled to the services of an attorney at all stages of the proceeding.”

  “And the nature of the charge?” Mason asked.

  Lt. Tragg’s face was grave. “The nature of the charge,” he said, “is assault with intent to commit murder, and the charge may be changed to murder.

  “Sophia Atwood has taken a turn for the worse. She’s not expected to live,” Lt. Tragg went on.

  Mason turned to Katherine Ellis. “You will,” he cautioned, “say absolutely nothing. You will not answer any questions except when I am present and give you permission to speak. This is a serious matter and there are some things on which I don’t want you to comment.”

  “If it’s the nocturnal trip she made to the house with the taxi last night. Perry, we know all about it,” Lt. Tragg said cheerfully. “One of the neighbors happened to hear the taxi drive up and stay there with the motor running. So, knowing there had been some commotion over there earlier in the evening, the neighbor got the number of the cab.

  “We were able to find the cabby and he remembered the occasion of picking up Miss Katherine Ellis at the motel, taking her to the house, and waiting there while she ran inside and picked up some things. The records show she was in there about seven minutes.

  “That was shortly after midnight, and the probabilities are that Sophia Atwood received her injuries at just about the time Miss Katherine Ellis was there with the taxicab waiting outside.

  “That much I can tell you, Perry, because you’ll be reading it in the paper.

  “There are other things which I don’t feel I should tell you at the present time, but they will have a bearing on the case.

  “Now, I’m sorry, Miss Ellis, but you’re going to have to come with me. We’ll try to make the procedure as painless as possible. I’ll have to have my hand on your arm, but we’re not going to use handcuffs or anything like that and we’ll try and have as little publicity as possible—although, of course, newspaper reporters will be waiting for you at the station when we come in.

  “If you want a suggestion from a much older man, I would suggest you do nothing to try to avoid the cameras but hold your chin up and your shoulders back, and very definitely don’t try to hide your face. Give the photographers just as good a likeness as possible. I think Perry Mason will agree with me. It’s better public relations.

  “And now, if you’re ready …”

  Mason said, “Remember what I told you, Katherine. Say nothing, absolutely nothing! Make no statements of any sort. This is a serious charge and you’ll have some enemies who will do all they can to get you convicted.”

  Mason crossed to her side. She clung to his arm in a panic. “But, Mr. Mason, I… I can’t…”

  Mason gently disengaged her clutching fingers. “Yes, Katherine,” he said, “you have to. But I’ll be in touch with you, and it isn’t going to be quite as bad as you may think if you just keep your courage.”

  Chapter 10

  Within minutes after Lt. Tragg had escorted Katherine Ellis from the office, Mason’s unlisted phone rang and Drake said, “A check of those license numbers we took shows that one of the cars is registered in the name of Hubert Deering, Perry.

  “The address is an apartment house at 965 Hempsted. Want to talk with him?”

  “Not right now,” Mason said. “Let’s go see Mrs. Bunion, I’ll pick you up at your office and we’ll go see what she knows.

  “My client has been arrested for assault with intent to commit murder, and that changes the picture a lot. Speed becomes essential.

  “You have about three minutes before I get down there to call for you.

  “Use that time to start an operative finding out what he can about a Bernice Atwood living at Palm Springs. She’s the first wife of Gerald Atwood, deceased.”

  “And Sophia is the second wife?” Drake asked.

  “Presumably,” Mason said. “Get some men working on it, Paul, and I’ll be by for you in a matter of minutes.”

  Mason hung up the phone and a couple of minutes later picked up Paul Drake at the offices of the Drake Detective Agency.

  The two men drove to the three-story flat in the rather dingy district. The operative Drake had kept on the job watching the place stepped on his brake briefly as the men drove up, the brake light signaling the operative had spotted them.

  Drake said, “Do you want to risk going over and talking with my operative, Perry?”

  Mason shook his head. “Let’s go talk with the woman herself, and then we’ll check with your operative later on.”

  “Okay,” Drake said, and paused while he lit a cigarette.

  “That’s the signal to the operative,” he said, “to stay on the job and sit tight.”

  The two men approached the apartment house. Mason picked the bell button for the middle apartment and pressed it.

  Far upstairs they could hear a faint whir, but the speaking tube by the side of the door remained silent.

  Mason waited a moment, then rang the buzzer again. When there was still no answer, the lawyer said, “Paul, we may be too late at that. Let’s walk over and see your man.”

  They crossed the street to where Drake’s operative was sitting in the car.

  “She didn’t go out?” Mason asked.

  The man shook his head. “Not since I’ve been here.”

  “Anybody go in?”

  “No one.”

  Mason and Drake exchanged glances.

  “Of course,” Drake pointed out, “she may not care for visitors. After all, Perry, she lives up one flight of stairs, and the probabilities are she’s pestered to death with salesmen—people selling books, people selling insurance, people soliciting funds for this, that and the other charity and … ”

  “I know,” Mason interrupted, “but she’s part of the team. She is working with Sophia Atwood, and Sophia Atwood has been attacked. The woman may be in danger.”

  “Think we should notify the police?” Drake asked nervously.

  “Only as a last resort,” Mason replied. “We may have to, but I want to get into that flat and take a look around. I want to talk with her if she’s alive—and if she isn’t, I want to get a quick look at things before the police get on the job.”

  “That’s dangerous,” Drake pointed out.

  “Lots of things I do are dangerous,” Mason retorted as he started back across the street.

  Again the lawyer pressed the button and listened for the buzzer.

  “There’s this speaking tube,” Mason said. “She can call down to find out who’s here and press a button which releases the catch on the door so anyone she wants to see can come up. Or if she wants to make it a short visit, she can come down and slide that little panel in the door and talk through this six-inch square opening.”

  “Or,” Drake commented dryly, “she can do none of those things and simply sit tight. What would you do if you were blind and living by yourself in a city?”

  Mason thought that over, then said, “I probably wouldn’t answer the door either.”

  The lawyer placed his mouth at the opening of the speaking tube. “Oh, Mrs. Gillman!” he called. “Mrs. Gillman, we want to see you on a matter of some importance.”

  There was no answer.

  The lawyer gave a shrill whistle, raised his voice. “Oh, Mrs. Gillman! We have a matter of importance to discuss with you, Mrs. Gillman.”

  Abruptly the door of the lower flat opened two or three inches to the end of a safety chain which stretched taut across the opening. A woman’s authoritative voice, high-pitched with emotion, said, “What’s the meaning of all this commotion? I’m the manager here. What’s going on?”

  Mason said, “I’m sorry. We want to see Mrs. Gillman on a matter of some importance. I believe she’s home, but she isn’t answering her doorbell.”

  “Of course she isn’t answering her doorbell,” the woman said. “Why should she? She doesn’t have any friends to call on her. And why should she go traipsing up and down stairs for people who want to talk to her about things in which she isn’t interested? As a matter of fact, she’s blind and living by herself. Now, you folks just go away and quit making this unearthly racket.”

  Mason said, “I’m sorry. My name is Mason. I’m an attorney.”

  “Perry Mason?” the woman asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, what do you know!” the woman exclaimed, and then after a moment added, “I declare!”

  “And this,” Mason said, “is Paul Drake who is associated with me in some investigative work.”

  “What do you mean ‘investigative work’?” the woman asked shrewdly. “Is he a private detective?”

  “That’s right, ma’am,” Drake said.

  “Well, what in the world do you people want with Mrs. Gillman?”

  “We want to talk with her,” Mason said. “It’s vitally important.”

  “Important to whom, to you or to her?”

  “It may be very important to her,” Mason said.

  “Well, there’s certainly something mysterious going on. You people have been walking back and forth across the street and talking with the man over there in that car. Who is that man?”

  “He’s one of Mr. Drake’s assistants,” Mason said. “We have a feeling that Mrs. Gillman may be in some danger, and we would like to warn her.”

  “Warn her!” The manager’s voice became shrill. “What good does it do to warn a blind woman that she’s in danger? What good would that do?”