“What a dirty place,” Mason announced.

  “The people who moved out knew it was going to be torn down,” Doxey explained. “They just pulled out and left all of this junk behind them.”

  “Better call to Lutts,” Mason said, “and get him to come down.”

  “He might not like that. There’s a certain protocol in connection with being a son-in-law.” Doxey said, grinning. “I’ll go up and see what he’s doing.”

  “It’s fairly dark in here.” Mason said. “Even with daylight saving time, it’s rather late. Be careful.”

  “I can see all right,” Doxey said, and groped his way up the stairs. Suddenly he stopped partway up the second flight.

  “What’s the trouble?” Mason asked.

  “Come … come up here,” Doxey said in a harsh, rasping voice.

  “What’s the trouble?”

  “Come up here.”

  Mason climbed the stairs. Doxey was bending over Lutts’ body.

  “Good heavens!” Mason said. “He’s lying there head down … what is it? A heart attack? How long do you suppose he’s been there?”

  Doxey struck a match, shielded his eyes from the flame, said, “Look at that blood – it’s come from that hole in his chest.”

  “Try his pulse,” Mason said.

  Doxey bent down, then after a moment said, “I think he’s dead. His body’s begun to cool off. It feels sort of … well, you know – dead.”

  Mason said, “All right. We’ll notify the police.”

  “Shouldn’t we move him and get him around … so his head isn’t–”

  “Don’t touch the body,” Mason warned. “Get the police.”

  “Oh, good Lord,” Doxey said. “This is one hell of a mess. What am I going to do? How am I going to tell Georgiana? We can take his car. You drive yours and I’ll drive his and–”

  “You leave everything exactly as it is,” Mason said. “Don’t touch a single thing. I’ll stay here and see that nothing happens, and you take my car, go down the hill and call the police.”

  “I’ll stay, and you can go–”

  “Not me,” Mason said. “The police don’t like it when I report that I’ve discovered a corpse.”

  “Well, you were along on this one,” Doxey said. “I want you to remember–”

  “Oh, sure,” Mason told him. “I’m going to be right with you in the thing, but you were the one to discover it, and you’ll be the one to report it.”

  “You want to wait here?”

  “I’ll wait right here. You explain to Miss Street that there’s been an accident.”

  “She could sit in his car and–”

  Mason shook his head. “The police wouldn’t like that. They’ll want to go over his car, trying to find fingerprints. Go call the police. I’ll wait.”

  “All right,” Doxey said. “What department do I call?”

  “Just tell whoever answers that you want to report a homicide,” Mason said, “and tell them you’re in a hurry. They’ll put you through.”

  “All right,” Doxey said. “I’ll … do you think I’d better tell Georgiana?”

  “I wouldn’t quite yet,” Mason told him.

  Doxey ran back down the stairs. A few moments later Mason heard the car start, then take off down the hill. Mason walked back to stand in the doorway.

  It was nearly ten minutes before Doxey returned, and Mason could hear the sound of the siren as a police car followed him. The lawyer walked out away from the doorway.

  Doxey parked Mason’s car off to one side. The police car ground to a stop. One of the radio officers came bustling up to Mason. “Hello, Mr Mason. How are you mixed up in this thing?”

  “I’m not,” Mason said. “I was just standing guard until you arrived.”

  “That isn’t what I meant.”

  “Well,” Mason told him, “that’s what I meant.”

  The officer looked at Mason sharply, then took a flashlight and entered the house. The other officer stood by the door, watching the place.

  “It’s a job for homicide, all right,” the first officer called from the interior of the house.

  Mason heard the officer in the car making contact on the two-way radiophone.

  “You might tell me what you know about it,” the first officer said to Mason, emerging from the building.

  “Ask him,” Mason said, jerking his thumb toward Doxey. “He’s related to the man. He found the body.”

  “I didn’t touch anything,” Doxey said. “I wanted to straighten him up, but Mr Mason said to leave him alone.”

  “That’s right.”

  “How is he related to you?”

  “My father-in-law.”

  “How old?”

  “Around fifty-four or -five.”

  “Where was he living?”

  “With us.”

  “How did you know he was up here?”

  “I didn’t. I came up here on another matter and then saw his car.”

  The officers continued to question Doxey about various matters until a car from Homicide Squad came labouring up the hill.

  “Well, well, well, well,” Sergeant Holcomb said, “look who we’ve got here! Look who’s discovered another body!”

  “Not me,” Mason said.

  “How’d you happen to come up here?”

  “Looking over property.”

  “And this was all a big surprise to you,” Sergeant Holcomb said.

  “That’s right.”

  Holcomb said, “You should have some kind of a rubber stamp or pocket recorder so you could play this same record over and over. It would save wear and tear on your vocal cords.”

  Mason said, “You’d better get in there and look around, and you’d better talk with that man over there. He’s the one who discovered the body.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Sergeant Holcomb said sneeringly. “You arranged this one a little different.”

  Mason walked over, climbed into his car and sat down.

  “Want any notes?” Della Street asked.

  “No, not yet. Did Doxey call his wife?”

  “No. He called the police. They told him to wait right there at the phone booth and they’d have a radio car there within five minutes.”

  “Good work,” Mason said.

  Sergeant Holcomb and two detectives from Homicide Squad entered the place, leaving one of the radio officers on guard. After a while, Holcomb came out, talked briefly with the officers, and then came over to Mason.

  “What did you find?” Mason asked.

  “How did you happen to come up here, Mason?”

  “I’m representing a client.”

  “Who?”

  Mason shrugged his shoulders.

  “We’ll find out.”

  “Go ahead. That’s your duty and privilege. It’s my duty to protect my client.”

  “What did you come up here for?”

  “Specifically,” Mason said, “I came up to look at the boundaries of this property. Does that satisfy you?”

  Sergeant Holcomb regarded him for a moment, said, “No,” and abruptly turned away.

  Mason nodded to Doxey. “Let’s go, Doxey,” he said. “They’ve got everything they need from us.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Sergeant Holcomb said, turning around.

  “Well, I am,” Mason told him. “There aren’t any other questions you want to ask, are there?”

  “They may turn up later on.”

  “Then get in touch with me later on,” Mason said. “You coming Doxey?”

  Doxey glanced apprehensively at the officers, said, “Yes … I guess so,” and got in Mason’s car.

  “I’ll take you home,” Mason said, easing the car into motion, “and you can break the news to your wife personally. That’ll be better than trying to do it over the phone.”

  Doxey nodded, presently blew his nose, surreptitiously wiped the corners of his eyes. “I’d be a damned liar if I told you there weren’t times when Daddy Lutts was hard to get along with, but I was very fond of him and – The poor guy.”

  “It wasn’t suicide?” Mason asked.

  “Heavens, no. At least, I don’t think so. He was in good spirits until after you bought his stock, and then he … and then he thought of a way of getting stock to take the place of the stock he had sold you, and still have some gravy, and that made him feel even better.”

  “After he got to thinking it over,” Mason said, “he may have thought it would have been better if he’d left the situation the way it was.”

  “Not Daddy Lutts. He worries about something of that sort. He just couldn’t understand why you wanted stock in the company, and the more he thought of it, the more worried he became. He’s a gambler at heart. A situation like this was made to order for him. When I say he was worried, I don’t mean it the way you’d be inclined to take it. I mean that he was afraid there was something going on beneath the surface that he couldn’t get a line on – you know what I mean – that he couldn’t – well, if there were any gravy trains going by, he wanted to get aboard.”

  “Nothing in his accounts,” Mason said. “He wouldn’t be short of money or anything?’

  “Anything but! Why, the guy’s worth a million. He played the cards close to his chest, but he had lots of chips.”

  “Well,” Mason told him, “I extend my sympathies. You’ll have to break it rather gently to your wife. Was she fond of him?”

  “In their respective ways, they were very fond of each other. But they were … well, they were a lot alike. Their temperaments would clash, but they loved their little squabbles. She’s going to be terribly broken up.”

  “Does she have any stock in this company?” Mason asked.

  “No. Daddy Lutts told her she’d have plenty when he died, but while he was alive he was going to hang on to every cent. That’s the way he was – always joking, telling her about the too indulgent and credulous parents who gave it all away and then were thrown out. It’s hard to explain. When I tell it, it doesn’t sound like a joke, but Daddy Lutts and Georgiana always used to kid about it. It was the way they joked back and forth. She’ll miss him terribly.”

  “Well, it’s a horrible jolt,” Mason said.

  Again Doxey blew his nose, then turned his head, ostensibly interested in the scenery.

  Mason paused at the first service station where there was a telephone. “I’ll only be a minute,” he told Doxey. He called Paul Drake’s office. “Paul, do you still have contacts with the newspaper reporters who cover police headquarters?”

  “Sure,” Drake said. “Why?”

  “Because,” Mason told him, “a man by the name of George C Lutts was murdered in a deserted house in an outlying real estate development project late this afternoon. I want all of the dope just as fast as it comes into police headquarters. I particularly want to know whether they have recovered the murder weapon, where the man was standing when he was shot, how long he lived after being shot, the direction from which the shot was fired, and whether police feel there was a woman involved in the case.”

  “Anything else?” Drake asked sarcastically.

  “Certainly,” Mason said. “I want everything else – fast.”

  “Okay,” Drake said. “Here’s something else for you, Perry.”

  “Hurry up, Paul. I’m in a rush.”

  Drake said, “Mrs Harlan phoned … said she wanted me to give you a message. Said to tell you that everything was working out fine, that the third corner of the triangle already had her husband on the defensive, that Roxy and Mrs Harlan’s husband had been to see Roxy’s lawyer and that her husband had finally awakened to the fact that it was their fifth wedding anniversary. She said that I was to tell you, quote, ‘He is behaving in a most satisfactory manner and exactly as anticipated.’”

  “Well,” Mason said, grinning, “that’s something.”

  “I take it it makes sense to you,” Drake said.

  “It makes sense to me. How long will it take you to get some of the dope on this Lutts murder case, Paul?”

  “About the time Homicide Squad gets back and makes a report. The newspaper boys will pick up everything they’re releasing to the public.”

  “You had dinner?” Mason asked.

  “Oh, sure,” Drake said sarcastically. “I had two sandwiches and coffee, and now I have just had my dessert of four tablets of bicarbonate of soda. I’m right back in my stride.”

  “That’s fine,” Mason told him. “You stay there and get the dope. Della and I are going out to dinner. Mrs Harlan didn’t leave any more messages for me, did she?”

  “Yes,” Drake said. “She said that she didn’t want to be disturbed any more this evening, that she would appreciate anything you could do along those lines.”

  “Yes, I take it she would,” Mason said dryly. “Okay, Paul, see what you can find out. We’ll call you later.”

  Mason hung up, returned to his car. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Doxey.”

  “It’s okay. I’m dreading going home, breaking the news.”

  “Would it help any if I went in with you?” Della Street asked. “Or I could phone and tell her that you were on your way in and that you had some disturbing news – sort of break it to her gently.”

  “No, thanks. I appreciate your offer, but I’ll have to face the situation, and I think the best way is to tell her all at once, not beat around the bush.”

  “You’re the doctor,” Mason told him. “But Miss Street wants you to know that anything we can do, we’ll be glad to do.”

  “Thanks. This is one thing I’m going to have to face alone.”

  Chapter Eight

  Perry Mason, fresh and debonair, latchkeyed the door of his private office.

  Della Street, who had been opening mail, looked up at him with a smile.

  “How’s everything coming, Della?” Mason asked.

  “So-so. Drake says he has a more complete report on what happened than he was able to give us when we phoned last night.”

  “That’s fine,” Mason said. “Give him a ring and tell him to come in. What’s in the mail?”

  “The usual assortment of trouble. Letters from mothers, telling you of their sons who have been convicted on perjured evidence. A letter from Cleve Rector, stating that he would like to discuss a business matter with you at your earliest possible opportunity. A letter from Ezekiel Elkins, stating that he would like an appointment regarding a matter in which you have a mutual interest. An attorney named Arthur Nebitt Hagan has telephoned twice; he says that he is representing Roxy Claffin and that because of statements which you made to the board of directors of the Sylvan Glade Development Company, she finds herself suffering a pecuniary loss, that your statement misinterpreted the law and misstated the facts. It seems Mrs Claffin wants you held strictly accountable, but that Attorney Hagan is counselling moderation and is suggesting that she hold off any action until after it has become fully apparent that, as her representative, he can’t work out any amicable basis of approach.”

  “How interesting,” Mason said.

  “He wanted you to call him as soon as you came in.”

  “Get Paul Drake,” Mason said. “Tell him to come in.” Mason busied himself reading the mail while Della Street phoned Paul Drake.

  “No word from Mrs Harlan?” Mason asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “Paul Drake coming down?”

  “He said he’d be in right away. He – here he is now.”

  Drake’s code knock sounded on the door of the office, and Della Street opened it.

  “How are you feeling this morning, Paul?” Mason asked.

  “Terrible,” Drake said, “I had acid indigestion all night.”

  “Comes from taking too much soda,” Mason told him. “You destroy the alkaline balance in your system.”

  “I know,” Drake said, “but taking too much soda comes from eating too many soggy hamburgers, and eating too many soggy hamburgers comes from working for a lawyer who wants everything fast. Actually, the way things developed, I could have gone out last night, had a nice dinner and then come back about eleven o’clock and got all of the information you needed.”

  “I know,” Mason said, “but then we would have missed Mrs Harlan’s message about her fifth wedding anniversary.”

  “Yes, wasn’t it wonderful. How are you connected with this Lutts’ murder, Perry?”

  “I’m not connected with it. Lutts was on the board of directors of a corporation in which I have invested a fairly large amount of money. I’m afraid his death may upset the balance of power.”

  “Then,” Drake said, “why worry about the circumstances of his death? All you needed was a physician’s certificate that he was dead. I could have told you that within a few minutes after you telephoned. He was dead as an iced mackerel.”

  “Anything else, Paul?”

  “It seems the police found you at the scene of the murder.”

  “Yes. It was most unfortunate. I went out to inspect the property, and the corpse of Mr Lutts made it impossible for me to carry out my inspection. The police were rather narrow-minded about the entire procedure.”

  “They’re inclined to be that way,” Drake said. “Then you know all about the place where the body was found?”

  “That’s right. An old three-storey building which has been abandoned for some little time. This company Lutts was with was making a real estate development out of it. Lutts evidently went out there to look it over just before I arrived, and somebody shot him.”

  “That’s right. With a thirty-eight revolver, right in the chest from a distance of about eighteen or twenty inches.”

  “In the chest?”

  “Yes. Severed the aorta or something. Death was almost instantaneous.”

  “He was facing the person who shot him?”

  “That’s right.”

  “About eighteen inches away?”

  Drake nodded. “Eighteen or twenty.”

  “They got that from a powder pattern, I presume,” Mason said.

  “That’s right. They processed the vest and shirt at the police laboratory. The chemical pattern reaction of powder stains shows about eighteen inches – assuming that the weapon used was an ordinary thirty-eight calibre revolver with a standard barrel.”