“Then what?” Mason asked.

  “Then he stepped back through the drapes into the lighted room and the drapes fell back in place.”

  “You didn’t see the man’s face?”

  “No. I just had two brief glimpses of his figure silhouetted against the light in the room.”

  “Can you describe him?” Mason asked, again keeping expression from his voice.

  “Well, he was tall and… well, he was well-built. Good shoulders, narrow hips.”

  “How heavy?”

  “Oh… something about your build, Mr. Mason, something like that. What do you weigh?”

  Mason said, “The police are going to ask you about him. You won’t have an opportunity to use me as a model at that time. You’ll have to figure age, height and weight to the best of your ability.”

  “Well, I can’t help them a great deal.”

  “You saw this man again when he came out and got in his automobile?”

  “That’s right.”

  “The same man?”

  “Of course… now wait a minute… I couldn’t swear to it. The build was the same and… well, something about the way he walked.”

  “Now you weren’t alone.”

  “No, that’s right. I had this motorist with me.”

  “What’s his name? Did you get it?”

  “Sure I got it. I paid him twenty bucks for tailing the taxicab and driving me around. I had him sign a receipt so I’d have a voucher for Paul Drake.”

  The detective took a folded piece of paper from his pocket. “Here it is,” he said, exhibiting a receipt for twenty dollars bearing the signature and address of James Wingate Fraser.

  Mason copied the name and address in his notebook.

  “How was Fraser?” he asked.

  “How do you mean?”

  “Co-operative or—?”

  “He was having the time of his life, Mr. Mason. He’ll have something to talk about for the next ten years.”

  “You think he’ll talk?”

  “Will he talk! I’ll bet he’s talking about it right now.”

  “He was alone in the car?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Know anything about him, about his background or anything?”

  “No. He was a good driver. I checked his name with the registration certificate on the car, and I jotted the license number down opposite his name on the receipt.”

  “So I noticed,” Mason said. “Where was he when you saw this man moving through the drapes and pulling down the shades?”

  “He was parked up the street about half a block.”

  “Could he have seen the man?”

  “No. Well, only a glimpse. He was too far away and on an angle.”

  “Did he see the man when he came out?”

  “Yes. He had a better view of him than I did.”

  “Could you describe the car this man was driving?”

  “That I couldn’t, Mr. Mason. It was a dark-colored sedan. Not too big, not too small, something about the size of this car.”

  “You couldn’t tell the make or model?”

  “No. It was dark there in the driveway and to tell you the truth this man surprised me. He got in the car and drove away. I chalked up an error against myself on that job. Drake knows it and I know it. I’m sorry it happened. But there’s no use trying to kid you.

  “I just took it for granted that the car parked there in the driveway belonged to the man who owned the house. At the time I didn’t know who the guy was. I still don’t know. I got the address and that’s all. I was interested in this Arlene Duvall.”

  “The man’s name was Jordan L. Ballard,” Mason said, “and for your information he’s dead.”

  “Dead!” the detective exclaimed.

  “That’s right. He was murdered.”

  “Who killed him?”

  “Circumstantial evidence points to Arlene Duvall.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned!”

  “Therefore,” Mason said, “it becomes absolutely imperative that you get this thing straight. You’re going to be interrogated by the police. You’re going to have to tell them your story.”

  Mundy nodded.

  “The police are going to keep banging away at you. You saw this man leaving the house. You saw the man standing at the window, pulling the roller curtain shade down and up. What do you think he was doing?”

  “Gosh, Mr. Mason, I haven’t the faintest idea. He must have been doing something. He may have been giving a signal to Arlene Duvall. I don’t know.”

  “Was she where she could see the signal?”

  “At that time I think she was.”

  “Where was she?”

  “She left the taxi and went up the front steps to the house. She listened there for a minute. Evidently she could hear people talking. She didn’t like that so then she paid off the cab and walked around the house.”

  “Now you say she walked around the house. What do you mean by that?”

  “Well, she went around the house on the street side.”

  “Keeping on the sidewalk or in the grounds?”

  “Right on the sidewalk. That’s a corner house. The window that this man appeared at was the window on the side street, but the main living-room window.”

  “And she had a good view of him?”

  “Well, I don’t know as you can say anyone could have had a good view of him. He came through the drapes and I just had a flash of his figure silhouetted against the lighted room as the drapes were falling back into place. Then you could see him standing there at the window fooling around with that curtain. He must have been signaling her.”

  “And she saw him?”

  “She was walking by on the sidewalk at the time. She had a lot better view of him than I did.”

  “But Fraser didn’t have a good view.”

  “No. He might have seen a brief flash of light on the window when the drapes were pulled back and then dropped back into place, but that’s all.”

  “And then what did Arlene Duvall do?”

  “She kept on walking around to the back of the house. It’s a California-type bungalow on a deep lot. She walked into the back and was concealed by the shadows. I couldn’t see what she was doing for a few minutes, so I walked over to where I could get a view.”

  “How long was she there?”

  “Maybe three or four minutes. Then she came back into my sight again just as the man was leaving by the front door. That’s why I didn’t pay more attention to the man. I was trying to keep my eye on her.”

  “First she went up the front steps?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Then came down and paid off the taxicab?”

  “Right.”

  “Then started walking around the house on the street side?”

  Mundy nodded.

  “And when she was on the sidewalk just opposite the window the drapes were pulled to one side and this man stood there and fumbled with the curtain. Is that right?”

  “I think it was while she was passing by the window,, and I don’t think you can say the man fumbled with the shade. He pulled it down and then let it back up.”

  “How long was it down?”

  “Oh, three or four seconds perhaps. Not very long.”

  “You think it was a signal?”

  “What else could it have been?”

  “I don’t know,” Mason said. “I’m trying to get it from you. The police are going to ask you about it. Now let’s get back to Arlene Duvall. What did she do?”

  “After the man had driven away she dragged a wooden box out from the back some place and put it up by the kitchen window. She climbed up on the wooden box and looked in.”

  “For how long?”

  “For quite a little while. Oh, maybe seven or eight seconds. She seemed to be studying something inside the house.”

  “Then what did she do?”

  “Then she raised the window.”

  “How?”

  “Just used her fingers. Apparently the window wasn’t locked. She fooled around with it for a moment, then raised the window. She grabbed the sash of the window with her hands, and threw her right leg over the window sill. Then she ducked her head under the window and eased into the kitchen.”

  “Then what?”

  “Well, she was in there maybe five minutes altogether. Then she came running out the front door.”

  “You were trying to cover both front and back of the house?”

  “As best I could. I was trying to concentrate on the Duvall girl. After she got in the window I made arrangements with Fraser to flash the car lights if she came out the front of the house.”

  “She did?”

  “That’s right.”

  “He flashed his lights, so I ran around the front of the house. He told me that she’d hurried down the front steps and was running down toward the corner. I jumped in the car and he cruised down and picked her up. He was a little clumsy about it. He got a little too close, then slacked off abruptly and acted self-conscious, put his lights on the dim and pulled into the curb and… well, he ranked the job, that’s all.”

  “You think she knew she was being tailed?”

  “Right then she knew it.”

  “What did she do about it?”

  “She walked another two or three blocks, evidently thinking out a plan.”

  “You followed her?”

  “Not right close. We turned out the lights and eased along behind. Then when we saw her turn into a yard we turned the lights on bright and came up fast.”

  “You have the number of the place where she turned in?”

  “That’s right. I’ve got everything in my notebook.”

  “Now how did she get out of the trailer without anyone picking her up?” Mason asked.

  “That I don’t know. I was cutting across by the golf club to come over here and telephone when I saw this figure ahead of me. I saw it was a woman. I ducked down so I could see her against the skyline and then followed along. It was Arlene Duvall all right. She came over here to this service station and telephoned.”

  “You weren’t watching the door of the trailer?”

  “No, we weren’t, Mr. Mason. We figured there was no other way for her to get out. But I think the two other detectives who were staked out in there were where they could watch the door of the trailer. They must have been. They disappeared in the brush as though they knew exactly where they were going and what they were doing.”

  “She isn’t in the trailer now?” Mason asked.

  “I don’t know,” Mundy said, “and I bet my partner is wondering what the devil happened to me. I came over to telephone and have been gone so long he must think I’ve deserted him.”

  “Well, let’s get back to him,” Mason said, “and see if there’s anything new. If there is you can come back and telephone it in to Drake’s office. I’ll see you a little later on.”

  “You aren’t coming over with me?”

  “I’ll drive you over but I won’t stay.”

  “Okay, that’s swell. It’s quite a walk across the golf club.”

  “Anyone see you or Miss Duvall when you were crossing over?”

  “I don’t think so. There’s a watchman there at the club. He’s a fussy old fuddy-duddy. He putters around the place with a flashlight once in a while and punches a time clock every hour, but I have an idea he’s just an old pensioner that they keep there to watch out for fire and just make the members feel good knowing there’s a watchman on duty all night.”

  “All right,” Mason said. “Let’s go.”

  “In case you don’t want those other fellows to spot you or the car you can drop me off at—”

  “I don’t care if they spot me,” Mason said. “I’ll give them one of my cards if they get curious.”

  Mason started the motor and again switched on the headlights.

  “You drive around the other side of the golf club,” Mundy instructed, “then take a dirt road that swings in back to another dirt road. There’s a little, narrow service road that turns off that. We’re parked on the dirt road just this side of the service road.”

  “Wouldn’t you be right in the path of her headlights if she came out with the trailer?” Mason asked.

  “We would if we stayed there,” Mundy said. “But the minute we heard her start the car we’d get our car back out of sight. What’s more, I don’t think she can come out of there with that trailer without using her headlights, and those headlights would make a reflection on the trees and bushes so we’d know she was coming.”

  “Okay,” Mason said. “I think I have the picture.”

  Mason drove Mundy around to where the car was parked with the other detective in it. Some hundred yards ahead Mason’s headlights picked up another automobile parked by the side of the road.

  The Drake detective who had been waiting in the car said to Mundy, “Where the hell have you been?”

  “It’s a long story,” Mundy said. “I’ll tell it to you later. Anything doing here?”

  “Dead as a church on Monday,” the detective said.

  Mason said, “Okay, boys. Keep on the job.” He turned his car down the driveway, then backed it so he could turn around and return to the paved road the way he had entered rather than drive past the other car which was parked farther down the road.

  Chapter 6

  Mason drove to the address James Wingate Fraser had written under his name on the receipt he had given Mundy.

  It was a well-built, California-bungalow-type house, in a district which was now sprinkled with apartment houses and an occasional small business.

  The house was lighted from one end to the other. Three cars were parked in front of the place, with another car in the driveway.

  From the interior Mason could hear the sounds of laughter and voices. Several people were talking at once.

  Mason found a place to park his car, walked up the steps and rang the bell.

  A man came to the door.

  “I’m sorry to bother you at this late hour,” Mason said, “but I would like to see Mr. Fraser.”

  “I’m Fraser.”

  Mason saw that the man was slightly flushed. There was whisky on his breath. He showed that peculiar restraint which comes from having been the life of the party one minute and trying to pick up a cloak of dignity the next.

  “Sorry to be bothering you at this hour,” Mason said, “but I’d like to talk with you for a few moments. I’m Perry Mason, an attorney.”

  “Perry Mason, the attorney?”

  “Let’s say I’m an attorney.”

  Sudden, effusive cordiality melted the last vestige of Fraser’s dignity.

  “Come on in, come on in,” he said. “We’ve got a little gathering of friends here. People that would be just crazy to meet you. My wife was having a bridge party tonight and… well, sort of a hen party, and when I came home I telephoned some of the husbands to come over and have a drink. I’d had… well, kind of an unusual experience. Come on in, Mr. Mason.”

  “I’d prefer to talk with you out here,” Mason said. “I—”

  Fraser said, “Oh, stuff and nonsense! Come on in and meet the people. Hey, Bertha,” he called loudly. “You have no idea who’s out here!”

  The babble of voices from the interior of the house suddenly ceased.

  “Come on in,” Fraser said, taking Mason’s arm.

  Mason followed Fraser into the house. He shook hands with several men, bowed to their wives, acknowledged introductions, permitted himself to accept a drink.

  “Birthday party?” Mason asked, tactfully leading up to the subject he had in mind.

  “Just sort of a celebration,” Fraser said. “I had an experience tonight. I have now become old C. R. Fraser—the C. R. standing for Cops and Robbers. By the way, Mr. Mason, if it’s not impertinent, what is the reason for your visit?”

  “I wanted to talk with you about the cops-and-robbers chapter in your life,” Mason said.

  Fraser became instantly cautious. The others gathered around, expressions varying from polite interest to the owlish solemnity of the man who has had one too many and is concentrating with great intensity upon a simple problem.

  Fraser said, “I was coming by the Remuda Golf Club when I saw a well-dressed chap out in the road waving me down. Ordinarily I don’t pick up hitchhikers at night, but this fellow had an air of quiet respectability about him.

  “I slowed the car to see what he wanted and he flashed a badge at me, then showed me credentials—a detective. At first I thought he was a police detective. I guess he was willing to let me think that. He simply told me he was a detective. I found out afterward he was a private detective working for the Drake Detective Agency.”

  Mason nodded.

  “You interested in all this?” Fraser asked.

  “All of it,” Mason said.

  Fraser’s wife interposed quickly, “May I ask why, Mr. Mason?”

  Mason said, “Frankly, the operative your husband picked up was working for me. He made a report covering his activities and I wanted to check that report because some of it may be important.”

  There was instant relief on Mrs. Fraser’s face. “Oh,” she said, and then added, “I’m going to the kitchen. Who wants a refill?”

  She picked up a couple of empty glasses. The tension seemed to relax.

  “Well,” Fraser said with a glibness indicating he had already told the story many times before, “this chap, whose name it turned out was Mundy, wanted me to shadow a taxicab. We played tag around for a while, and then the girl who was riding in the taxicab went out to a nice, quiet residence, got out of the cab, walked up to the porch, listened a minute, came back and paid the cab off and walked around to the back of the house.”

  “Why didn’t she go in?” Mason asked.

  “Some chap there ahead of her, someone she didn’t want to see, apparently.”

  “Any idea who he was?”

  Fraser shook his head. “He owned the car that was in the driveway, at least he drove off in it.”

  “You saw him come out?”