"No," said Drake significantly, "you didn't say that."
There was a moment or two of silence, then Perry Mason said, slowly and impressively: "I want you to find out everything that that housekeeper knows. I don't care what it's about."
Paul Drake made a gesture with his shoulders.
"Don't get me wrong," he said. "I'm not curious, and I don't want you to misunderstand me. But just suppose that some of the information this woman spills wouldn't look so well for your client?"
"I want to get the information," said Perry Mason.
"Sure, I know," said Drake. "But suppose that we get it through a couple of operatives that I'll put on the case. And suppose the information should be something you would want to keep under cover? I try to get dependable people to work for me, but things have a habit of leaking out in time."
"Yes," said Perry Mason slowly, "in time."
Once more there was an interval of silence.
"Well?" asked the detective.
"I think," said Mason, "that this is another case where I'm going to be working against time. I don't think there's any information that your operatives will get that the police won't get sooner or later. I want to have it sooner, and want the police to get it later."
Drake nodded.
"All right," he said, "I get the sketch. I just wanted to be certain there wasn't any misunderstanding between us. Misunderstandings in my business make for dissatisfied clients, and I want to keep my clients satisfied."
"All right," Mason told him. "We understand each other on that.
"Now, there's one other thing. A fellow by the name of Don Graves, secretary to Edward Norton, was a witness to the murder itself. He's told the police one story, and me another. He may be dangerous. I want to find out confidentially whether he really did see a woman in the room at the time the murder blow was struck, or whether he's going to say he did, which amounts to the same thing.
"Now, do you suppose that you could get someone to contact him without creating too much suspicion, and find out just what he's really going to testify to? If there's any way of doing it, I'd like to get a written statement out of him."
"Any money for expenses?" asked the detective.
"Plenty of it," said the lawyer.
"Well, suppose I get somebody to go to him and tell him he's representing a tabloid newspaper, or a true detective story magazine, and wants the account of an eyewitness, get him to submit the manuscript signed and sworn to, and offer to pay him by the word?"
"Okay," said Mason, "provided there aren't too many words."
The detective grinned.
"You mean, provided the words are of the right kind."
"Well," said the lawyer, "I guess that amounts to about the same thing."
Drake got up and flipped his cigarette into a brass cuspidor.
"Okay," he said, "I'll get started."
"You'll let me know progress?"
"I'll let you know progress."
"Concentrate heavy on that housekeeper. She's a tartar and you'll have to watch her."
"Mail reports?" asked the detective.
"No. Make them orally or not at all."
There was a knock at the door, and Della Street glanced significantly at Perry Mason.
"That's okay," he said, "tell me what it is, Della."
"Mr. Crinston is out here. He says his business is important and he can't wait."
"Very well," said Mason, "I'll see him."
He flashed a meaning glance to Drake and said to the detective in a tone of voice sufficiently loud to carry into the outer office, "That's quite all right, Mr. Drake. I'm busy on an important matter right now, and I can't give it my immediate attention, but you've got ten days within which to make an appearance, and I'll draw up a demurrer and file it in court. That'll carry the thing along and keep you from being in default until we can go into greater details."
He shook hands with Drake in the doorway, and beckoned to Mr. Crinston.
"Come in," he said.
Crinston pushed his way into the inner office with that aggressive suggestion of booming authority which characterized him. He gave the impression of sweeping away all obstacles from his path by the very blast of his forceful personality.
"Hello, Mason," he said, shaking hands. "Glad to see you. Guess you've been pretty busy, haven't you?"
Mason watched him with speculative eyes.
"Yes," he said. "I've been busy."
Crinston sat down in the big chair, and filled it completely. He took a cigar from his pocket, clipped off the end, scraped a match on the sole of his shoe.
"Well," he said, "it's been a mess all around."
"Yes," the lawyer told him, "it's still a mess."
"Oh, I think it's going to come out all right," said Crinston, "but why didn't you follow my instructions?"
"What instructions?"
"About keeping Frances out of it."
"I have kept her out of it the best I could. The poor girl is hysterical. She came to the office and had a complete breakdown. I called a physician, and he prescribed complete rest. He's taken her to a sanitarium somewhere, and won't tell even me where it is, for fear that I might call her."
Crinston puffed out the first whiffs of blue smoke from the cigar, and stared at the lawyer thoughtfully.
"Not bad, that," he said.
"Her nerves were really on the ragged edge," said Mason with dignity.
"Yes, yes, I know," Crinston said impatiently. "No need to waste your time and my time with that stuff. I understand. What I dropped in to find out was whether you know a man by the name of George Blackman, a attorney here?"
"Yes, I know him," said Mason.
"He got in touch with me on the telephone and told me I should see you right away on a matter of great importance."
Mason kept his voice flat and expressionless in an even monotone.
"Blackman came to see me earlier in the day," he said, "and suggested that it might make matters better for the family all around if Devoe should plead guilty to manslaughter."
"Why, damn it!" stormed Crinston. "He's a murderer! That was a dastardly coldblooded murder!"
"That attitude on the part of the family was the thing that Blackman wanted to speak to me about," said Mason, still speaking in the same even cautious monotone. "He said that if the family were going to adopt a vindictive attitude toward his client, it would be necessary for him to adopt a vindictive attitude toward the family and try to show that the case was a frameup against his client."
"How could he do that?" asked Crinston.
"Oh, there are various ways," said Mason, in his steady monotone. "It's an axiom of criminal law that a man should try everyone except the defendant. You know, sometimes you can try the prosecuting attorney. Very frequently you can try the prosecuting witness. You can start digging around, crossexamining on extraneous matters, trying to show some sort of a motive for murder. Then, if you can get a motive before the jury, you start showing opportunity, and if you can get motive and opportunity, you suddenly switch the accusation and claim there's just as much ground to suspect the prosecuting witness as there is the defendant."
"You mean to switch the guilt to Fran Celane?" asked Crinston.
"I didn't mention any names," said Mason. "I simply told you how criminal lawyers play the game."
"Look here," said Crinston. "Did you find out exactly what he wanted?"
"He said that he wanted a fee," said Mason, "and the assurance that a request would go to the District Attorney to look at the matter as leniently as possible and accept a plea of manslaughter."
Crinston studied the lawyer thoughtfully.
"You say that's what he said he wanted?" he commented.