“Griffin!” she shrieked.
“Okay,” said Mason. “Coming out.”
He climbed into his clothes, slipped a revolver in his hip pocket, pulled on a raincoat, and a cap which came down low over his forehead, switched out the lights, and left the apartment. His car was in the garage, and he nursed it into action; moved out into the rain before the motor was fully warmed.
The car spat and backfired as he turned the corner. Mason kept the choke out and stepped on the gas. Rain whipped against the windshield. Little geysers of water mushroomed up from the pavement where the big drops splashed down were turned to brilliance by the illumination of his headlights.
Mason ignored the possibility of any other traffic on the road as he swept past the intersections with increasing speed. He turned to the right onGriswold Avenue, and ran for a mile and a half before he slowed down and commenced to look for lights.
He saw her standing in front of a drug store. She had on a coat and no hat, and was heedless of the rain, which had soaked her hair thoroughly. Her eyes were wide and scared.
Perry Mason swung into the curb and brought the car to a stop.
“I thought you’d never get here,” she said, as he opened the door for her.
She climbed in, and Perry saw that she wore an evening gown, satin shoes, and a man’s coat. She was soaking wet and water trickled down to the floorboards of the car.
“What’s the trouble?” Perry Mason asked.
She stared at him with her white, wet face, and said, “Drive out to the house, quick!”
“What’s the trouble?” he repeated.
“My husband’s been murdered,” she wailed.
Mason snapped on the dome light in the car.
“Don’t do that!” she said.
He looked at her face. “Tell me about it,” he said, calmly.
“Will you get this car started?”
“Not until I know the facts,” he replied, almost casually.
“We’ve got to get there before the police do.”
“Why have we?”
“Because we’ve got to.”
Mason shook his head. “No,” he said, “we’re not going to talk to the police until I know exactly what happened.”
“Oh,” she said, “it was terrible!”
“Who killed him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, what do you know?”
“Will you turn off that damned light?” she snapped.
“After you’ve finished telling me what happened,” he persisted.
“What do you want it on for?”
“The better to see you with, my dear,” he said, but there was no humor in his voice. His manner was grim.
She sighed wearily. “I don’t know what happened. I think it was somebody that he’d been blackmailing. I could hear their voices from the upper floor. They were very angry. I went to the stairs to listen.”
“Could you hear what was being said?”
“No,” she said, “just words and the tone. I could hear that they were cursing. Every once in a while there would be a word. My husband was using that cold, sarcastic tone that he gets when he’s fighting mad. The other man had his voice raised, but he wasn’t shouting. He was interrupting my husband every once in a while.”
“Then what happened?”
“Then I crept up the stairs because I wanted to hear what was being said.” She paused, catching her breath.
“All right,” pressed Mason, “go on. What happened then?”
“And then,” she said, “I heard the shot and the sound of a falling body.”
“Just the one shot?”
“Just the one shot, and the sound of the body falling. Oh, it was terrible! It jarred the house.”
“All right,” said Mason. “Go on from there. Then what did you do?”
“Then,” she said, “I turned and ran. I was afraid.”
“Where did you run?”
“To my room.”
“Did anybody see you?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Then what did you do?”
“I waited there a minute.”
“Did you hear anything?”
“Yes, I heard the man who had fired the shot run down the stairs and out of the house.”
“All right,” Mason said insistently, “then what happened?”
“Then,” she said, “I decided that I must go and see George and see what could be done for him. I went up to his study. He was in there. He’d been taking a bath, and had thrown a bathrobe around himself. He was lying there—dead.”
“Lying where?” pressed Mason, remorselessly.
“Oh, don’t make me be so specific,” she snapped. “I can’t tell you. It was some place near the bathroom. He’d just come out of his bath. He must have been standing in the bathroom door when this argument took place.”
“How do you know he was dead?”
“I could tell by looking at him. That is, I think he was dead. Oh, I’m not sure. Please come out and help me. If he isn’t dead, it’s all right. There won’t be any trouble. If he is, we’re all of us in a hell of a mess.”
“Why?”
“Because everything’s going to come out. Don’t you see? Frank Locke knows all about Harrison Burke, and he’ll naturally think that Harrison Burke killed him. That will make Burke mention my name, and then anything may happen. Suspicion may even shift to me.”
Mason said, “Oh, forget it. Locke knows about Burke all right. But Locke is nothing but a lightweight and a figurehead. As soon as he loses your husband as a prop, he won’t be able to stand up. Don’t think for a minute that Harrison Burke was the only man who had it in for your husband.”
“No,” she insisted, “but Harrison Burke had the motive, more so than any of the others. The others didn’t know who ran the paper. Harrison Burke knew. You told him.”
“So he told you that, eh?” said Mason.
“Yes, he told me that. What did you have to go to him for?”
“Because,” said Mason, grimly, “I wasn’t going to take him for a free ride. He was getting a lot of service, and I intended to make him pay for it. I wasn’t going to have you put up all the money.”
“Don’t you think,” she said, “that that was something for me to decide?”
“No.”
She bit her lip, started to say something, then changed her mind.
“All right,” he said. “Now listen and get this straight. If he’s dead there’s going to be a lot of investigation. You’ve got to keep your nerve. Have you any idea who it was that was in that house?”
“No,” she said, “not to be sure; just what I could gather from the tone of the man’s voice.”
“All right,” he told her. “That’s something. You said you couldn’t hear what was being said?”
“I couldn’t,” she said, slowly, “but I could hear the sound of their voices. I could recognize the tones. I heard my husband’s voice, and then this other man’s voice.”
“Had you ever heard that other voice before?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know who it was?”
“Yes.”
“Well, don’t be so damned mysterious,” he said. “Who was it? I’m your lawyer. You’ve got to tell me.”
She turned and faced him. “You know who it was,” she said.
“I know?”
“Yes.”
“Look here, one of us is crazy. How would I know who it was?”
“Because,” she said, slowly, “it was you!”
His eyes became cold, hard and steady.
“Me?”
“Yes, you! Oh, I didn’t want to tell! I wasn’t going to let you think I knew. I was going to protect your secret! But you wormed it out of me. But I won’t tell any one else, never, never, never! It’s just a secret that you and I share.”