"Oh," said the lawyer meaningly, "before his death."

The significance of the accented word suddenly dawned upon her.

"You don't think," she began…

There was a knock at the door of the room, and the housekeeper walked in. She stared at them.

"Did I hear you drop something?" she asked.

The girl indicated the coffee cup on the floor.

"You have," said Perry Mason meaningly, "rather remarkable ears."

She met his stare with her eyes snapping and defiant.

"I was given a good pair of ears," she said, "and I use them."

"Even to the extent of listening at doors?" said the lawyer.

Frances Celane spoke steadily.

"That will do, Mr. Mason," she said. "I think that I am perfectly capable of disciplining the servants when they need it."

The housekeeper stooped, picked up the coffee cup, set it back on the tray, turned her back to the attorney, and said to Frances Celane: "Shall I bring you another cup and saucer?"

"Yes," she said, "and a hot pot of coffee."

The housekeeper picked up the tray, and swept from the room.

Perry Mason's tone was rasping. "If I'm going to handle this case," he said, "I don't want you interfering. That woman was spying on us. She tried to blackmail me early this morning."

Frances Celane seemed hardly interested.

"Indeed?" she said, absently.

Perry Mason stood, staring down at her.

"Yes, indeed," he said, "and I'm still waiting for an explanation of why your trip made in the Buick sedan at such a high speed, didn't show on the speedometer."

Frances Celane jumped from the chair, and, totally ignoring the presence of the lawyer, started pulling garments from her slender body.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Going to get dressed and put some mileage on that Buick, you fool!" she blazed at him.

"And are you going to tell me anything about where you were last night at the time of the murder?"

She whipped off the last of her lounging garments and started dressing.

"Don't be a fool," she said.

"I can help you a lot more," said Mason, "if you let me know the facts."

She shook her head. "Get out," she said.

Perry Mason turned to the door with dignity.

"Very well," he said, and jerked the door open.

The housekeeper was on the other side of the door, regarding him with malevolent, glittering eyes, and a smile which held a trace of sardonic triumph. In one hand she held a coffee cup and saucer, and in the other hand a pot of coffee.

"Thank you, sir," she said, "for opening the door," and slipped into the room.

George Blackman tried to present an impressive appearance. He combed his hair well back from his high forehead, cultivated a deep, booming voice, and wore nose glasses from which dangled a wide, black ribbon. He might have been a congressman or a banker, but was, in fact, a criminal lawyer.

Only a slight uneasiness of the eyes belied the picture of stolid, intellectual respectability which he tried to present to the public.

He stared across the desk at Perry Mason. "I understand that you're the attorney for the family," he said.

Perry Mason's eyes were hard, and patient.

"I'm representing Miss Celane in the termination of her trust matter," he said, "and I'm representing Arthur Crinston, who is the surviving partner of the partnership. There's some talk about having me represent the executor under the will, but I can't very well represent both the surviving partner and the executor."

Blackman grinned, and there was a trace of envy in his grin.

"Pretty soft for you," he said, "with all of those fees coming in."

"Was that what you came to talk about?" asked Mason, coldly.

Blackman's expression changed.

"I came to tell you," he said, "that I'm representing Peter Devoe, the chauffeur, who is charged with the murder."

"Got a good case?" asked Mason casually.

The other man winced.

"You know all about the case," he said.

"To tell you the truth," said Mason, speaking with elaborate carelessness, "I don't. I've been so busy with other angles of the matter that I haven't had time to look into the murder case at all."

Blackman said, "Baloney!" explosively.

Mason looked dignified and resentful.

Blackman leaned forward and tapped the desk impressively.

"Look here, Mason," he said. "You're playing things pretty foxy. But I just want you to know that you're up against somebody who's going to play just as foxy."

"Meaning?" asked Perry Mason.

"I mean that you can't sit back and rake in all the money, and keep all your people out of it, while you railroad Devoe to the gallows."

"I'm not railroading anybody to the gallows."

Blackman squirmed under the cold glare of the man across the desk.

"Look here," he said, "I'm talking facts now. There's nobody here to hear us. It's just a conference between us two. You know the game as well as I do. You defend persons accused of crime whenever there's a good fee in it, and so do I. When you defend a person, you're representing him and nobody else on earth. You'd fight the whole world to protect the rights of your clients."

"Sure," said Mason, patiently, tonelessly, "that's the duty of an attorney."

"All right," Blackman said. "I just want you to know that I'm going to be faithful to my duties."

"Go on," said Mason. "You've said too much or not enough. I can't tell which yet."

"All right," Blackman told him. "I mean just this: You're keeping this Celane woman pretty much in the background. You've managed to do it rather adroitly. After all, the only case against Pete Devoe is one of circumstantial evidence, and it's pretty weak circumstantial evidence, at that. He was lying there in bed, drunk, and anybody could have planted that club in his room and the two thousand dollars in his clothes."

"You overlook," said Mason, "the testimony of Don Graves, who actually saw the murder being committed. You overlook the fact that, according to Crinston's testimony, Edward Norton was sending for his chauffeur as Crinston left the place."

"I overlook nothing," said Blackman impressively, his eyes boring belligerently into Mason's face. "And I don't overlook the fact that there was a woman mixed up in the thing somewhere."

"Yes?" asked Mason in a tone of polite but surprised interest.

"Yes," said Blackman, "and don't be so damned surprised at it. You know it, as well as I do."

"Know what?" asked Mason.

"Know that Don Graves saw a woman in that room at the time the murder was being committed."

"Don Graves doesn't say so in the statement that he made to the police, as I understand it," Mason remarked.

"The statement he made to the police hasn't got anything to do with it," said Blackman. "It's the statement he is going to make on the witness stand that counts."

Mason looked at the ceiling and said, impersonally: "In the event, however, that the statement he makes on the witness stand doesn't coincide with the first statement he made to the police, it might have a tendency to weaken his testimony, particularly as far as the woman was concerned."

"Yes, it might," said Blackman.

There was silence for a moment, then Blackman lowered his voice and said emphatically, "All right. You know where I stand now. You're controlling all the money in this case, and I'm representing the man who has been picked for the fall guy. I want the family to cooperate in this thing, and I want some money. Otherwise, I'm going to tear the lid off."

"What do you mean by cooperation?" asked Mason.

"I mean that I want the family to convey the impression to the police that they're not at all vindictive; that if Devoe did anything, he was drunk when he did it, and that if the District Attorney will take a plea of manslaughter they'll be just as well satisfied. And then I'm going to want some of the gravy."