"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.

"Yes."

"You act as though you didn't think it was what he really wanted."

"I don't."

"Why?"

"Because I don't think the District Attorney would consider a plea of manslaughter. I think he'd prosecute either for first degree murder, or not at all."

"Then what did Blackman want?" Crinston demanded.

"I think he wanted to find out what our reactions would be to a proposition of that kind. If we'd been willing to go ahead, he'd have taken as much money as he could get, and then blackmailed us for as much more as possible, and then doublecrossed us at the time of trial."

Crinston studied his cigar thoughtfully.

"He didn't impress me as being that kind of a man," he said slowly. "Not from the impression he made over the telephone, anyway."

"If you'd seen him, he'd have made a better impression," Mason told him.

Crinston put the cigar back in his mouth and chewed on it thoughtfully.

"Look here," he said suddenly, placing his parted fingers to his mouth, and jerking out the chewed cigar, "I don't like the way you're handling this case."

"No?" asked Perry Mason coldly.

"No!" said Crinston explosively.

"And what don't you like about it?" asked the lawyer.

"I think you're letting a golden opportunity slip through your fingers. I think there's a good chance to get this thing all cleaned up by playing ball with Blackman."

Mason's answer was curt and without explanation.

"I don't," he said.

"Well I do, and I'm giving you orders right now to get in touch with Blackman and give him what he wants. Anything within reason."

"He doesn't want things within reason," Mason said. "His type never does. He'd find out what we consider reasonable, and then raise his sights."

"All right. Let him raise them. There's a hell of a lot of money involved in this thing, and we can't afford to bungle it."

"Are you afraid," asked Perry Mason, "that Frances Celane can't stand too much pressure?"

"That's a great question to ask me!" Crinston almost shouted. "When you've had to let her have a nervous breakdown in order to keep her out of the hands of the police."

"I didn't say that I did it to keep her from the police," Mason reminded him.

"Well, I said it," said Crinston.

"Yes," Mason told him, "I heard you, and furthermore, you don't need to shout."

Crinston got to his feet, flung the half smoked cigar into the cuspidor, and glowered at Mason.

"All right," he said, "you're finished."

"What do you mean I'm finished?"

"Just what I say. You're not representing me anymore, and you're not going to represent Frances Celane anymore."

"I think," Mason told him slowly, "that Miss Celane will be the best judge of that. I'll wait until she tells me that I'm not to represent her anymore."

"She'll tell you fast enough, as soon as I get in touch with her."

"Where," asked Mason, smiling thoughtfully, "are you going to get in touch with her?"

"Don't worry," Crinston told him, "I'll get in touch with her all right, and then you're going to be finished. You're a bungler. You've been smart enough on some things, but you've let the case get into a hell of a mess. I'm going to get some attorney, and…"

Abruptly, Perry Mason got to his feet. He strode purposefully around the desk. Crinston watched him come with eyes that remained steady, but seemed to hold just a trace of panic. Mason planted himself firmly in front of the other man, his eyes cold, hard, and ominous.

"All right," he said, "let's not have any misunderstanding about this. From now on I'm not representing you, is that right?"

"You bet that's right!"

"And don't think," said Mason, "that your business is so damned important. Miss Celane would have let me handle the estate if it hadn't been for the fact that I couldn't place myself in the position of acting as attorney both for the estate, and for the surviving partner."

"Well," Crinston told him, "you don't need to worry about that anymore. On the other hand, don't think you're going to represent the estate. You aren't going to represent anything or anybody. I'm going to get another attorney to represent me, and he's going to represent Frances Celane, as well."

Perry Mason said, slowly, ominously: "Just to show you what a fool you are, and how you've walked into a trap, the man that you're going to get to represent you is one that was suggested to you by Blackman."

"What if he is?" Crinston demanded.

Mason's smile was frosty.