She smiled faintly.

"Bob Gleason wouldn't appreciate your talking to him like that," she said.

"He didn't," Mason told her.

"I'll see him," she said, "and tell him."

"Gleason," went on the attorney, "said that you were being blackmailed."

For just a fraction of a second there was a look of startled terror in the eyes of the young woman. Then she regarded the attorney with a placid and impassive face.

"Rob is so impulsive," she said, for the second time.

Mason waited for her to tell him more if she wished to take advantage of the opportunity, but she sat calmly placid, waiting.

Mason turned to the papers on his desk.

"I have copies of the trust provisions of the will, and the decree of distribution," he said. "I also find that there have been annual accounts submitted by the trustee. I'm afraid that I can't give you very much hope, Miss Celane, as far as the decree of distribution itself is concerned. The administration of the trust seems to be largely discretionary.

"You see, even if I should be able to get the provision in regard to marriage set aside, as being in violation of public policy, we would still be confronted with the fact that the distribution of the trust estate remains largely in the discretion of the trustee. I am afraid that your uncle would consider our attack upon the will in the light of an interference with the wishes of your father, and with his authority as trustee. Even if we should win our point in court, he would have it in his discretion to nullify our victory."

She took the blow without flinching, and said, after a moment: "That's what I was afraid of."

"There is another peculiar provision in the trust," said Mason, "to the effect that the discretion vested in the trustee is a personal discretion, due to the confidence which your father had in his judgment. The will and decree of distribution provide that in the event the trust should terminate because of the death, inability or refusal on the part of the trustee to continue to act, that then and in such event, the entire trust fund is to be vested in you unconditionally."

"Yes," she said, "I know that."

"There is therefore," said Mason, "some possibility that your uncle might be placed in a position where he could no longer act to advantage. In other words, we might make some legal attack upon his capacity to act as trustee—perhaps show a commingling of trust funds with his own accounts, or something of that sort. It's rather sketchy, and I'm mentioning it to you simply because it seems to be the only possible plan of campaign open to us."

She smiled at him and said: "You don't know my uncle."

"Just what do you mean by that?" asked Mason.

"I mean," she said, "that my uncle is meticulously careful, and is so obstinate that no power on earth can swerve him from anything he wants to do, or decides that he doesn't want to do. He is entirely selfsufficient."

For the first time during the interview, there was some feeling in her voice—a certain bitterness which colored her tone, though her eyes remained calm.

"Have you any suggestions?" asked Mason, watching her closely.

"Yes," she said, "I think that something might be done through Arthur Crinston."

"And who," asked Perry Mason, "is Arthur Crinston?"

"Arthur Crinston," she said, "is my uncle's partner. They are engaged in business together, buying, selling and mortgaging real estate, and buying and selling stocks and bonds. Arthur Crinston has more influence with uncle than any other living person."

"And how does he feel toward you?" asked Mason.

"Very kindly," she said, and smiled as she said it.

"Would there be any chance," asked Mason, slowly, "that Crinston could persuade your uncle to give up the administration of the trust and let you have the entire trust fund?"

"There's always a chance of anything," she said, abruptly, getting to her feet. "I'm going to have Mr. Crinston come in and see you."

"Sometime tomorrow?" asked Mason.

"Sometime this afternoon," she said.

He regarded his watch. "It's twenty minutes past four. I close the office at five. Of course I could wait a few minutes."

"He'll be here at quarter of five," she said.

"Do you want to telephone from here?" he asked.

"No, it won't be necessary."

"What," asked Perry Mason, snapping the question at her without warning, as she stood in the doorway of the office, "did Rob Gleason mean when he said that you were being blackmailed?"

She regarded him with wide, tranquil eyes.

"I'm sure," she said, "I haven't the faintest idea," — and closed the door.

Arthur Crinston was fortyfive, broadshouldered, and affable. He strode across Mason's private office, with his hand outstretched, and said in a booming voice of ready cordiality:

"Mighty glad to meet you, Mr. Mason. Fran told me that I must come in right away, so I dropped everything to run up."

Perry Mason shook hands and surveyed Crinston with his steady, appraising stare.

"Sit down," he said.

Arthur Crinston dropped into the same black leather chair which Frances Celane had occupied, fished a cigar from his pocket, scraped a match across the sole of his shoe, lit the cigar and grinned through the smoke at the lawyer.

"Wants to get married pretty badly, doesn't she?" he said.

"You know about that?" asked Perry Mason.

"Sure," said Crinston heartily, "I know everything about Fran. In fact, she's nearer being my niece than Edward's niece. That is, we get along together and understand each other."

"Do you think," asked Mason, "that anything could be done by a talk with Edward Norton?"

"Talk by whom?" asked Crinston.

"By you," Mason suggested.

Crinston shook his head.

"By Miss Celane then?" ventured Mason.

Again Crinston shook his head.

"No," he said, "there's only one person who could talk with Norton and do any good."

"And who is that?" asked Mason.

"You," said Crinston emphatically.

The lawyer's face did not change expression, only his eyes betrayed surprise. "From all I can hear of Mr. Norton's character," he said, "I would think my interference would be exactly the thing that he would resent."

"No it wouldn't," said Crinston. "Edward Norton is a peculiar chap. He doesn't want any sentiment to influence his business judgment. He's perfectly coldblooded. He'd be far more apt to listen to you making him a purely business and legal proposition, than to either Fran or myself, who would have to talk with him on the around of sentiment."

"You'll pardon me," said Perry Mason, "but that hardly seems logical."

"It doesn't make any difference how it seems," said Crinston, grinning, "and I don't know as it makes any difference whether it's logical or not. It's a fact. It's just the character of the man. You'd have to see Norton and talk with him in order to appreciate it."

Della Street opened the door from the outer office. "The young lady who was here this afternoon is on the telephone and would like to speak with you," she said.

Mason nodded and picked up the French telephone on his desk.

"Hello," he said.

He heard Miss Celane's voice speaking rapidly.

"Did Mr. Crinston come there?"

"Yes. He's here now."

"What does he say?"

"He suggests that I should interview your uncle.

"Well, will you please do so then?"

"You think I should?"

"If Arthur Crinston thinks so, yes."

"Very well. Sometime tomorrow?"

"No. Please do it tonight."

Mason frowned. "On a matter of this importance," he said, "I'd prefer to take some time to figure out the best method of approach."

"Oh that's all right," said the girl. "Arthur Crinston will tell you just what to say. I'll make an appointment with my uncle for eightthirty this evening. I'll pick you up at your office and drive you out there. I'll meet you at eight o'clock. Will that be all right?"