"Hold the line a moment please," Mason said, and turned to Arthur Crinston.

"Miss Celane is on the line and thinks I should see her uncle this evening. She says she'll make an appointment."

"That's fine," boomed Crinston, "a splendid idea. I don't know of anything that could be better."

Mason said into the receiver: "Very well, Miss Celane, I'll meet you at my office at eight o'clock, and you can drive me out."

He hung up the telephone and stared thoughtfully at Crinston.

"There's something strange about this affair," he commented. "There seems to be a frantic haste on the part of everyone concerned."

Arthur Crinston laughed.

"You don't know Fran Celane very well," he said.

"She seems to be a very calm and very poised young lady," Mason remarked tonelessly.

Crinston took the cigar out of his mouth to laugh explosively.

"You should be enough of a judge of human nature, Mason," he boomed, "to know that you can't tell a damned thing about these modern young ladies from the way they appear. Don't ever let her get her temper up. When she gets mad she's a hellcat."

Mason regarded his visitor unsmilingly.

"Indeed," he said, in that same toneless voice.

"I didn't mean any offense," Crinston said, "but you certainly have missed it on Fran Celane. That girl is just plain dynamite.

"Now, I'll tell you what I'll do. If you're going to see Norton tonight, I'll run out a little bit in advance of your appointment, and try and soften him up a trifle. He's a peculiar chap. You'll understand when you see him. He's all coldblooded business efficiency."

"Will Miss Celane have any difficulty making an appointment for this evening?" asked Mason, watching Crinston shrewdly.

"Oh no," said Crinston, "he's one of these fellows who likes to work nights. He has a regular office fixed up in the house, and he likes to do a lot of night work. He makes most of his appointments for afternoons and evenings."

He pulled himself to his feet, strode across to the attorney, and extended his hand.

"Mighty glad I met you," he said, "and I'll see if I can soften up Edward Norton a bit before you talk to him."

"Have you any suggestions," asked Mason, "as to the line of argument I should use with him?"

"None at all," said Crinston, "except that I would advise you not to make any particular plan of approach. You'll find that Edward Norton is very much of a law unto himself."

When Crinston had left, Mason paced back and forth for a few moments, then opened the door of his office, and stepped out into the outer room.

His private office was in the corner of a suite of offices which included two reception rooms, a law library, a stenographic room, and two private offices.

Perry Mason employed a typist, Della Street, combination stenographer and secretary, and Frank Everly, a young lawyer who was getting practical experience in Mason's office.

Perry Mason strode across the office to the law library, opened the door and nodded to Frank Everly.

"Frank," he said, "I want you to do something for me, and do it quickly."

Everly pushed back a calfskin book which he had been reading, and got to his feet.

"Yes sir," he said.

"I think," said Perry Mason, "that a certain Robert Gleason has married a certain Frances Celane. I don't know just when the marriage took place, but probably it was several weeks ago. They've tried to cover it up. You've got to chase through the licenses to find what you want. Ring up some clerk in the license bureau, arrange to have him wait over after hours. They'll be closing in a few minutes, and you've got to work quickly."

"Yes, Chief," said Everly, "when I get the information where do I reach you?"

"When you get the information," said Mason, "write out whatever you find, seal it in an envelope, mark it personal and confidential, and put it under the blotter on the desk in my private office."

"Okay, Chief," said Everly, and started for the telephone.

Mason walked back to his private office, hooked his thumbs through the armholes of his vest, and started slowly and rhythmically pacing the floor.

Fran Celane drove the big Packard roadster with a deft touch on the wheel, and skilled foot on the throttle.

When she had sat in the huge leather chair at the lawyer's office, she had seemed small, frail and helpless. Now that suggestion of helplessness had gone from her. The hint of the feline power in her nature was more pronounced. Her handling of the car was swiftly savage as she sent it hurtling through openings in traffic, coming to abrupt stops when the traffic lights were against her, leaping into almost instant speed as she got clear signals. Her face still held a pouting, sulky expression.

Seated at her side, Perry Mason studied her with eyes that were intent in watchful speculation.

The girl topped a hill, turned to a winding driveway in a scenic subdivision, and nodded her head in a gesture of indication.

"There's the place," she said, "down at the foot of the hill."

Mason looked down the winding road to the big house which showed as a blaze of light.

"Regular mansion," he said.

"Yes," she answered curtly.

"Many servants?" he asked.

"Quite a few; gardener, housekeeper, butler, chauffeur, and secretary."

"Would you call the secretary a servant?" asked Mason, watching her profile with mild amusement.

"I would," she snapped.

"Evidently you don't like him," Mason remarked.

She paid no attention to the comment, but swung the car around a curve at sufficient speed to bring a scream of protest from the tires.

"Incidentally," went on Perry Mason, "if you're feeling particularly savage about something, and want to take it out on the car, I'd prefer you let me get out. I have to move around in order to make my living. I couldn't gesture very emphatically to a jury with an arm in a sling."

She said: "That's all right. You might have both legs gone," and screamed the car into the next turn with an increased speed.

Mason reached over and shut off the ignition.

"We won't have any more of that," he said.

She slammed a foot on the brake, turned to him with eyes that were blazing with wrath.

"Don't you dare to touch this car when I'm driving it!" she stormed. "Do you hear me, don't you dare!"

Perry Mason's tone was almost casual.

"Don't try to show off to me," he said, "by risking both of our lives. It isn't at all necessary."

"I'm not showing off to you," she blazed. "I don't give a damn what you think. I don't want to be late for our appointment. If we're as much as five minutes late, we're all through. He won't see us at all."

"I can do you a great deal more good," said Mason, "if I get there in one piece."

She had braked the car from high speed to a dead stop. Now she took her hands from the wheel as she turned to the lawyer with blazing eyes.

"I'm driving this car," she said, "and I don't want you to interfere with me!"

Suddenly she smiled. "Forgive me," she said impulsively, "I was wrong and I'm acting like a spoiled child. I guess I was in a hurry, that's all."

Mason remarked complacently: "That's all right, but you have got a temper, haven't you?"

"Of course I have," she said. "I thought you knew that."

"I didn't," he said, "until Crinston told me."

"Did he tell you?"

"Yes."

"He shouldn't have."

"And my secretary," he went on, calmly, "told me you were sulky. I thought at first she might have been right. But she wasn't. You're not sulky, you're just in a panic, that's all. You look sulky when you're frightened."

She whirled to face him with half parted lips and startled eyes. Then, wordlessly, she turned back to the road and started the car. Her lips were pressed into a thin line of determined silence.