Perry Mason, entering his office, grinned at Della Street and said, "What's in the mail, Della, anything startling?"

She indicated the pile of letters on Mason's desk. "Tile usual, people who want."

"Want what?"

"People who want you to make talks; write letters of endorsement, donate some intimate article for a celebrity auction."

"What else is new?" Mason asked.

Della Street rolled her eyes in an exaggerated pantomime of passionate interest.

"If," she said, "you want any efficiency whatever out of Gertie, your romantic receptionist, you had better get Kerry Dutton out of the office."

"And who is Kerry Dutton?" Mason asked.

"He is a youngish gentleman whose clothes are quietly elegant. He has a cameo-like profile, brown, wavy hair, steel-gray eyes, a very nice mouth; probably a thirty-six chest and a thirty waist. He is driving Gertie half crazy. She can't take her eyes off him."

"What does he want?" Mason asked.

"That," she said, "is the mystery. The man's card says that he is an investment counselor. He wants to see you about a matter that is very personal and exceedingly urgent."

Mason said, "I don't want to make any investments. I don't-"

"A professional matter," she interrupted.

Mason said, "My specialty is murder cases and trial work. What the devil would I want with an investment counselor?"

"I intimated as much," Della Street said.

"He wouldn't tell you what it was all about?"

"No, only that it was a highly personal matter involving something which must be handled in complete confidence and with the greatest of tact."

Mason said, "I'll take a look at him, at any rate that will get him away from Gertie's romantic gaze.

"How old is he, Della?"

"I would say thirty-one or thirty-two."

"And," Mason said, "I suppose his shoes are polished, his nails well manicured, his tie faultless, his appearance impeccable."

"Isn't all that supposed to go with an investment counselor?" Della Street asked.

Mason suddenly became thoughtful. "Hang it," he said, "I may have been doing the guy an injustice. Show him in, Della, and we'll find Out what he Wants."

Della Street nodded, left the office, and a few moments later returned, leading Kerry Dutton into the office.

"Mr. Dutton, Mr. Mason," she said.

Mason met the unflinching gray eyes, gave the man a brief appraisal from head to foot, then got up to shake hands. "How are you, Mr. Dutton?" he said.

"This is a great honor," Dutton said. "I am sorry I had to come without an appointment, Mr. Mason, but the matter is one of extreme urgency."

"Tell me generally what it's about," Mason invited. "I take it you're consulting me professionally?"

"Yes, indeed."

"My work," Mason said, "is largely in other fields. I doubt that I can help you. You're probably wasting time for both of us."

"You defend criminals, don't you?" Dutton asked.

"Yes."

"That's what I want you for."

"Who's the criminal?" Mason asked.

Dutton touched his breast with his left forefinger.

Mason studied his visitor with eyes that were steady and penetrating.

"You're been arrested and are out on bail?" he asked.

Dutton shook his head. "I haven't been arrested. That's why I came to you. I would like to keep from being arrested."

"You have perhaps embezzled money?"

"Yes."

"From whom?"

"From the account of one Desere Ellis."

"How much have you embezzled?"

"Looking at it one way it's a quarter of a million dollars."

Mason shook his head. "Every man," he said, "is entitled to his day in court. Every man is entitled to a lawyer to represent him, but a lawyer is not a partner in crime. From the facts as you tell them, you not only cannot escape arrest but, if I were to represent you, I would pick up that telephone and call the police."

"Wait a minute. You don't know the facts."

"I know enough of them from your own admissions."

"May I tell the story my way?"

Mason looked at his wrist watch. "I'll give you two minutes," he said, "but I'm busy. Your case doesn't appeal to me and your type doesn't appeal to me."

Dutton flushed.

Mason gave him no invitation to sit down, and Dutton remained standing.

"Templeton Ellis, the father of Desere Ellis, was one of my clients," he said. "He died four years ago. At the time of her father's death, Desere was twenty-three and was mixed up with a lot of people of whom her father didn't approve.

"He left a will containing a spendthrift trust. I was the trustee. Desere was to have the income as I saw fit to give it to her for her needs. She could have as much of the principal as I felt was advisable. I was given sole discretion in handling the funds; the right to invest and reinvest. I was to serve without bond."

"I see," Mason said. "He left you with absolute power."

"Yes. He did that to protect his daughter from herself."

"And what did he do," Mason asked pointedly, "to protect his daughter from you?"

"Nothing," Dutton said.

Mason's silence was eloquent.

"Now then," Dutton went on, "the amount of money that he left was around one hundred thousand dollars. In the four years since his death, I have given his daughter approximately a hundred and ten thousand dollars."

Mason frowned. "I thought you said you had embezzled a quarter of a million."

"In a way, I have."

"I don't understand."

"Desere's father wanted me to keep intact the securities he had left, but I had the power to buy and sell.

"All right. I bought and I sold.

"One of her father's favorite stocks was a dog, the Steer Ridge Oil and Refining Company. I sold that stock without letting anyone know I had done so. I sold some of the other no-goods in the portfolio, stocks the father had held onto more for sentimental reasons than for sound business reasons." Dutton said. "I divided the money I received into three approximately equal amounts. One third I invested in blue-chip securities; the other I invested in securities which I felt had a strong opportunity for gain; and the remaining third, I used in real estate speculation in communities where I felt there would be development. I turned these properties over at a profit, put them in my own name, pyramided profits, and have netted a quarter of a million dollars."

"What about taxes?" Mason asked.

"I had the profit-making properties in my own name. I paid the capital gains taxes from the profits."

"What about annual accountings?"

"I have never made one, and the beneficiary has never asked for one."

"Hasn't she wanted to know what was happening to her money?"

"She thinks she knows. She thinks she has just about exhausted all the trust funds. I have given her more than two thousand dollars a month for all the period the trust has been in effect."

"Has she saved any of that?" Mason asked.

"Saved any? Heavens, no! She's spent that and probably has a few IOUs out. She is a pushover for all sorts of worthy and unworthy causes."

Mason caught Della Street 's eye. "I see," he said.

Dutton watched him anxiously. "I hope you do," he said.

Mason studied his visitor for a moment, then said, "You have been guilty of all sorts of legal violations. You have mingled trust funds with your own; you have embezzled property; you have defrauded your client and betrayed your trust."

"Exactly," Dutton said. "I felt, however, that it was the thing to do."

"And what do you want me to do about all this?" Mason asked.

Dutton said, "Within three months, the trust will terminate. I have to make an accounting at that time and turn over all of the trust monies to Desere."