The lawyer got out and stood stretching and yawning, looking around at the scenery, soaking up the sunlight, before helping Della from the car.

The two of them walked toward the office of the auto court, then paused and looked back toward the car. Mason caught the eye of the man who was sauntering down the street.

The man winked at Mason, put a cigarette in his mouth, fumbled through his pockets and said, "Pardon me, could you let me have a match?"

"I can do better than that," Mason said. "I have a Zippo lighter."

The lawyer snapped the lighter into flame, held it toward the man with the cigarette.

"In Unit nineteen," the detective said. "He hasn't been out, unless he sneaked out while I was telephoning a report to Los Angeles.

"That's his car over there, the Chevvy with the license number, OAC seven, seven, seven."

"Okay," Mason said, "we're going in and talk with him. Keep an eye on things. I may want you as a witness… How are you feeling? Pretty well bushed?"

"Staying awake is the hardest part of a job like this, Mr. Mason. I was up all night and sitting here in the car where it's warm, I kept wanting to take forty winks. If I had, I'd be apt to wake up and find the bird had flown the coop."

Mason said, "You can either check out within the next thirty minutes, or we'll have a relief for you. Paul Drake got in touch with a relief operative in San Diego this morning and he's on his way down."

"That'Il help," the detective said. "I'm not complaining, I'm just trying to stay awake and sometimes that's just about the hardest job a man can have."

"Okay," Mason told him, "we're going in."

The lawyer nodded to Della Street.

A long driveway led to the office; then down to a parking place by the cabins. Palm trees and banana trees shaded the units of the court.

Mason, ignoring the sign which said Office, guided Della to the unit occupied by Kerry Dutton.

The lawyer turned to his secretary and said, "When I knock on the door, say, 'Towels.'"

The lawyer knocked.

A moment later, Della Street said, "Towels."

"Come in," a man's voice called, and a hand on the inside turned the knob on the door.

Mason pushed his way into the room, followed by Della Street.

Kerry Dutton stared at them in speechless amazement.

Mason said, "When I'm representing a person, I like to do a good job, and in order to do a good job I have to have the real facts. I thought perhaps you could tell me a little more about your problem."

Dutton's eyes went from one to the other.

Mason moved over to a chair; held it for Della, then seated himself in the other chair, leaving the bed for Dutton.

Dutton's legs took him over to the bed and seemed to give way as he settled down on the counterpane.

"Well?" Mason asked.

Dutton shook his head.

"What's the trouble?" Mason asked.

"It isn't what you think," Dutton said.

"How much of what you told me was untrue?"

"What I told you was generally true," Dutton said. "It was the things I didn't tell you that-oh, what's the use?"

"There isn't any," Mason assured him. "That is, no use in trying to hold out on your lawyer. Sooner or later the facts will come to light, and if your lawyer doesn't know what they're going to be in advance, he's pretty apt to be caught at a disadvantage."

Dutton simply shook his head.

"Now then," Mason went on, "no matter how legal your actions may have been in the first place, you weakened your position by resorting to flight. In California, flight is considered evidence of guilt, and a prosecutor is permitted to introduce that evidence in a criminal trial."

Dutton started to say something.

There was a knock on the door.

Dutton looked at Mason, then at Della Street, apprehension on his face.

"Expecting visitors?" Mason asked.

Dutton got up from the bed, started for the door, stopped.

The knock was repeated, this time in a more peremptory manner.

"Better see who it is," Mason said.

Dutton opened the door.

Two men came in, one in the uniform of a police officer; one in plain clothes.

The man in plain clothes sized up the occupants of the room, bowed, and said, "The sefiorita, I hope, will excuse me. I am the Jefe of Policia. May I ask which one of you gentlemen is Kerry Dutton from Los Angeles?"

"And the reason for the request?" Mason asked.

The chief of police regarded him with appraising eyes. "I do not think," he said pointedly, "that I have the honor of your acquaintance, sir."

"I am Perry Mason, an attorney at law," Mason said, "and this is my secretary, Miss Della Street."

The chief bowed deferentially. "It is such a pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir, and I am so sorry that I have to interfere with what was perhaps a professional conference-no?"

"That is right," Mason said. "I am conferring with my client, and my secretary was preparing to take some notes. If you could spare us perhaps a half an hour, I am quite certain that we will be at your service at that time."

The eyes softened into a smile. "That is what you would call a good try, but unfortunately, Senor Mason, the business that I have with Mr. Dutton is of the urgency."

Me turned to Dutton. "Senor Dutton, it is with great regret that it is necessary for me to inform you that you are in custody of the policia."

"And the charge?" Mason asked.

"A warrant of first-degree murder which we will honor here to the extent of declaring that Senor Dutton is an undesirable alien. As such, we will escort him to the border and ask him to leave Mexico immediately."

"Murder!" Mason exclaimed. "Who was killed?"

"That information will, I trust, be forthcoming when Senor Dutton reaches the border. It is my unpleasant duty to see he is promptly escorted to the border."

"And at the border?" Mason asked.

The officer smiled. "At the border," he said, "I feel quite certain that police from your country will be waiting. What would you do if you were a police officer in the United States, and you knew that a man whom you wished to arrest for murder was to be deported as an undesirable alien?"

"That procedure seems a little high-handed to me," Mason said.

"Doubtless, it does," the officer announced, "but we do things in our country the way we wish to do them in our country, just as you are permitted to do things in your country the way you wish to do them in your country. That is, we do not interfere with you and we do not care to have you interfere with us.

"I am going to ask you to withdraw, if you will please be so good."

Mason said, "I am an attorney at law. My client is accused of a crime and I demand the right to represent him and consult with him."

The chief smiled. "You are an attorney in the United States?"

"Yes."

"And in Mexico?"

Mason hesitated.

"In Mexico," the chief of police went on, "attorneys in good standing are referred to as licenciados. That means they have a license granted by the Mexican government to practice law. You perhaps have such a license, Senor Mason?"

Mason grinned. "All right, it's your country, your customs and your prisoner."

"Thank you," the chief said, "and there is no reason why we should detain you further, Senor Mason."

"But this man is charged with murder," Mason asked, "and his attorney can't talk with him?"

The chief shrugged his shoulders. "You are licensed in your country. You can talk with your client there at any time. Here he is charged only with being an undesirable alien. We do not wish undesirable aliens in our country any more than you do."

"What's undesirable about him?" Mason asked.

The chief smiled and said, "He is a fugitive from justice in the United States. This makes him very undesirable as a Mexican visitor."