"He's in just about as deep as he can get right now," Drake said, "or he will be when my operative testifies.

"You remember my operative was shadowing Dutton. He put a wire recorder up against the telephone booth and heard one side of the conversation in which Dutton arranged to meet someone out at the Barclay Country Club on the seventh tee.

"That's where they found this murdered man." Mason said thoughtfully, "Your operative is in Ensenada now?"

"No, he's started home," Drake said. "By the time he gets here he'll know what his duty is. He'll report to the police, and the police will confiscate that wire recording."

"Who has the wire recording?"

"He does. It's in the trunk of his car.

"You've got a responsibility here, too, Perry. You can't suppress evidence. You can represent your client regardless of what the evidence against him may be, but you can't conceal evidence of a murder."

"All right," Mason said, "let's face it before they smoke us out. Let's call Lieutenant Tragg. Then Pinky can take us in to the Los Angeles Airport, and Tragg can meet us."

Drake said, "We'll have cars scattered all over the country. Your car in Ensenada; mine here at Tn-City."

"We can rent cars if we need them," Mason said, "but we're fighting against time. Della will drive your car to Los Angeles."

"What does your client tell you?" Drake asked.

"Nothing," Mason said.

Drake said, "The only defense that's going to be open to you in the long run is trying to prove self-defense. Your client went out there to meet this guy. Whoever it was, the man was blackmailing Dutton. The party got rough. Your client had to shoot to kill in order to get away. The police found five thousand dollars in fiftydollar bills in your client's possession when he was arrested at the border. They think this was money for a blackmail payoff."

"That's what they think," Mason said. "How do they know it wasn't getaway money?"

"They believe it was a blackmail payoff. They know things we don't know."

"I suppose so," Mason said. "There's so much about this that I don't know that it bothers me. The best defense is the truth, but in this case I don't know what the truth is, and I'm not at all certain my client is going to tell me.''

"Why not?"

"There's just a chance he's protecting someone, or trying to."

"That would mean a woman, wouldn't it?" Drake asked.

Mason said, "Come on, let's get hold of a telephone."

Mason went to a telephone, called the Los Angeles Police Department, got Lt. Tragg at Homicide on the line.

"I see you're investigating a death at the Barclay Country Club," Mason said.

"You saw that in the papers?"

"I heard it was in the papers."

"Yes. Yes," Tragg said, "and I suppose you have some information in connection with it that you've been sitting on for several hours, and now that you've decided it's too dangerous to hold out any longer, you've decided to be co-operative."

"You do me an injustice," Mason said, grinning.

"I know. I always do," Tragg said dryly.

"As a matter of fact," Mason told him, "I have just this minute arrived by plane from Mexico. I have been talking with Paul Drake, and Paul Drake tells me that from the picture of the murdered man that was published in the paper he has an idea he may have seen the individual in question sometime last night."

"Where? When?" Lt. Tragg asked, snapping the questions like the crack of a whip.

"Not so fast," Mason said. "We don't know as yet that it's the same person."

"Well, you'd better find out, and find out pretty damn quick," Lt. Tragg said. "If Paul Drake has any information that's going to help us clear up a murder case, he'd better get it in our hands fast."

"That's what we want to do," Mason said. "We're even going to charter a plane and fly in to the airport. We'll meet you there in about half an hour. We'll go to the morgue with you. If it turns out it's the same man, Drake will be only too glad to give you all the information you want."

Tragg said, "We're bringing a suspect in for questioning on that murder. Do you suppose there's any chance-of course, I know it's only a one-in-a-million shot- but is there any chance, Mason, that this man is a client of yours?"

"The victim?"

"No, the one we're bringing in."

"Well, that would depend," Mason said, "on the identity of the man you're bringing in."

"His name," Lt. Tragg said, "is Kerry Dutton. He's a young man who's had quite a spectacular success as an investment counselor."

"What connects him with the murder?" Mason asked.

Tragg said, "I had my question in first. Is he, by any chance, a client of yours?"

"He's a client of mine," Mason said.

"That," Tragg said, "explains a lot. Where are you now?"

Mason told him.

"You think you can get here within twenty-five or thirty minutes?"

"Yes. We have a twin-motored plane all ready to go."

"Get in it, and get started," Tragg said. "I'll meet you personally with a radio car at the airport, and I want one-hundred-per-cent co-operation- Now, get that, Mason, I want one-hundred-per-cent co-operation. We're not playing tiddlywinks. This is murder."

"We'll meet you there," Mason said.

Mason hung up the phone. "How bad is it?" Drake asked.

"Just as bad as Tragg can make it if things don't work out so well."

"And if they do work out well?"

"It's just about as bad as I could make it for my client," Mason said.

"Well, there's one advantage about giving the officers the information they need to clinch a case against someone," Drake pointed out, "they don't catch you unprepared."

They gave Pinky only time enough to finish a cup of coffee; then were flown in to Los Angeles where Lt. Tragg met them.

"All right," Tragg said, "start talking."

"We have to go to the morgue before we talk," Mason said. "We don't know that this is the same person."

"You tell me what the highlights are on the way," Tragg said, "and then if it turns out to be the same person, we won't lose any time; and if it isn't the same person, I'll keep the facts in confidence."

"I'm sorry," Mason said, "we can't do that. It's a matter of a professional obligation to a client."

Tragg said, "Under those circumstances, you boys can prepare yourselves for a ride. We're going places very, very fast. You'd better strap yourselves in with those seat belts, because they might come in handy. And hang onto your hats."

The trip to the morgue was made in record time. Lt. Tragg and the officer who was with him led the way into the big, silent room where the wall was lined with steel drawers, looking for all the world like some huge sinister filing cabinet.

The officer knew the number without looking it up, took hold of the handle and pulled out the sliding cabinet.

Drake stood looking at the corpse for nearly ten seconds.

"All right," Tragg said at last, "is it or isn't it?"

Drake looked at Mason and shrugged his shoulders, then turned to Tragg. "It is," he said.

"All right," Tragg said, "let's get started. We've lost enough time already-perhaps too much."

Drake said, "I had the job of shadowing Kerry Dutton yesterday."

"Go on."

"Someone else was on the job."

"Who?"

"This man," Drake said, indicating the still form on the slab.

"What do you know about him?"

"Nothing. I thought he was a process Server."

"He was tailing Dutton?"

"He was waiting for Dutton. That is, he was casing Dutton's apartment and I had an idea he was a process server."

"What gave you that idea?"

"Just something about the way he acted."

"All right," Lt. Tragg said, "I don't want to pull it out of you a piece at a time, minutes are precious. We're trying to build up a case and we don't want to get the wrong man but we sure do want to get the right one."