"I can't tell you much about him," Drake said, "except I can give you the license number of his automobile. I looked it up and have the owner's name."

Tragg's face lit up. "What was the license number?" he asked.

Drake pulled out his notebook and gave Tragg the number and the name of Rodger Palmer.

Tragg dashed to the telephone, exploded into action, telephoned orders to trace the license application, to wire in a descriptive classification of the thumbprints, and to check identities.

When he had finished, he returned to where Drake and Perry Mason were standing.

"Just why were you shadowing Kerry Dutton?" Tragg asked.

Drake started to say something, caught Mason's eye, hesitated; then said, "Because Perry Mason told me to."

Tragg flushed. "Let's not try any run-arounds," he said.

"That isn't a run-around," Mason said. "It's a straight-forward answer. That's all Paul Drake knows about it."

"All right, then I'll ask you. Why did you tell Paul Drake to shadow Dutton?"

"That," Mason said, "is something I'm not at liberty to disclose."

Tragg said, "You'll disclose everything you know about the murder, or you'll find yourself in hot water up to your necktie."

"I'll disclose everything I know about the murder," Mason said.

"Well, what you know about Dutton fits in with what we know about the murder."

"I don't think it does," Mason said. "As a matter of fact, I was having Paul Drake shadow Dutton because I was worried about my own responsibility in the matter."

"So I gathered," Tragg said. "You don't ordinarily have a detective agency shadow your own clients."

"Sometimes I do."

"Now then," Tragg said, "here's the important question, and I want an answer to it. Did any of this shadowing take Kerry Dutton to the vicinity of the Barclay Country Club?"

There was a period of silence. Then Mason said cautiously, "I believe I should answer that question. I can state that it did."

"The hell it did!" Tragg said, his face lighting up. "At what time?"

"What time, Paul?" Mason asked.

"Right around ten-ten to ten-twenty," Drake said.

"Now then," Mason volunteered, "in order to keep you from feeling you're having to draw information out of us a bit at a time, I'm going to tell you that before Dutton went out to the country club he had a conversa tion with someone and apparently arranged to meet that person out at the country club."

"How do you know?"

"He went into a telephone booth and called someone. One of Drake's men was shadowing him. He put a wire recorder on the outside of the telephone booth and walked away. It's a very sensitive recorder, compact but highly efficient. After Dutton drove away, Drake's man came back and picked up the recorder, ran it back, found out what the conversation was about and went out to the Barclay Country Club."

"He didn't follow Dutton out?"

"No, Dutton went through red lights and generally drove like crazy. So, after trying to follow him, Drake's man went back and picked up the recorder, ran it back to the starting point, listened to the conversation, and was able to make out that an appointment had been made at the Barclay Country Club."

"And he drove out there right away?"

"Yes. He went right out there."

"And Dutton's car was out there?"

"That's right. Dutton's car and two or three other cars."

"Was one of them this car that you gave me the license on?" Lt. Tragg asked Drake.

"I don't know as yet, but we will know," Drake said.

The telephone rang-a sharp strident sound in that room of eternal silence.

Tragg strode over to the instrument, picked it up, said, "Yes… speaking."

The officer listened for several seconds; then a slow grin spread over his face. "That does it," he said. "Okay."

Tragg hung up and said, "All right, we've got our corpse identified. His name is Rodger Palmer all right. He was an employee of Templeton Ellis until Ellis died; then he went to work for the Steer Ridge Oil and Refining Company.

"Now then, do any of those activities tie in with what you fellows know?"

Mason chose his words carefully. "Templeton Ellis was the father of Desere Ellis. Kerry Dutton is the trustee of money which was payable to her under her father's will. Some of the stocks, I believe, which were included in the estate at one time were shares of the Steer Ridge Oil and Refining Company."

Tragg turned to Drake. "What's the name of your detective, the one with the wire recorder?"

"Tom Fulton."

"Where is he now?"

"On his way up from Ensenada."

"Where's he going to report when he reaches the city here?"

"To my office."

"I want to see him as soon as he reports," Tragg said, "and I want to be very, very certain that nothing happens to that recording. That is evidence in the case and I want it."

"You'll have it," Mason promised.

"Getting facts out of you two," Tragg said, "is like pulling hen's teeth with a pair of fire tongs, but thank you very much for your co-operation."

"We gave you what we had," Mason said.

"You gave me what you had to give me," Tragg amended, "but I appreciate it just the same. It's bad business when we can't get a corpse identified."

"But even without the identification, you felt you had a case against Kerry Dutton?"

Tragg grinned and said, "We brought him in for questioning."

Mason said, "They told me down in Mexico that he was under arrest; that there was a warrant out for him, charging first-degree murder."

"Tut, tut," Tragg said.

"You didn't extradite him?"

"We couldn't have extradited him without preferring a charge."

"But he is under arrest?"

"He's been brought in for questioning."

"He's my client," Mason said. "I want to see him."

"If he's charged with anything, you can talk with him. As soon as he's booked, he can call an attorney."

"Where is he now?" Mason asked.

Tragg said, "I'll put it on the line with you, Perry. As far as I know he's between here and there."

"There meaning?"

"Tecate," Lt. Tragg said, grinning. "It was a lot easier for us to pick him up there than it would have been in Tijuana, so when the Mexicans deported him as an undesirable alien, they put him back into the United States at Tecate."

Mason turned to Paul Drake. "Okay, Paul," he said, "let's go to the office. Della should be there by now with your car."

"Better hang around your office," Tragg said. "If Kerry Dutton wants to call you, we'll give him one telephone call."

"One should be enough," Mason said.

Perry Mason and Paul Drake found Paul's car in the office parking lot. "Your man Fulton, Paul?" Mason asked.

"What about him?"

"You know what about him. We've got to get in touch with him."

"He's on his way home from Ensenada. Police will be laying for him and want to grab that wire recording."

"I know they will," Mason said. "We've got to get to him before the police do."

Drake shook his head. "What do you mean?" Mason asked. "You mean it can't be done?"

"I mean it's not going to be done," Drake said. "I have a license to consider. We can't play hide-and-seek with the police in a murder case. You're a lawyer; you know that."

Mason spoke slowly, giving emphasis to each word as he enunciated it. "Paul, I'm an attorney. I have a license, the same as you do. I'm not going to suppress any evidence. You're not going to suppress any evidence. We're not going to tamper with evidence, but I'm representing a client. The police are going to try to convict that client of first-degree murder. They're moving pretty fast in this thing. That means there's some evidence that we know nothing about. I want to find out about it. I want to know what it is. Your operative is going to be a witness for the prosecution. We can't help that, but we sure have a right to get a report from him at the earliest possible moment. You're paying him, and I'm paying you. Now then, what kind of a car is he driving? What route is he going to take?"