"And so?" Mason asked.

"So," she said, "Dutton is waiting for Hedley to go home. As soon as Hedley leaves, Dutton will go up to Desere Ellis' apartment and she'll know intuitively that he was sitting outside waiting for Hedley to go home. That puts two strikes against Dutton as far as any woman is concerned. A woman wants a man who will chart his own course and assert himself; not one who will skulk in the shadows and wait until the coast is clear before he makes a move."

"Of course," Mason pointed out, "it may be that Dutton isn't afraid to face Hedley for a showdown, but he's planning to tell Desere the whole business and he doesn't want Hedley to know about Desere's financial affairs."

"In that case Fred Hedley's mother will step into the picture and things will move fast after that," Della Street said. "That is, if she has an idea there's more money in the trust than appears to be the case at the present time."

Mason raised his wineglass. "I give you the Mexican toast," he said, "salud y pesetas y amor sin suegras."

"What is that?" Della Street asked.

"That," Mason said, "is a toast that Mexican gentlemen give to each other in the privacy of their clubs."

"What does it mean?"

"It means health, wealth and love without mothersin-law."

Della Street burst out laughing. "The man who invented that must have known Mrs. Hedley," she said.

"Or someone pretty much like her," Mason agreed.

They finished a leisurely dinner, and Mason was just signing the check when the waiter came hurrying up with the telephone. He plugged it in and said, "An emergency, Mr. Mason."

Mason picked up the phone, said, "Yes. What is it?"

Drake's voice said, "You'd better get up here, Perry. Quick!"

"Where is here?"

"That address I gave you, the Doberman Apartments. If you want to protect your client, you'd better get here. There's hell to pay."

"We'll be right there."

"I'll be waiting," Drake told him. "I'll be at the front of the apartment house. It's on Locks Street."

"Coming right away," Mason said.

Mason grabbed Della Street 's arm, "Emergency," he told her.

"What's happened?"

"Paul didn't say. Just said we'd better get up there, quick, if we wanted to protect our client. Come on, let's go.

Mason signaled the headwaiter, who in turn signaled the doorman, and the lawyer's car was in front waiting by the time Mason and Della Street reached the outer door of the restaurant.

Mason, an expert driver, jockeyed for position at the traffic signals, but they encountered some heavy traffic and it was some twenty minutes before they reached the address.

Drake was waiting for them on the curb.

"Well," he said, "you're too late."

"What happened?" Mason asked.

Drake said, "The fellow with the beard came out, got in his car and started off. Just as you had predicted, Dutton didn't follow him. Me jumped out of his car and hurried into the apartment house.

"Now, I don't know whether Hedley knew that Dutton was waiting and wanted to trap him, or whether Hedley had forgotten something, but Dutton hadn't been in the house five minutes when Hedley came driving back, double-parked his car, jumped out and went into the apartment house like a guy carrying the mail."

"And what happened?"

"Plenty," Drake said. "A woman ran out on a balcony on the third floor and started screaming for the police. I guess someone telephoned… Anyhow, a police radio patrol car came driving up, and about that time Dutton came out of the apartment. He was hurrying, but he took one look and saw that police car and his gait slowed to a saunter and he came idling across the street while the cops jumped out of the radio car and went dashing into the apartment house."

"Then what?"

"Dutton drove off and-"

"Hang it, Paul," Mason said, "I wanted Dutton followed."

"Me's being followed. I had a relief here. I thought I'd make a report myself because the relief wouldn't have any opportunity. They were going-fast."

"What happened?"

"Well, I talked with one of the cops when they came out. They had Hedley with them, but Hedley was pretty much the worse for wear. I think he's going to have a sore nose for a couple of days and there's blood all over his shirt. He's also got one eye swelling shut, and the way he talked, his lips were pretty well puffed up.

"As nearly as I can get the story, Hedley started the brawl. Me caught Dutton up in this girl's apartment and there were words, and then Hedley took a swing and from that point on the party got rough."

"And Hedley got the worst of it?" Mason asked.

"Well, he certainly didn't get the best of it. Dutton didn't have a mark on him, but Hedley looked as if he'd been put through a washing machine."

"What did the cops do?"

"They turned him loose after they got him outside, but I heard enough of the conversation to learn that they figured he was the one who started it."

"What was Hedley saying?"

"He was going to swear out a warrant for Dutton's arrest for assault and battery and anything else. The officers didn't seem too much impressed, however, and told Hedley he'd better pick up the tab for damages on the apartment of a Miss Ellis in 321, or he might find himself facing trouble."

Mason turned to Della Street, who was smiling broadly.

"Well, Della," Mason said, "I guess things turned out the way you wanted them to, and on that note, since the crisis seems to have passed, since Dutton is being tailed, we'll call it a day."

"And," Della Street said, demurely, "thank you for a lovely dinner."

"Dinner!" Drake said. "That damn candy bar has been repeating on me for the last hour."

Mason said, "I suggest the cafe where you reached us, Paul. It has wonderful extra-cut rare roast beef, baked potatoes, onion rings and salad. And, of course, since you're still on duty, the cost of the dinner would be an acceptable expense in the eyes of the Bureau of Internal Revenue."

Drake's eyes were anguished. "A couple of hours ago," he said, "I could have eaten a live horse. Now, with the taste of that synthetic chocolate in my mouth, I don't want anything except a glass of warm milk and later on a little bicarbonate of soda."

The next morning Mason stopped in at Paul Drake's office on the way down the corridor to his own office.

The receptionist said, "Mr. Drake's down in your office, Mr. Mason, waiting to see you on an important matter. He telephoned Miss Street and she said you were expected in about this time so he went down to wait.''

"I'll go on down," Mason said. "But tell me first, where's our quarry?"

The girl at the telephone desk smiled and said, "I'm not supposed to know, but Mr. Drake received a telephone call from Ensenada, Mexico, just before he telephoned Miss Street."

"That," Mason said, "will make a nice vacation."

The lawyer was smiling as he walked down the corridor and opened the door of his private office.

"Good morning, Della," he said. "Hi, Paul, how are you? I've been thinking we're working too hard. How would you folks like to break away from routine for a day and drive down to Ensenada, Mexico?

"That's a wonderful Mexican city, wonderful food, sweet lobsters, the caquama, or big turtle from the Gulf, enchiladas, chile con came, refried frijoles, ice cold Mexican beer-"

"Hush," Della Street said, "you're breaking Paul's heart. He had stomach trouble last night."

"How come?" Mason asked.

Drake shook his head. "I knew when I was getting into this business what the occupational hazards were. Like a surgeon who lives under tension and usually develops heart trouble by the time he's fifty-five, a detective lives on hamburgers and bicarbonate of soda… How the devil did you know about Ensenada, Perry?"