«She wouldn't have been riding with the strap over her arm,» Mason said. «Even if she'd picked it up at the time of the collision, when she was catapulted into cold ocean water she would at least have tried to swim. When you try to swim, you're using your arms; and when you're using your arms under water, a handbag strap isn't going to stay over your arm.»

«Well,» Della Street said, «we have a rather imposing list of questions.»

Mason paced the floor for a few minutes, said, «You know, Della, when you're trying to recall a name and can't do it, you sometimes think about something else and then the name pops into your mind. I think I'll try thinking about something else for a while and see what happens with these questions.»

«All right,» she said, «what else would you like to think about?»

«You,» he told her, grinning. «Let's drive out someplace where we can have a cocktail and a nice, quiet dinner.

«How about going to one of the mountain resorts where we can sit in a dining room looking out over the lights of the city and feel far removed from everyone and anything?»

«And I take it,» Della Street said, pushing back her secretarial chair and putting a plastic cover on the typewriter, «we take this list of questions and answers with us?»

«We take those with us,» Mason said, «but we try not to think about them until after dinner.»

Della Street, seated across the table from Perry Mason, regarded him solicitously.

The lawyer had eaten his broiled steak mechanically, as though hardly knowing what he was putting in his mouth. Now, he was sipping after-dinner black coffee, his eyes fixed on the dancing couples who glided over the floor. His gaze was not following any particular couple but his eyes were focused on the sea of lights visible in the valley below through one of the big windows.

Della Street's hand crept across the table, rested reassuringly on the lawyer's hand. Her fingers tightened.

«You're worried, aren't you?»

His eyes swiftly flashed to hers, blinked as he got her in focus, and his sudden smile was warm. «Just thinking, that's all, Della.»

«Worried?» she asked.

«All right, worried.»

«About your client, or about yourself?»

«Both.»

«You can't let it get you down,» she said, her hand still resting on his.

Mason said, «A lawyer isn't like a doctor. A doctor has scores of patients, some of them young and curable, some of them old and suffering from diseases that are incurable. It's the nature of life that individuals move in a stream from birth to death. A doctor can't get so wrapped up in his patients that he suffers for them.

«A lawyer is different. He has relatively fewer clients. Most of their troubles are curable, if a lawyer only knew exactly what to do. But whether they're curable or not, a lawyer can always better his client somewhere along the line if he can get the right combination.»

«How about yourself?» she asked.

Mason grinned and said, «I led with my chin. I knew, of course, that someone had taken Virginia's car and that it had become involved in an accident. I felt that it was a trap and someone had made an attempt to frame her.

«If that had been the case, I was perfectly justified in doing what I did.

«As a matter of fact, I was justified anyway. I didn't know any crime had been committed. I did know that an attempt had been made to frame a crime on Virginia a short time earlier and I was trying to protect-Of course, if I'd known a murder had been committed and the car had been involved, then my actions would have been criminal. After all, it's a question of intent.»

The lawyer glanced back to the dance floor, his eyes followed a couple for a moment, then again became focused on the distance.

Abruptly he turned to Della Street and put his hand over hers. «Thanks for your loyalty, Della,» he said. «I'm not much on putting those things into words. I guess perhaps I take you too much for granted, like the air I breathe and the water I drink, but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate all you do.»

He stroked her fingers.

«Your hands,» he said, «are wonderfully reassuring. You have competent hands, feminine hands but, nevertheless, strong hands.»

She laughed self-consciously. «Years of typing have strengthened the fingers.»

«Years of loyalty have strengthened the meaning.»

She gave his hand a quick squeeze; then, aware that they were attracting attention, abruptly withdrew her hand.

Mason started to look at the distant sea of light again then, suddenly, his eyes widened.

«An idea?» she asked.

«Good heavens,» Mason said. He was silent for several moments, then said, «Thanks for the inspiration, Della.»

She raised inquiring eyebrows.

«Did I suggest something?» she asked.

«Yes, what you said about typing.»

«It's like piano playing,» she said. «It strengthens the hand and fingers.»

Mason said, «Our second question: Why did they want to frame a crime on Virginia Baxter. The answer I gave you is wrong.»

«I don't get it,» she said. «It's the most logical answer in the world. It seems that would be the only reason they could possibly have for framing a crime on her; then her subsequent testimony could be impeached if she had been convicted of-«

Mason interrupted with a shake of his head. «They didn't want to convict her,» he said. «They wanted to be sure that she would be out of the way.»

«What do you mean?»

«They wanted to get into her apartment, get her stationery and her typewriter.»

«But they knew she was on a plane and-«

«They probably didn't know it in time,» Mason interrupted. «She'd only been to San Francisco and had been away overnight. They had to be absolutely certain that they would have access to the typewriter and Bannock's stationery and be absolutely certain that Virginia wouldn't be home until they had done what they intended to do.»

«And what did they intend to do?» Della asked.

Mason, his face flushed with animation as his mind speeded over the situation, said, «Good Lord, Della, I should have seen it all a long time ago. Did you notice anything peculiar about that will?»

«You mean the way in which she left the property?»

«No. The way in which the will was drawn,» Mason said. «Notice that the residuary clause was on the first page… How many wills have you typed, Della?»

«Heaven knows,» she said, laughing. «With all my experience in a law office, I've typed plenty.»

«Exactly,» Mason said. «And in every one of them, the will has been drafted so that the specific bequests are mentioned and then, at the close of the will, the testator says 'all of the rest, residue and remainder of my estate, of whatsoever nature and wheresoever situated, I give, devise and bequeath to…'»

«That's right,» she said.

Mason said, «They had a will. The last page of it is authentic. Probably the second page is authentic; the first page is a forgery, typed on Bannock's typewriter and on his stationery, but typed within the last few days.

«There's a substitute page in that will-and it had to be done on the same typewriter that was used at Bannock's office and whoever forged it had to have an opportunity to use that typewriter.»

«But who forged it?» Della Street asked.

«On a document of that sort,» Mason said, «the person or persons who made the forgery are most apt to be the persons who benefited by the forgery.»

«All four of the surviving relatives are beneficiaries,» she said.

«And the doctor, the nurse and the chauffeur,» Mason supplemented.

The lawyer was thoughtfully silent for a moment, then said, «There was one thing about the first case we had for Virginia Baxter that puzzled me.»

«What was that?»