"What happened to the mask?" Mason asked.

"She tore it off. It was a paper mask—black paper."

Mason, down on his hands and knees, pulled a sheet of carbon paper from the floor. Eye holes had been cut in it, one corner was torn off. The paper was ripped down the center.

"That's it," she said. She struggled to a sitting position, then got to her feet.

"I saw his face." She swayed. The redheaded woman stretched out a muscular arm just a second too late. The girl pitched forward, throwing her hands in front of her. The palms rested against the diamondshaped plate glass panel of the outer door. The redheaded woman shifted her grip, picked the younger woman up as though she had been a doll, and laid her back on the couch.

"Oh, my God," moaned the young woman.

Mason bent over her, solicitously. "All right?" he asked.

She smiled wanly. "I guess so. I got dizzy when I got up, but I'm all right now."

"This man had one eye?" Mason asked.

"Yes," she said, her voice growing stronger.

"No, no!" Sylvia Basset said, her voice almost a moan.

"Let her tell it," Dick Basset said savagely. "Everyone else keep out of it."

"Did he hit you more than once?" Mason asked.

"I think so. I don't remember."

"Do you know whether he went out this front door?"

"No."

"Did you hear him drive away?"

"I don't know, I tell you. He hit me and everything turned black."

"Let her alone, can't you?" Dick Basset said to Perry Mason. "She isn't a witness on the witness stand."

Perry Mason strode toward the door which led to the inner office. He reached his hand to the knob, then hesitated a moment, drew back his hand, and took a handkerchief from his pocket. He wrapped the handkerchief around his fingers before he turned the knob. The door swung slowly inward. The room was just as he had seen it the first time. A light in the ceiling gave a brilliant, but indirect, illumination.

Mason crossed to the door of the inner office. It, too, was closed. Once more he fitted a handkerchief in his hand and turned the knob. The room was dark.

"Anyone know where the light switch is here?" Mason asked.

"I do," Mrs. Basset said. She entered the room, and, a moment later, the lights clicked on.

Mrs. Basset gave a half scream of startled terror. Perry Mason, standing in the doorway, stiffened to immobility. Dick Basset exclaimed, "Good God! What's that?"

Hartley Basset lay face down on the floor. A blanket and a quilt, folded together, partially covered his head. His arms were outstretched. The right hand was tightly closed. A pool of red had seeped out from his head, soaked up by the blanket and quilt on the one side and the carpet on the other. A portable typewriter was on the desk in front of him, and a sheet of paper was in the machine, approximately half of it being covered by typewritten lines.

"Keep back, everyone," Perry Mason said. "Don't touch anything."

He stepped cautiously forward, keeping his hands behind his back. He bent over the corpse and read the paper which was in the typewriter.

"This," he said, "seems to be a suicide note. But it can't be suicide, because there's no gun here."

"Read it aloud," Dick Basset said in an excited voice. "Let's hear what's in the note. What reason does he give for committing suicide?"

Perry Mason read in a low monotone:

"He's got something in his hand," Dick Basset said. Perry Mason leaned down, hesitated a moment, then pried the fingers slightly apart.

A glass eye, clutched in the dead hand, stared redly at them, unwinking, evil.

Mrs. Basset gasped.

Perry Mason whirled to her.

"What does that eye mean to you?" he asked.

"Nnnnothing."

"Come on. Come clean. What does it mean to you?"

Dick Basset pressed forward. "Look here," he said, "you can't talk to my mother that way."

Mason waved him away with a gesture of his hand.

"Keep out of this," he said. "What does that eye mean to you?"

"Nothing," she said, more defiantly this time.

Mason turned toward the door.

"Well," he said, "I guess there's no further need for my services."

She clutched his sleeve in frenzy.

"Please," she said. "Please! You've got to see me through this."

"Are you going to tell me the truth?"

"Yes," she said, "but not now—not here."

Dick Basset moved toward the dead man.

"I want to see," he said, "what…"

Perry Mason took his shoulder, spun him around, and pushed him out through the door.

"Turn out the lights, Mrs. Basset," he said.

She switched out the lights. "Oh, I've dropped my handkerchief'" she said. "Does it make any difference?"

"You bet it makes a difference," Perry Mason said. "Get your handkerchief and get out."

She groped around for a few moments. Perry Mason stood impatiently in the doorway. She came toward him.

"I have it," she breathed, clinging to his arm. "You must protect me, and we've both got to protect Dick. Tell me…"

He broke away from her, jerked the door closed behind them, and crossed the other office to the entrance room.

The woman who had been on the couch was now standing. Her face was dead white. Her lips made an attempt at a smile. Mason faced her.

"Do you know what's in there?" he asked.

"Is it Mr. Basset?" she half whispered.

"Yes," Perry Mason said. "You saw the man who came out of the room clearly?"

"Yes."

"Did he see you? Would he know your face if he saw you again?"

"I don't think so. I was in the dark here in the room. The light was coming from that other office. It streamed on his face. I had my back turned to it. My face was in the shadow."

"He wore this mask?"

"Yes. That's it. It's carbon paper, isn't it?"

"You saw one eye socket that was vacant?"

"Yes, it was awful. The mask was black, you see, and looking through the mask that way with only one eye staring out, and the other a reddish socket! It…"

"Look, here," Perry Mason said, "the police are coming here. They're going to question you. Then they'll hold you as a material witness. You want to help Dick, don't you?"

"Yes, of course."

"All right. I want to go over this thing in detail before the police talk with you. Do you feel well enough to ride in a car?"

"Yes, I do now. I was groggy at first."

"Can you drive a car?"

"Yes."

He took a key from his pocket, tossed it to her and strode to the telephone.

"My coupe's out in front," he called over his shoulder. "Get in it and get started. My office is in the Central Utilities Building. I'll have my secretary there by the time you get there."

He didn't wait for a reply, but dialed a number on the telephone. He heard the ringing of the bell and, a moment later, Della Street 's voice saying, in accents thick with sleep, "Yes? What is it, please?"