"Perry Mason," he told her. "Can you get dressed by the time it takes a taxicab to get to your place?"

"I can get something on that will act me past the censors," she said. "It won't be stylish."

"Never mind the style. Throw on the first thing you come to. Wrap a coat around the outside of it. I'm sending a cab. Go to the office. A woman will be there. Her name is…"

He called over his shoulder, "What's that girl's name?"

Dick Basset said, "Hazel Fenwick."

"Hazel Fenwick," Perry Mason said. "Take her in the office. See that she doesn't get hysterical. Be friendly. Pour a little whiskey into her, but don't get her drunk. Talk with her and take down what she says in shorthand. Keep her out of sight until I get there."

"When will you get there?" she asked.

"Pretty soon," he told her. "I've got to let a couple of cops ask me some questions."

"What's happened?" she asked.

"You can find out from the girl," he told her.

"Okay, Chief," she said. "You ordering the cab?"

"Yes."

"I'll be downstairs by the time it gets here. Tell the cab driver to pick up the girl in a fur coat who's standing on the sidewalk. I hope no one looks underneath that fur coat."

"They won't," he told her and hung up the receiver.

He called the office of a taxicab company, instructed them to rush a cab to Della Street 's house, and then turned to Mrs. Basset.

"Who else knows about this?" he asked.

"About what?"

Mason made a sweeping indication with his arm.

"No one. You discovered it yourself. You were the first one to go near the room…"

"No, no," he said, "not about your husband—about the young woman getting a sock on the head. Are there any servants who know about it?"

"Mr. Colemar," she said.

"Is he," Mason asked, "the baldheaded chap with the spectacles who works in your husband's office?"

"Yes."

"How does he happen to know about it?"

"He'd been out to a movie. He saw someone running from the house and then he saw me running around here in the room. He came in to see what was the matter."

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him to go to his room and stay there."

"Did he see the young woman on the couch?"

"No, I didn't let him see her. He was curious. He kept trying to get over close to the couch to see her. He's all right, but he's a gossip and he'd do anything to injure me. My husband and I didn't get along. He sided with my husband."

"Where did he go?" Mason asked.

"To his room, I guess."

The lawyer jerked his head toward Dick Basset.

"Know where it is?"

"Yes."

"Okay, show me."

Dick Basset looked inquiringly at his mother. Mason grabbed him by the shoulder and said, "For God's sake, snap out of it. The police will be here any minute. Get started! Can we get through this way?"

"No," Dick Basset said, "this is a separate part of the house. You'll have to go in the, other entrance."

They stepped through the door to the porch, entered the residence part of the house, climbed a flight of stairs, walked down a corridor, and Dick Basset, who had been leading the way, stepped back and to one side as he indicated a closed door from beneath which came a ribbon of light. The lawyer gripped Dick Basset's arm just above the elbow.

"Okay," he said. "Now you go back to your mother, kick out that redheaded servant and get down to brass tacks."

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. Get your stories together in every detail and account for that gun."

"What gun?"

"The one you had, of course," Mason said.

"Will they ask me about that?"

"They may. It has been fired. What did you shoot it at?"

Dick Basset moistened his lips with his tongue and said, "Not today it hadn't. That was yesterday."

"What did you shoot at?"

"A tin can."

"How many shots?"

"One."

"Why only one?"

"Because I hit the can and I quit while my reputation was good."

"Why were you shooting at a can?"

"I was showing off."

"To whom?"

"My wife. She was riding with me."

"You carry a gun, then, all the time?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because Hartley Basset has been such a brute to my mother. I knew a showdown was coming sooner or later."

"Got a permit for that gun?"

"No."

"No one else saw you shoot at the can except your wife?"

"No, that's all. She's the only witness."

Mason jerked his thumb back down the corridor toward the door and said, "Get together with your mother. Make your stories airtight."

He raised his hand to knock at the panels of the door, hesitated, lowered his hand to the knob, twisted it and jerked the door open. The same narrowshouldered, baldheaded man whom he had seen in Basset's office earlier in the evening stared at him through huge tortoiseshell glasses, his face showing exasperation. It changed to amazement as he recognized Perry Mason.

"You saw me tonight in Basset's office," Mason said. "I'm Perry Mason, the lawyer. Your name's Colemar, isn't it?"

The expression of irritation returned to Colemar's face. "Don't lawyers knock?" he asked.

Mason started to say something, then checked himself as his eyes, drifting to the dresser, caught sight of the piece of paper on which he had penciled the telephone number of his residence and which he had given to Bertha McLane.

"What's that?" he asked.

"Is it any of your business?"

"Yes."

"It's something I picked up in the hallway," Colemar said.

"When?"

"Just now."

"What part of the hallway?"

"The head of the stairs, right by Mrs. Basset's room, if you must know. But I don't know what right you've got to…"

"Forget it," Mason said, stepping forward, picking up the paper and folding it and putting it in his pocket. "You're going to be a witness. I'm a lawyer. I might be able to help you."

"Help me?"

"Yes."

Colemar's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"Good heavens," he said, "what am I a witness to, and how can you help me?"

"You saw a woman who had been injured lying on the couch down in Mr. Basset's reception room just a few minutes ago."

"I couldn't tell whether it was a woman or a man. Someone was lying on the couch. I thought it was a man, but Edith Brite was standing in front of the couch and Mrs. Basset was very anxious that I shouldn't go near the couch. She kept pushing me away. If you're at all interested, you might care to know that I'm going to report the matter to Mr. Basset in the morning. Mrs. Basset has no right in those offices and I have. She had no right to push me away."

"Overpowered you, did she?" Mason asked sarcastically.

"You don't know that Brite woman," Colemar retorted. "She's strong as an ox and she does everything Mrs. Basset tells her to."

"You'd been out?" Mason asked.

"Yes, sir, to a picture show."

"When you came back you saw someone running down the street?"

Colemar straightened with such frosty dignity as can be mustered by a man whose shoulders have been bent over a desk during years of clerical work.

"I did," he said ominously.

Something in his tone caused Mason's eyes to narrow.

"Look here, Colemar," he said, "did you recognize that man?"

"That," Colemar said, "is something which is none of your business. That is something which I shall report to Mr. Basset. I don't wish to seem disrespectful, but I don't know your connection with Mrs. Basset and I don't know what right you have to invade my room without knocking and ask me questions. You said I was going to be a witness. What am I going to be a witness to?"

Mason heard the sound of a siren as a car rounded the corner with screaming tires. He didn't wait to answer Colemar's question but jerked the door open, sprinted down the hallway, took the stairs two at a time, jerked open the door to the porch, and crossed to the other door just as a touring car slid in close to the curb.