"That'll stall 'em along until I can get a line on…"

The door opened. Sergeant Holcomb of the Homicide Squad jerked his head to Perry Mason.

"You," he said.

Mason strolled nonchalantly into the room.

"What do you know about this?"

"Nothing very much."

"You never do," Holcomb said wearily. "Suppose you tell us how much 'not very much' is?"

"I came out here," Perry Mason said, "to take up a business matter with Hartley Basset."

"What was the business matter?"

"It related to a matter of accounting between Basset and a former employee."

"Who was the former employee?"

"My client."

"What's his name?"

"I'll have to get his permission before I can tell you that."

"What did you do when you got here?"

"I found a scene of some excitement."

"What was the matter?"

"You'll have to ask the others; I don't know. It seems there'd been some friction between Hartley Basset and his son, Dick Basset, and there was a young lady who had been hurt."

"What had hurt her?"

"Someone had struck her, she said."

"Oh, hot" Holcomb said. "Who struck her?"

"She didn't know."

"How did it happen she didn't know?"

"She'd never seen the man before."

"What became of her?"

"I took the liberty of sending her to a place where she could be quiet until morning."

"You did what?"

Perry Mason lit a cigarette and said easily, "Sent her some place where she could be quiet."

"You had a crust, doing that."

"Why?"

"Did you know there was a murder case here?"

Perry Mason raised his eyes and said in surprise, "Good heavens, no!"

"Well, you know it now."

"Why," Mason said, "who was murdered?"

Sergeant Holcomb laughed mockingly.

"For a guy that's been around as much as you have, you have to get hit over the head with a club in order to recognize a murder when you see one."

"Hartley Basset shot himself," Perry Mason said.

"Oh, yeah?" Sergeant Holcomb countered. "You're telling me, I suppose."

"Didn't he?" Mason inquired.

"He did not."

"But the note that was in his typewriter said he did."

"Anyone can write a note on a typewriter."

"He put a blanket and a quilt around the gun, so as to muffle the sound of the shot."

"Why?" Holcomb asked.

"So as not to disturb the household. I suppose."

"And why didn't he want to disturb the household?"

"Consideration, I suppose."

"Baloney! A man who's committing suicide knows he's going to be discovered. He doesn't care. A man who's committing murder is the one who cares about having an opportunity to get away before he's discovered. And a man who's killing himself doesn't use three guns to do the job with."

"Three guns!" Mason exclaimed.

"Three guns," Sergeant Holcomb said. "One on the floor, in the open, one concealed under the quilt and blanket, one that Basset was carrying in a spring holster under his armpit. And that gun hadn't been disturbed. If Basset had wanted to kill himself, why wouldn't he have used his gun, instead of going to the trouble of getting another gun to do the job with?"

"Which gun did the killing?" Mason asked.

Sergeant Holcomb smiled patronizingly.

"Naughty, naughty," he said. "I'm asking the questions."

Mason shrugged his shoulders.

"Where did you send this jane that got rapped over the head?"

"Where she could be quiet."

"What place?"

"If I told you the place," Mason said. "it would cease to be a place where she could be quiet."

"Listen," Holcomb said, his voice almost choking with rage, "this is a murder case. Does that mean anything to you?"

"Yes," Perry Mason said; "I think it does."

"You bet it does," Holcomb told him. "We want to question that girl. It may mean discovering the identity of the murderer. Now, you kick through, brother, and tell me where she is, and make it snappy. You've got just one chance."

"She's at my office," Mason told him.

"Why did you send her there?"

"Because I thought she needed an opportunity to collect herself. At the time, I didn't have an idea Basset had been murdered. I thought, of course, it was suicide."

"And is that very efficient secretary of yours at your office?" Holcomb asked.

"Why, of course," Mason said; "someone had to be there to let the young woman in."

Holcomb's face darkened. "In that way," he said, "you get a chance to get a statement from the only material witness before the police even have a chance to question her."

Mason shrugged his shoulders and said evenly, "And if you'd got to her first you'd have locked her up so no one could ever have found out what her story was until she was put on the witness stand. That is the way you like to play the game. But I assure you, my dear Sergeant, I only sent her where she could be quiet because I thought it was a case of suicide. As soon as you told me it was murder, you'll have to admit I gave you her location."

Someone snickered.

Holcomb whirled to one of the men.

"Telephone headquarters," he said, "and tell them to pick up that girl at Perry Mason's office. Smash the doors down if you have to. She's a material witness. Tell them Mason's getting a shorthand report of her story. Give that secretary ten minutes more with her and there won't be any case."

Perry Mason said with dignity, "Have you chaps any more questions to ask of me?"

"What time did you get here?" Holcomb inquired.

"Shortly after midnight — perhaps twenty minutes after twelve."

"Basset was dead when you got here?"

"Apparently. I was in the outer office all the time and I heard no sound from this room. Mrs. Basset went in here to get something, and she discovered the body."

"Did you notify the police?"

"We discovered it just as the police were coming in the door. They'd been summoned in connection with the attack which had been made upon Miss Fenwick."

"Who's Miss Fenwick?"

"The young woman who was attacked."

Sergeant Holcomb stared moodily at Perry Mason.

"Is she your client?"

"No, not at present, anyway."

"Had you ever seen her before?"

"No."

"How did it happen you wasted so much time talking with these people in the outer room?"

"I came out here," Mason said, "to see Basset."

"How did it happen you wasted so much time chewing the fat, if you came out here to see Basset?" Sergeant Holcomb demanded.

"Because there was a lot of excitement in connection with the attack on the young woman, and I suggested the police be summoned."

Holcomb said, "That's the second time you've mentioned about the police and both times you've said the police were to be sent for, or words to that effect." Mason exhaled cigarette smoke and said nothing.

"You keep putting it that way," Holcomb went on, "which is a funny way of expressing it. Now then, I'm going to get to the bottom of this. Never mind telling me the police were sent for, but tell me who sent for the police."

"I did."

"Did you tell them who you were?"

"No; I told them I was young Basset."

"Why did you tell them that?"

"Because I wanted to get some action. I was afraid they'd think it was a stall if I told them who was talking, and I didn't have time to make a lot of explanations."

Sergeant Holcomb sighed wearily. "You win," he said; "you always have an answer." He waved his hand toward the door. "Okay, you can go now. And if you think you can get to your office before the boys from headquarters do, you're just an optimist, that's all."

"I'm in no particular hurry," Mason said.

"Oh, yes, you are," Sergeant Holcomb told him. "You're on your way right now. You're a busy man, Mr. Mason, and you came here just to see Mr. Basset on a matter of business. Mr. Basset is dead, so you can't see him about any business. Therefore, you've got nothing to talk to anyone about. You haven't been retained by anyone here. You didn't know Mr. Basset was murdered. You thought it was a suicide. And the young woman who was attacked isn't here any more, so there's nothing to hold you here and we're not going to interfere with your sleep. You can go on your way right now."