Perry Mason, attired in the white uniform of a windowcleaner, a uniform which he had rented at a masquerade costumer's, carried several rubber windowcleaning blades in his right hand. Slightly behind him, Paul Drake, similarly attired, carried a pail of water in each hand.

"I suppose," the detective remarked lugubriously, "you had it all figured out when you arranged for the costumes."

"Had what figured out?" Mason asked.

"That I was to be the assistant, and carry the pails of water."

Mason grinned, but said nothing.

They rode up in the freight elevator to the sixth floor of the Ambassador Hotel. A man, lounging in the corridor, with broad shoulders, squaretoed shoes, and a belligerent jaw, eyed them in silent accusation.

The pair ignored the stare, walked purposefully to the end of the corridor, and opened the fireescape window at the end of the hallway.

"Is he looking?" Perry Mason asked, as he slid a leg out over the window sill.

"Looking in sort of a halfhearted manner," Paul Drake, standing in the corridor, reported. "You've got to work fast."

"Are you," asked Perry Mason, "telling me?"

He took a sponge from the pail, touched the window over the fire escape, and gently worked the rubber blades which cleaned the window.

"All right," he said; "now for the fast stuff."

"You're certain the room's empty?" asked Drake.

"No," Mason said, "I'm not. We've got to take a chance on that. Stand up close to the door with your back toward it. Knock on the lower panels. Don't let him see that you're knocking."

The lawyer finished putting the polish on the window with a dry rag. Drake said, "Okay. I've knocked twice and got no answer."

"Think you can get it open without too much fumbling around?"

"I think so. Let me study the lock a minute. Okay, I think I've got it. Let's go."

Drake took some keys from his pocket, selected one, inserted it in the door, twisted it into just the right position, put pressure on it, and heard the lock click back. He gave a muttered exclamation of satisfaction and the two men entered the room.

"The one next to this, on the right?" Mason asked.

"That's right."

"You're sure that's the woman?"

"Virtually certain."

"If it isn't, we're going to be in a jam."

Drake said irritably, "We're going to be in a jam anyway, if we get caught. It's going to be something we can't explain away."

"Forget it," Mason said. "Where's that belt?"

Drake handed him a safety belt. Mason slid out of the window and hooked the belt in an eye placed for that purpose in the wall just outside the window of the adjoining room. He stood out on the window ledge, caught Drake's hand, steadied himself, and then moved across to the adjoining window, standing for a long moment with his legs spread out across six stories of space.

"Take it easy," Drake cautioned.

Mason slipped the other hook of the belt through the eye on the near side of the window.

"Okay now," he said. "Hand me the water."

Drake stretched out and handed across a pail of water. Mason started sponging the window. A moment later, he knocked on the glass. A woman, attired in underthings, threw a kimono hastily about her shoulders and came to the window, glaring angrily.

Mason made motions indicating that she was to raise the window.

Sylvia Basset flung open the window.

"Look here," she said, "what do you mean by cleaning these windows when I'm dressing? I'm going to complain to the management. You can't…"

"Lower your voice," Perry Mason said, "and take it easy."

At the sound of his voice, she started; then her eyes widened with surprise.

"You!" she said.

Perry Mason slid the bucket of water along the ledge.

"Now, listen," he said. "You haven't much time to waste. I want to get the lowdown on this thing. Did you know Brunold was arrested?"

"Brunold?" she said, and frowned.

"Yes, Brunold."

"Who is he?"

"Don't you know who he is?"

"No."

"Why did you come here under an assumed name?"

"I wanted to rest."

He nodded toward some bags that were sitting on the floor by the bed.

"Those yours?"

"Yes."

"Did you bring them with you last night?"

"No."

"When did you get them?"

"Dick brought them to me early this morning."

"What's in them?"

"Things."

"You mean you're skipping out?"

"My nerves are all upset. I'm going away for a few days until this thing straightens out."

Mason tightened his lips and said, "You poor little fool, were you trying to take a runout powder?"

She said, "Well, what if I was?"

"That," he told her, "is exactly what they're trying to get you to do. Flight is an indication of guilt. It's something that can be proved in a case the same as any other fact."

"They'd never catch me—not where I'm going."

"They'd catch you," he said, "before you went there, with a ticket in your pocket."

"Don't fool yourself," she said. "I'd be too smart for that—only I'm not running away. I just don't want…"

"Listen," he told her. "There's a police detective in the hall, watching the door of your room. There's another one in the lobby and one at the elevators. The police have put in a special operator at the switchboard. You've been shadowed, your son has been shadowed, and all of your telephone conversations have been overheard. Now…"

She clutched her hand to her throat.

"Good heavens!" she exclaimed. "Do you suppose…?"

"Give me the lowdown," he interrupted. "What happened after I left?"

"Nothing very much. They asked me a few questions. I had hysterics."

"What did you tell them?"

"I told them the truth at first—that I had wanted to see my husband about a matter of business, that I went into the outer office and found Hazel Fenwick lying on the floor; that I worked with her and brought her to consciousness, and then she told a story of a man with an empty eye socket, running from the room where my husband had his office."

"Did they ask you why you didn't call your husband?"

"I told them that I was so engrossed thinking of Hazel Fenwick, and trying to bring her to consciousness, that I'd forgotten about my husband."

Mason made a grimace of disgust.

"What's wrong with that?"

"Everything," he said. "What happened after that?"

"Then," she said, "they started getting a little nasty and I became hysterical and lied to them."

"What did you lie to them about?"

"Everything. I told them I knew my husband had gone out, and then I told them I knew he hadn't gone out. They asked me if I knew anyone who had an artificial eye, and I told them my husband had an artificial eye. I laughed and screamed, and they called a doctor and I wouldn't let him touch me. I insisted that Dick call my own physician and then when he came out, he sized up the situation and gave me a hypo and sent me to my room."

"Then what?"

"Dick scouted around until he found a back way unguarded and then he came and got me. I was pretty groggy from the hypo, but I managed to walk, keeping an arm on his shoulder. He took me here and put me to bed. I woke up early this morning and telephoned him, using an assumed name so the police wouldn't know who it was—but, if they were listening over the switchboard—my heavens!"

"Did you make any admissions?" Mason asked.

"No. I didn't have anything to admit, except about the hysterics."

"What about the hysterics?"

"He asked me if I'd told the police anything, and I told him no, that my hysterics completely fooled them."

"Anything else?"

"I talked with him two or three times today."

"Make any admissions?"

"Well, I talked pretty freely with him, but I didn't make any damaging admissions."