"But," Mason said, "I want to see McLane."

A spasm of impatience registered on Sergeant Holcomb's face.

"You," he said, "get the hell out of here before I get rough about it. This is one investigation I'm going to make before your masterly touch manipulates the evidence and spirits away the witness."

"Has something happened?" Mason asked, standing his ground.

"It will happen if you don't beat it," Sergeant Holcomb said.

Mason turned with dignity and said, "The next time I try to give you a tip you'll not know it."

Sergeant Holcomb said nothing but stepped back into the room and closed and locked the door.

Mason went directly to his car, drove to his office, pushed his way into Della Street's office and said, "Listen, Della, we've got to work fast…"

He broke off as a figure stirred in the shadows. Pete Brunold, grinning, got up from his chair and extended a hand to Perry Mason.

"Congratulations," he said.

Sheer surprise held Mason motionless.

"You!" he remarked. "What the devil are you doing out of jail?"

"They turned me loose."

"Who did?"

"The cops—Sergeant Holcomb."

"When?"

"About an hour and a half ago. I thought you knew about it. You got a writ of habeas corpus. They didn't want to make a charge against me just yet, so they turned me loose."

"Where's Sylvia Basset?"

"I don't know. I think she's in the district attorney's office. They're questioning her."

Mason said slowly, "Probably the worst break you ever got in your life was when they turned you loose. You get out of here. Go to a hotel, register under your name, telephone the district attorney, and tell him that you're there."

"But why," Brunold asked, "should I telephone the district attorney? He doesn't…"

"Because I told you to," Mason interrupted savagely. "Damn it. Do what I tell you to. Seconds are precious—minutes might be fatal. Get started! I thought you were safely in jail, and any minute now…"

The door pushed open. Two men entered without knocking. One of them looked at Brunold and jerked his head significantly toward the door.

"Okay, buddy," he said. "Get started."

"Where?" Brunold asked.

"We're from the D.A.'s office," the man said. "The Chief wants to see you right now and it'll take more than a writ of habeas corpus to spring you this time. Your friend, Mrs. Basset, spilled some information to the D.A. We've got a warrant for you and she's already been arrested."

"What's the charge?" Mason asked.

"Murder," the man said grimly.

Mason said, "Brunold, don't answer any questions. Don't tell them…"

"Hooey!" one of the men said, grabbing Brunold's arm and pushing him toward the door. "He'll answer questions about where he spent his time during the last hour and a half or he'll have two murder charges against him."

"Two?" Brunold asked.

"Yeah," the man said. "Every time you get out of jail there's an epidemic of dead guys holding glass eyes in their hands. Come on, let's get started."

The door slammed shut behind them.

Della Street glanced inquiringly at Perry Mason.

Mason crossed the office in swift strides, jerked open the door of the safe, and took out the pasteboard box containing the bloodshot glass eyes. He crossed to the coat closet and took out an iron mortar and pestle. One by one, he dropped the glass eyes into the mortar and pounded them to fine dust.

"Della," he said, "see that I'm not disturbed."

Perry Mason studied the darkhaired, darkeyed young woman who stared across the desk at him with something of defiance in her manner.

Standing to one side and slightly behind her, Della Street regarded Perry Mason anxiously. There was a superficial resemblance between the two women.

"Will she do?" asked Della Street.

Perry Mason's eyes surveyed the girl in silent appraisal.

"Your name?" he asked at length.

"Thelma Bevins."

"Age?"

"Twentyseven."

"Training?"

"Secretarial."

"Been out of a job long?"

"Yes."

"Ready to do anything that's offered?"

"That depends on what it is."

Perry Mason remained silent.

She squared her shoulders, tilted her chin and said, "Yes, I don't give a damn what it is."

"That's better," Mason told her.

"Do I get the job?"

"I think you do, if you'll do exactly what I say. Can you follow instructions?"

"That depends on the instructions, but I can try."

"Can you keep quiet if you have to?"

"You mean not say anything?"

"Yes."

"I think I can."

"I want you," Perry Mason said, "to take an airplane to Reno. I want you to get an apartment in the name of Thelma Bevins."

"You mean, I'm to rent an apartment under my own name?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Then what do I do?"

"You stay there until a man comes to serve some papers on you."

"What sort of papers?"

"They'll be papers in a divorce action."

"Then what?"

"This man will ask you if your name is Hazel Basset, also known as Hazel Fenwick, formerly Hazel Chalmers."

"What do I do?"

"You say that your name is Thelma Bevins, but that you are expecting the papers and that you'll take them and accept service."

"Is there anything illegal in that?"

"Certainly not. They are papers which I will prepare and which you can expect. You know that they're going to be served on you because I'm telling you so now."

She nodded her head and said, "Is that all there is to it?"

"No," he told her, "that's the beginning."

"What's the ending?"

"You'll be taken into custody."

"You mean arrested?"

"Not exactly arrested, but you'll be taken into custody for questioning."

"Then what do I do?"

"Then is when the difficult part of it comes in. You keep your mouth shut."

"Don't tell them anything?"

"Don't tell them one single word."

"Shall I make any demands?"

"No, simply sit absolutely tight. You'll be questioned and crossquestioned. You'll be photographed by newspaper reporters. You'll be cajoled and wheedled. You'll be threatened, but you'll keep quiet. There's only one thing you will say, and you'll keep saying that."

"What is that?"

"That you refuse to leave the State of Nevada until some court of competent jurisdiction has given an order forcing you to cross the state line. Do you understand that?"

"I want to stay in Nevada, is that it?"

"Yes."

"What do I do to keep there?"

"Simply refuse to leave."

"Suppose they take me?"

"I don't think they'll take you. There's going to be a lot of publicity and a lot of newspaper reporters. If you insist on being allowed to remain in Nevada until some court has ordered your removal, they'll wait until they have a court order before they take you out."

"And that's all?"

"That's all there is to it."

"What do I get for it?"

"Five hundred bucks."

"When do I get it?"

"Two hundred now—three hundred when you've finished the job."

"How about expenses?"

"I furnish you an airplane ticket to Reno. You pay for your apartment out of the two hundred dollars."

"When do I start?"

"Right now."

She shook her head and said, "Not right now. When I get that two hundred dollars I go out and eat, then I start."

Mason nodded to Della Street.

"Give her two hundred dollars, Della," he said, "and have her sign a written statement that she is to go to Reno under my instructions; that she is to register under her own name; that when someone seeks to serve papers on her, she will say her name is not Hazel Fenwick nor Hazel Basset nor Hazel Chalmers, but that she will accept the papers."

"What's the object of that?" Thelma Bevins asked.