"I'll give you my advice right now," he said. "Don't pay Basset one cent."

"But I've got to; the money was taken from him."

"Don't pay him a single thin dime."

"He's given me until tomorrow night to get the money for him, and then he's going to put the thing in the hands of the district attorney," Harry McLane said, as though the lawyer had failed to comprehend the situation.

"Jail," Mason said, "is the proper place for you, young man!"

Bertha McLane's eyes widened.

"I've been in the law business a long time," Mason told them. "I've seen them come and I've seen them go. I've seen men of this type before. Their first crime is usually a small crime. Someone covers it up, with a great deal of sacrifice. Now, I'm willing to bet you ten to one that this isn't the first time you've had to make good for Harry—is it?"

Harry McLane blurted, "That's got nothing to do with it. Who the hell do you think you are, anyway?"

Perry Mason did not take his eyes from Bertha McLane's face.

"Is it the first time?" he asked.

"I've had to cover a check or two," she said slowly.

"Exactly!" he told her. "Your brother is sliding. You're doing your best to keep him from it. He knows that he's got you back of him all the time. He started out giving a bum check. You made it good. He was sorry and promised you he'd never do it again. He talked big. He was going out and get a job. He was going to do this and he was going to do that. Talk is cheap. But, it's the only coin he's got with which to pay anyone anything. He hypnotizes himself into believing that he's going to do what he says he's going to do. But he hasn't got guts enough to go out and do it. He doesn't intend to get a job. He intends to get some more money from you in order to play a 'sure thing. Then he thinks he'll make a 'big killing' and come in with his pockets lined with money.

"He's one of those fellows who want to be 'big shots. He hasn't got guts enough to go out and do it by hard work. Therefore, he does it with talk and by trying to take short cuts. When things go wrong, he feels sorry for himself and wants someone to listen to his tale of woe. When he has a little spurt of good fortune, he patronizes all of his friends and starts to strut. Then the next time he gets a body blow, he caves in and crawls all over the place, trying to put his head in your lap and sob out his troubles, while you run your fingers through his hair, tell him you'll protect him and that it will be all right.

"The thing this young man needs is to be forced to live his own life. He's been dependent on women too long. He's a younger brother. You've fought his battles. I presume his father's dead and you put him through school. Right?"

"I put him through business college. I made a stenographer and bookkeeper of him. That was the best I could do. Sometimes I blame myself. I think I should have tried a little harder to give him a better education. But, after Father's death, I had Mother to support and…"

Harry McLane got to his feet.

"Come on, Sis," he said. "It's easy enough for a guy who collects big fees to sit in a swivel chair and read lectures to a bird who's had all the breaks against him. We don't have to stick around and listen to it."

"On the contrary," Perry Mason told him, "you do."

He got to his feet and pointed to the chair.

"Get back there and sit down," he said.

Harry McLane stared at him with sullen defiance. Mason took a quick step toward him and McLane dropped into the chair.

Mason turned back to Bertha McLane.

"You wanted to get legal advice," he said. "I'm giving it to you. You can't cover up this embezzlement, with the understanding that Basset isn't going to prosecute your brother, unless you compound a felony. Moreover, from the income that you have at your command, you can't hope to keep up regular monthly payments to Basset, support your mother, pay your own living expenses, and, at the same time, pay out the money that your brother will be nicking you for every month in order to keep up with his gambling.

"I'll try to get this young man probation. But, in order to get probation, he'll have to cut out all of his gambling associations. He'll have to tell the court who got this money and what was done with it. He'll have to quit acting the part of a spoiled kid with an indulgent sister, and learn to stand on his own two feet, and it may make a man of him."

"But you don't understand," Bertha McLane said, in a voice that seemed perilously close to the breaking point. "I've got to pay back the money anyway. It was embezzled by my brother. I wouldn't care whether he went to jail or whether he didn't. I'd turn over the money to Mr. Basset just as fast as I could get it."

"How old are you?" Mason inquired.

"Twentyseven."

"How old's the boy?"

"Twentytwo."

"Why should you be obligated to pay off his embezzlement?"

"Because he's my brother. And then, there's my mother to be considered. Can't you understand she's not at all well. She isn't young. Harry is the apple of her eye."

"Her favorite?" Mason asked.

"Well," she said slowly, "of course, he's the man of the family. Ever since Father died, he's been the man—that is, he's been…"

"I know," Perry Mason said. "He's been the one you've slaved for and given all the breaks. Can't you explain the facts to your mother?"

"Good Lord, no! It would kill her. She thinks Harry is a big business man; that he's been Mr. Basset's righthand man; that Mr. Basset is one of the biggest financiers in the city."

Perry Mason drummed on his desk.

"And you're going to pay the money whether Basset prosecutes or not?"

"Yes."

Mason stared down at Harry McLane.

"Young man," he said, "you say you've never got the breaks. When you go to bed tonight, get down on your knees and thank God that you've got an invalid mother. Because, I'm going out against my better judgment and try and compound a felony. But I'm going to keep in touch with you, and I'm either going to put some manhood in you, or I'm going to bust you wide open."

He picked up the telephone on his desk, and said to Della Street, "Get me Hartley Basset. He's in the loan business."

He held the receiver in his hand, turned to Bertha McLane, and said, "You're going to have trouble with Hartley Basset. He's going to want you to give him everything you've got, including your soul. He's the type who will drive a hard bargain."

Harry McLane said, "Don't worry about Hartley Basset. You make him the best kind of a proposition we can make, and Basset is going to accept it."

"Where do you get that noise," Mason said scornfully. "The best proposition we can make."

"Well, it's Sis and I together," McLane said. "I'm going to pay her off."

Mason nodded his head, and said, "You may not think so now, but you are. I'm going to see that you do. But what makes you so confident Basset will accept your proposition?"

"He's got to. There's going to be pressure brought to bear on him."

"By whom?"

"By someone that's in his house, who's friendly to me."

"You are the type who makes fairweather friends," Mason told him. "A man who hasn't any more character than you have doesn't make friends who stick by him."

"That's what you think," McLane said defiantly. "You're going to be fooled. You'll find that there's someone who can make Basset do anything, who's going to be sticking up for me. You just make your proposition and don't pay any attention to what Basset says at the time. He'll probably tell you no, but, within an hour, he'll ring you up on the telephone and tell you he's reconsidered, and that he's willing to accept it."

Perry Mason, staring down at the young man, said in slow, measured words, "Have you been playing around with Mrs. Basset?"

Young McLane flushed and started to answer. The telephone made sounds, and Mason put the receiver to his ear.