"That your husband's car?"

"Yes, one of them."

"You think the chauffeur followed you?"

"I know it. I thought I had slipped away from him, but I didn't."

"What do you want to do now; get out?"

"No. Drive around the block and let me out at the house."

"The man in the car behind," Mason said, "knows that you've seen him."

"I can't help that. Please do as I say. Please, at once!"

Mason drove the car around the block. The car which had been parked behind him switched on headlights and followed doggedly. Mason slid the car to the curb in front of Basset's residence, leaned across the woman and opened the door.

"If you want to consult me," he said, "I'll come in."

"No, no!" she halfscreamed.

A figure moved from the shadows, stepped up close to the car, and Hartley Basset said, "Did you, by any chance, have a rendezvous with my wife?"

Mason opened the door on his side of the car, got out, crossed around the rear of the car, and stood toe to toe with Hartley Basset. "No," he said, "I didn't."

"Then," Basset said, "my wife must have arranged a meeting. Was she trying to consult you about something?" Mason braced himself, feet wide apart.

"The reason I got out of the car," he said, "and walked over here, was to tell you to mind your own damned business."

The other car which had followed Mason had parked close to the curb. A tall, thin man who walked with a quick, catlike step, opened the car door, started toward Mason, then, as he heard the tone of Mason's voice, turned back to the car, took something from a side pocket in the door and walked rapidly toward the lawyer, approaching him from the rear. The headlights gleamed on a wrench which he held in his right hand.

The lawyer swung around so that he faced both men. Mrs. Basset ran up the steps to the house, slammed the door shut behind her.

"Do you birds," Mason asked ominously, "want to start something?"

Basset looked over at the tall man with the wrench.

"That's all, James," he said.

Mason stared at them steadily, then said slowly, "You're damn right that's all."

He turned to his own car, slid behind the wheel, and kicked in the clutch. The pair behind him stood watching him, silhouetted against the headlights of the parked car.

The lawyer swung his car into a skidding turn and straightened into swift speed as he hit the main boulevard.

He braked the car to a stop when he came to a drug store, walked to the telephone booth, dialed a number, and, when he heard Bertha McLane's anxious voice said, "It's all off."

"Wouldn't he accept it?"

"No."

"What did he want?"

"Something that was impossible."

"What was it?"

"It was impossible."

"But, at least you must tell me what it was."

"He wanted you to pay one hundred dollars a month."

"But I couldn't!"

"That's what I told him. I told him you had a mother to support. He feels that your mother can go on public charity."

"Oh, but I couldn't do that!"

"That's what I told him. Now listen. You make Harry tell you what he's done with the money, and who his accomplice is."

"But Harry won't do it."

"Then let him go to jail."

"Where are you now?"

"At a drug store."

"Near Basset's place?"

"Yes."

"Go back and tell Mr. Basset I'll arrange to get the money some way. I can meet the payments for one or two months at least. By that time, Harry will be working. I have some things I can sell."

"I'll tell Basset nothing of the sort."

"But I want to accept his offer before Harry goes to jail."

"You have until tomorrow afternoon to get some other attorney to act for you."

"You mean you won't represent me?"

"No," Mason said; "not to accept any such offer as that. The only way I'll represent you is for you to let me take your kid brother apart and see what makes him tick. After he comes clean, I'll do the best for you that I can. Otherwise, you get some other lawyer. Don't argue with me over the telephone. Think it over. Give me your answer later."

He banged up the receiver.

Perry Mason, sprawled in an easy chair, reading a book on the latest discoveries in psychology, barely noticed the clock strike midnight.

The telephone on the stand at his elbow made noise. Mason picked up the receiver and said, "Hello, Mason speaking." He heard a woman's voice, harsh with emotion, spilling words into his ear before he had placed her identity.

"… Come out at once. I'm leaving my husband. He's been guilty of a brutal attack. There's going to be trouble. My son is going to kill him…"

"Who is this talking?" Mason interrupted.

"Sylvia Basset—Hartley Basset's wife."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Come out here just as soon as you can get here."

"It'll keep," the lawyer said, "until morning."

"No; it won't. You don't understand. A woman out here has been seriously injured."

"What's the matter with her?"

"She's been struck over the head."

"Who struck her?"

"My husband."

"Where's your husband?"

"He jumped in a car and ran away. As soon as he comes back, my son, Dick, is going to kill him. There isn't a thing that I can ado to stop it. I want you to I come out and take charge of the case. If my husband I comes back before you get here, Dick will kill him. I want you to explain to Dick that you can protect my interests; that he doesn't need to take the law in his own hands; that…"

"Where are you now?"

"At my home."

"Can you bring your son to me?"

"No, he won't leave. He's furious. I can't do anything with him."

"Have you threatened to call in the police?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because they'd arrest him, and I don't want that and there are other things that would make it very embarrassing for me. Won't you please come out? I can't explain over the phone, but it's life and death. It's…"

"I'll come out," Perry Mason interrupted. "You keep Dick under control until I get there."

He dropped the receiver into place, flung off his smoking jacket and slippers, struggled into coat and shoes, and one minute and thirty seconds later was pressing the throttle of his coupe down against the floorboards as he charged through the night streets.

Mrs. Basset met him at the door of the house—the one that had been marked as the entrance to the finance company.

"Come in here," she said, "and please talk with Dick as soon as you can."

Perry Mason entered the outer office. A slender youth of twentyone or twentytwo jerked open the door from the inner office and said, "Look here, Mom, I'm not going to wait…" He broke off as he saw Perry Mason. His hands, which had been extended in front of him, dropped to his sides.

"Dick," she said, "I want you to meet Perry Mason, the lawyer. This is Dick Basset, my son."

The young man stared at Perry Mason with wide, deep, brown eyes. His face was deadwhite. The lips of a sensitive, wellformed mouth were clamped into a firm line. Mason extended his hand easily.

"Basset," he said, "I'm glad to know you."

Basset hesitated a moment, regarded Mason's outstretched hand, shifted something from his right hand to his left, and stepped forward.

A small object dropped to the floor. He grabbed Mason's hand, shook it, and said, "Are you representing Mother?"

Mason nodded.

"She's been through hell," the boy said. "I've kept out of it long enough. Tonight I…"

He stopped as he saw Perry Mason's eyes come to rest on the thing which had dropped to the carpet.

"Cartridge?" Mason asked.

The boy stooped to recover it, but Mason was first. He picked up a.38 cartridge and stared at it speculatively as he held it in his outstretched hand.