"Where was Winifred the night of the fire?"

"She was asleep. We had some trouble getting her up. I thought for awhile the smoke had got her. Her door was locked. The boys nearly broke it down before they were able to wake her up."

"Where was she? In the north wing or the south wing?"

"Neither. She was in the center of the house, on the east."

"How about the two boys—where did they sleep?"

"They were in the center of the house, on the west."

"And the servants?"

"All of them were in the north wing."

"If you were there as a nurse for Mr. Laxter, and he was having heart trouble, why didn't you sleep where you would be near him in case he was taken with a spell?"

"Oh, but I did. You see, he had an electric push button installed in his room, so that all he needed to do was to signal me and I could signal back, to let him know I was coming."

"How did you signal back?"

"A button that I pressed."

"That rang a bell in his room?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you ring that the night of the fire?"

"We did. That was the first thing I did. I ran back and rang the bell repeatedly. Then, when we didn't hear from him, I started up the stairs. The fire must have burnt through the wires."

"I see. There was a lot of smoke?"

"Oh, yes, the central part of the house was simply filled with smoke."

"What was the trouble about the day before the fire?"

"What do you mean?"

"There'd been a row over something, hadn't there?"

"No… not exactly. There'd been some trouble between Peter Laxter and Sam. I don't think Frank was mixed up in it."

"Was Winifred drawn into it?"

"I don't think so. It was just an argument between the old man and Sam Laxter. Something about Laxter's gambling."

"Have you any idea how the fire started?" Mason asked.

"Do you mean did someone set it?"

Mason said slowly and impressively, "You've dodged the issue long enough, Miss DeVoe—tell us what you know about the fire!"

She took a quick breath. Her eyes faltered for a moment. "Is there any way a person could start a fire by feeding exhaust fumes into a furnace?" she asked.

Drake shook his head. "No," he said, "not exhaust fumes. Come on down to earth and…"

"Wait a minute, Paul," Perry Mason interrupted, "let's find out just what she means when she refers to exhaust fumes being put into a furnace."

"It isn't important unless a fire could be started that way," she countered evasively.

The lawyer, flashing a warning glance at the detective, nodded his head gravely and said, "Yes, I think perhaps a fire could be started that way."

"But it would have to be started several hours after the fumes were put into the furnace?"

"Just how were they put into the furnace?" Mason inquired.

"Well, it's this way: The garage was built into the house. It held three cars. The house was on a slope, and the garages were on the southwest corner, down the slope. I guess when they built the house there was that extra room under the hill and the architects just decided to put garages in there, instead of having separate buildings or…"

"Yes," Mason agreed hurriedly, "I understand exactly what you mean. Tell me about the exhaust fumes."

"Well," she said, "I'd been out for a walk and I was coming back to the house when I heard the sound of a car running in the garage. The garage door was closed, but the motor kept running. I thought someone must have gone away and left his motor running without knowing it, so I opened the door—that's a little door in the side—not the big sliding door that you open to let the cars out—and switched on the lights."

Mason leaned toward her. "What did you find?" he asked.

"Sam Laxter was sitting in there in his car, with the motor running."

"The motor of his car was running?"

"Yes."

"Running slowly, as though it were idling?"

"No, it was running rapidly. I would say the motor was being raced. If it had been running slowly, I couldn't have heard it."

"How did that get exhaust fumes into the furnace?" Paul Drake inquired.

"That's the peculiar thing. I just happened to notice that there was a tube running from the car to the heating pipe. The furnace was a gas furnace which supplied hot air. It was in a basement in the back of the garage."

"How did you know the tube from the exhaust led into the pipe?"

"I saw it, I tell you! I saw a tube from the exhaust running along the floor and then up into a pipe. You see the pipes from the furnace—that is some of them—ran up through the garage."

"Did Sam Laxter know you'd seen the tube running from the exhaust?" the lawyer asked.

"Sam Laxter," she said very emphatically, "was drunk. He could hardly stand. He switched off his motor and spoke roughly to me."

"What did he say?" Mason asked.

"He said, 'Get the hell out of here. Can't a man ever have any privacy without you snooping around? "

"What did you say?"

"I turned on my heel and left the garage."

"Didn't say anything to him?"

"No."

"Did you switch out the lights when you went out?"

"No, I left the lights on so he could find his way out."

"How did you know he was drunk?"

"From the way he was sprawled all over the seat and the tone of his voice."

Mason's eyes narrowed into thoughtful slits. "See his face clearly?" he asked.

She frowned for a moment, and said, "Why, I don't believe I saw his face. He wears a big creamcolored Stetson, you know, and when I switched on the lights the first thing I saw was this Stetson hat. I walked over toward the side of the car. He was slumped down over the wheel and when I came up beside the car, he hung his head… Come to think of it, I didn't see his face at all."

"Did you recognize his voice?"

"The voice was thick—you know the way a man's voice sounds when he's been drinking."

"In other words," Mason said, "if it came to a showdown in court, you couldn't swear positively that it was Sam Laxter who was in that car, could you?"

"Why, of course I could. No one else around the house wore that sort of a hat."

"Then you're identifying the hat instead of the man."

"What do you mean?"

"Anyone could have put on that hat."

"Yes," she said acidly, "they could have."

"It may be important," Mason said, "and if you had to testify, you'd be crossexamined ruthlessly."

"You mean I'd have to testify about how the fire started?"

"Something like that. How do you know it wasn't Frank Oafley who was sitting in there behind the wheel?"

"I know it wasn't."

"How?"

"Well, if you want to know, because I'd been out with Frank Oafley. We'd been walking, and I'd left him at the corner of the house. He went around toward the front and I came up toward the back. That took me past the garages. That was when I heard the sound of the motor running."

"How about the chauffeur—what was his name Jim Brandon?"

"That's right."

"Could it have been the chauffeur?"

"Not unless he was wearing Sam Laxter's hat."

"Whom else have you told about this?" Mason asked.

"I've told Frank."

"You usually call him by his first name?" Mason asked.

She turned her eyes quickly from Mason's, then, after a moment, raised them to stare defiantly at him. "Yes," she said. "Frank and I are very close friends."

"What did he say when you told him about it?"

"He said there was no way exhaust fumes could start a fire; that I'd just make trouble if I said anything about it, and to keep quiet."

"Whom else did you tell?"

"I told Winifred's boy friend—not Harry Inman—but the other one."

"You mean Douglas Keene?"

"That's right—Douglas Keene."

"Who's Harry Inman?"

"He was a boy who was rushing her. I think she favored him, but, as soon as he found out she wasn't going to get any money, he dropped her like a hot potato."