"You mean here?"

"Yes."

"It would be difficult, and the conclusion wouldn't be final."

"Can you make a good guess?"

Dr. Jason sighed resignedly, started working with the screwdriver. "I'll answer that question in a few minutes," he said.

One of the men held a lantern. Dr. Jason, showing his resentment against the weather, his disapproval of the entire procedure, removed the top from the coffin. "Bring that light over here—no, not so close—don't let the shadow fall on the inside. That's right—stand about there… Oh, don't be so damned squeamish!"

He fumbled about in the interior of the coffin, took a sharp knife from his pocket. The sound of the blade ripping through cloth sounded startlingly distinct above the steady drip of the misty rain. After a moment he straightened, and nodded to Hamilton Burger. "You wanted a guess?" he asked.

"That's right, a guess—the best you can make, of course."

Dr. Jason dropped the lid back into position. "Go ahead with your investigation," he said.

Hamilton Burger stood staring moodily down at the coffin, then he nodded and turned on his heel. "Okay," he said, "let's go. You ride with us, Mason. Paul Drake can follow in your car. You take charge of the body, Doctor."

Mason followed Burger to the district attorney's car. Tom Glassman drove. The men were grimly silent. The windshield wipers swung back and forth in monotonous tempo, their steady throbbing sounding above the purr of the motor and the whine of the tires.

"Going out to Laxter's place?" Mason asked at length.

"Yes," Burger answered, "up to the place where they're living now—the city house I believe they call it. I want to ask some questions."

"Going to make any accusations?" Mason inquired.

"I'm going to ask some pretty direct questions," Burger admitted. "I don't think I'll make any definite accusations. I don't want to divulge just what we're trying to get at until I'm ready to do so. I'm not going to ask anything about the tube which ran from the exhaust until after I've laid a pretty good foundation. I think it would be better, Mason, if you and your detective weren't present when we asked the questions."

"Well," Mason said, "if you feel that we've done all we can, I know where there's a nice soft bed, a piping hot toddy, and…"

"Not yet," Burger interrupted. "You've started this thing, and you're going to stick around until we see whether we've drawn a blank."

Mason sighed and settled back against the cushions. The car made time through the deserted streets, climbed a winding road which ran up a hill. "That's the place up there," Burger announced—"the big place. Try not to use a flashlight unless you have to, Tom. I'd like to get a look at that garage before we alarm anyone."

Glassman eased the car in close to the curb, stopped it and shut off the motor. There was no sound, save for the beating of rain on the roof of the car.

"So far so good," he said.

"Got skeleton keys?" Burger asked.

"Sure," Glassman said. "You want me to get that garage open?"

"I'd like to take a look at the cars, yes."

Glassman opened the door, climbed out into the rain and turned a flashlight on the padlock which held the garage doors. He produced a bunch of keys from his pocket, and, after a moment nodded to Burger, and pulled back the sliding door of the garage.

The men opened the door of the garage.

"Be careful," Burger cautioned, "not to slam those doors shut. We don't want to alarm anyone until after we've looked the place over."

There were three cars in the garage. Glassman's flashlight flickered over them in turn. Mason stared with narrowed eyes at a new green Pontiac sedan. Burger, seeing the expression on his face, inquired, "Have you discovered something, Mason?"

Perry Mason shook his head.

Glassman's flashlight explored the registration certificates. "This one's in the name of Samuel C. Laxter," he said, indicating a custombuilt sports coupe with spare tires mounted in fender wells on either side. It was a powerful, lowhung car of glistening enamel and chrome steel.

"Sure built for speed," Burger muttered. "Turn your flashlight down here on the muffler, Tom."

Glassman swung the beam from his flashlight to the exhaust pipe, and Burger bent over to examine it. He nodded slowly. "Something's been clamped around here," he said.

"Well, let's go have a talk with Mr. Samuel Laxter and see what he has to say for himself," Glassman suggested.

Perry Mason, leaning nonchalantly against the side of the garage, tapped a cigarette on his thumb nail, preparatory to lighting it. "Of course, I don't want to interfere, but there's just the possibility you might find that flexible tubing if you looked hard enough."

"Where?" Burger asked.

"Some place in the car."

"What makes you think it's there?"

"The fire," Mason pointed out, "originated at a point in or near Laxter's bedroom. The garage was some little distance from that. They managed to save the automobiles that were in the garage. That bit of flexible tubing was a damaging piece of evidence which Laxter wouldn't ordinarily have left where it could be discovered. Of course, he may have hidden it afterwards, but there's a chance it's somewhere in the car."

Glassman, without enthusiasm, pulled the trigger which raised the back of the rumble seat, climbed into the car, and started exploring with his flashlight. He raised the front seat, opened the flap pocket, prowled around in the back of the car.

"There's a compartment here that's locked," Burger pointed out.

"For golf clubs," Glassman explained.

"See if one of your keys will fit it."

Glassman tried his keys, one after another, then shook his head.

"See if you can't pull that piece out in the back of the front seat and see down into it."

The car springs swayed as Glassman's heavy body moved around. Then he said in a muffled voice, "There's something down here that looks like a long vacuum sweeper tube."

"Jimmy the door open," Burger ordered, his voice showing excitement. "Let's take a look."

Glassman pried the lock, saying as he did so, "This isn't a very neat job. It's going to lead to an awful squawk if we're wrong."

"I'm commencing to think we're right," Burger remarked grimly.

Glassman reached in his hand and pulled out some twelve feet of flexible tubing. On one end were two adjustable bands which tightened with bolts and nuts. The other end contained a mushroomlike opening of soft rubber.

"Well," Burger said, "we'll get Laxter out of bed."

"Want us to wait in here?" Mason inquired.

"No, you can come up to the house and wait in the living room. It may not be very much of a wait. Pulling him out of bed like this, he may confess."

The big house sat well upon a hill. The garage was some distance from the house, having been excavated from the earth. Cement steps led up to a graveled walk. A private driveway from the garage swung up a more gentle incline, and circled the house, serving both as a driveway by which cars might be brought to the front door, as well as a service road by which fuel and supplies might be delivered to the back of the house.

The men climbed the stairs, moving silently in a compact group. At the top of the stairs, Burger paused. "Listen," he said, "what's that?"

From the misty darkness came the sound of a metallic clink, and, a moment later, it was followed by a peculiar scraping noise.

"Someone digging," Mason said in a low voice. "That's the noise made by a spade striking a loose rock."

Burger muttered, "By George, you're right. Mason, you and Drake keep back of us. Tom, you'd better have your flashlight ready, and put a gun in the side pocket of your coat—just in case."

Burger led the way forward. The four walked as quietly as possible, but the graveled walk crunched underfoot. Glassman muttered, "We can do better on the grass," and pushed over to the side of the walk. The others followed him. The grass was wet, the soil slightly soggy, but they were able to move forward in complete silence.