She smiled her appreciation, but continued to snap information at him. “They’re trying their best to get you to handle that Anstruthers will case. I told them I couldn’t give them an appointment but I’d see if you were interested.”

“Who wants me to handle it?”

“The attorney who’s representing the contestants wants to have you put on the case. He says he has it all prepared and all you’ll have to do is examine the witnesses and present the case to the jury…”

Mason interrupted her. “Can’t take it,” he said. “It comes up for trial this week, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not taking on any additional responsibilities until I get this case straightened out. Tell them I’m sorry. Anything else?”

“Myrna Duchene was so grateful it was positively pathetic.”

“Myrna Duchene?” he asked, his forehead puckered into a frown. “Who’s she?”

“The girl who was swindled by the man who’s at the Palace Hotel under the alias of George Pritchard,” she explained.

Mason laughed. “I’d forgotten about her. She thinks my advice will work?”

“She’s positive of it. She says she’ll pay you just as soon as…”

“Didn’t you tell her there was no charge for the advice?”

Della Street nodded. “I told her, but she just couldn’t seem to believe it. She…” The telephone bell rang. Della Street lifted the receiver to her ear, said, “Hello,” listened for a few moments and said, “Stay there. Report at once by telephone, if you hear anything of it.” She slipped the receiver back on the hook and said, “Kent’s plane—it hasn’t landed at the Yuma airport.”

Mason drummed with his fingertips on the edge of his desk. “Now that’s a complication,” he said.

“Shall we report them as missing and have a search plane sent out?”

He slowly shook his head, said, “Ring up the airport, Della, and charter a plane. Have it ready to leave within half an hour. Don’t tell them the destination. Tell them I just want to cruise around a bit.”

“Charter it in your name?” she asked.

He nodded, and said, “You might as well. I’ll get more service in my own name, and if the officers are prowling around the airport they’ve found out about Kent’s plane by this time anyway.”

“You think they’ll figure on a plane?”

“Sure they will—sooner or later. It’s just a question of time. The butler spilled the information that they were going to get married and that I’d driven them somewhere in an automobile. It won’t take much of a detective to put two and two together on that.”

The telephone rang again. Della listened at the receiver, handed the telephone over to Perry Mason and said, “It’s Jackson again at Santa Barbara. You take the call on this line, and I’ll go out in the other office to telephone the airport.”

Mason said, “Hello,” and heard Jackson’s voice on the line. “Hello, Jackson, everything okay? Della tells me you have the decree.”

“That’s right, the decree’s signed and duly entered. What do I do now?”

“Who’s watching the woman up there?”

“One of Drake’s men. He relieved Harris.”

“Della said you had something to tell me you didn’t want to spill over the telephone.”

“I didn’t dare to. I’m talking through the courthouse exchange. I haven’t been able to leave here yet. I’m afraid there may be a leak through the switchboard. Later on I can go to the main telephone office and call you from there.

“What’s the nature of the information, generally?” Mason asked. “Use language that won’t mean anything to an outsider.”

“It relates to a consolidation of adverse forces.”

Mason frowned thoughtfully and said, “Can you tell me anything more than that?”

“Apparently,” Jackson answered, “arrangements are being consummated by which the plaintiff in this divorce action is planning to cooperate with certain other parties who are in an adverse position to the divorce defendant.” Mason made a little humming noise between his tightly closed lips. “You get what I mean?” Jackson asked.

“I think I do. I don’t want you to spill any of that over the telephone. Get down here just as quickly as you can.”

“I can start right away.”

“How about the others?”

“All ready to go any time I say the word.”

“Where’s Miss Warrington?”

“She’s here with me. Harris is waiting out front in the automobile.”

Mason said, “Climb in the car and beat it down here. Tell Harris to step on it. Now, Jackson, an unforeseen and unfortunate occurrence took place at Kent’s residence last night.”

“Can you tell me what it was?”

“A Philip Rease was murdered.” Jackson gave a low whistle. “Therefore,” Mason said, “it wouldn’t be particularly advisable for Harris and Miss Warrington to jump into the arms of the police detectives until they’ve had a chance to prepare themselves somewhat.”

“You mean you want me to bring them to the office before they…”

“That’s exactly what I don’t want,” Mason interrupted. “I don’t want the police to think I’ve been coaching the witnesses. I’m in this thing deep enough already. And I don’t want you to let on to them that you know Rease was murdered. But suggest to them that, because they may be questioned by Mrs. Kent’s lawyer as to what happened during the evening, they’d better make certain their recollections check.”

“Harris is the one who has the information concerning the matter I was trying to explain to you a few moments ago,” Jackson said.

“About the consolidation of forces?”

“Yes.”

“Just the same, I don’t want Harris to come here before he’s questioned by the police. Go over any information he has. Get Miss Warrington to take it down in shorthand and transcribe it later, if it’s necessary. Do you get the sketch?”

“I think so, yes.”

“Okay,” Mason said, “get started. I may not be here when you arrive. If I’m not, wait for me.”

He hung up the receiver, started pacing the floor of his office. Della Street appeared in the doorway. “The plane’s all ready,” she said. “I have a fast car ordered. It’ll be at the curb by the time you get there.” Mason jerked open the door of the coat closet, pulled on a light topcoat, paused to adjust his hat in front of the mirror. “When you get to the airport,” Della Street instructed, “go out to the far end of the field. A twomotored cabin job will be warming up. I told the pilot to be sure to be at the far end of the field. I figured detectives might be hanging around.”

Mason nodded, said, “Good girl,” and made for the elevator.

The automobile which Della Street had ordered arrived at the curb just as Mason was emerging from the building. The driver knew how to make time through traffic. “Go to the far end of the field,” Mason said.

“Yes, sir, I’ve already been instructed.”

Mason leaned back against the cushions, his eyes entirely oblivious to the whizzing scenery. Twice he had to brace himself as the car swerved to avoid a collision, but the hour indicated on his wristwatch when he climbed into the cabin plane more than compensated for any inconvenience on the road.

Mason gave the pilot terse instructions. “A plane took off for Yuma about daylight this morning. It hasn’t arrived. Keep on the charted route to Yuma, and keep your eyes on the ground below as much as possible. I’ll be watching.”

“If we find it down, what do you want me to do?”

“Circle down as close to it as you can. Don’t take any chances on making a landing unless someone’s hurt and there’s something we can do. If it’s a crash and they’re dead, we’ll report to the authorities. If someone’s in need of medical attention, we’ll take a chance on landing.”

The pilot nodded, climbed into the pilot’s compartment. The plane roared into motion, zoomed smoothly upward. Mason looked down at the airport to see if he could make out a police car parked near the entrance, or see Sergeant Holcomb hanging about, but the plane swept overhead too fast for him to make an accurate survey. The ship climbed smoothly upward in a long curve, until the rows of white buildings glistening in the brilliant California sunlight gave way to the darker green of checkerboarded orange groves. Then, with a snowcapped mountain on both the right and the left, the plane shot through a narrow pass, rocked violently in bumpy air, and then flattened into steady droning flight. Almost as sharply as though marked by a line drawn with a ruler, the land of the fertile orange groves gave place to desert, a sandy waste dotted with greasewood, sagebrush and cacti. Over on the right, Palm Springs appeared, nestled against the base of the towering mountains. A few minutes more, and beyond the date palms of the Coachella Valley, the sun glistened on the Salton Sea. Mason peered steadily downward, looking first from one side of the plane, then from the other. He saw no sign of any grounded plane. The Salton Sea slipped behind. Below was a vast, tumbled aggregation of eroded mountains, huge hills of drifting sand, a country rich in its lore of lost mines, a hardbitten, mirageinfested, thirsty country which had claimed a hideous toll of venturesome prospectors. The Colorado showed ahead as a yellowish snake winding turgidly through the desert. Yuma sprawled in the sunlight. The pilot turned to Mason for instructions.