Peter Kent, speaking in quick, nervous accents, said, “Sorry I busted in here. I can’t help it; I’m nervous, I can’t wait. When I want anything I want it. I’m willing to pay for any damage I did. I got a hunch to come to you. Got it while I was having lunch with my niece. She’s an astrologer. She knows my horoscope by heart. She can tell me all about my planets—and I don’t believe a damn word of it.”

“You don’t?”

“No, of course not. But I can’t get the damn stuff out of my mind. You know how it is yourself. Perhaps you’re walking along a sidewalk and see a ladder. If you don’t walk under it, you hate yourself for being a coward. If you do, you start wondering if it’ll really bring you bad luck. It gets on your nerves. You keep thinking about it.”

Mason grinned, and said, “Walking under ladders doesn’t bother me. I’m in hot water all the time.”

“Well,” Kent rushed on, “when my niece said my horoscope showed I should consult some attorney whose last name had five letters in it, I told her it was all bosh and nonsense. Then, damned if I didn’t start thinking over the names of lawyers that had five letters in them. She looked up some more planets and said the name should stand for something that had to do with rocks and did I know an attorney by the name of STONE; i didn’t. then your name popped into my mind. I told Edna and she got all excited, said you were the one. All bosh and nonsense! And here I am.”

Mason glanced at his secretary. “What are your troubles?” he asked.

“My wife’s getting a divorce in Santa Barbara. Now she’s going to back up, dismiss the divorce case and claim I’m crazy.”

“How far has she gone with the divorce case?”

“She’s had an interlocutory decree entered.”

“Under the law of this state,” Mason said, “after an interlocutory decree’s once entered the case can’t be dismissed.”

“That shows you don’t know Doris,” Kent said, twisting long fingers nervously as he talked. “Legislators cater to the women voters. Doris gets by because of those laws. Marriage is a racket with her, and she knows all the tricks. There’s some new law that a court can’t grant a final decree where the parties have become reconciled. Doris is going to file an affidavit we’ve become reconciled.”

“Have you?”

“No, but she claims we have. She wrote me a mushy letter. I tried to be polite in answering it. She’s using that as evidence. What’s more, she’s going to claim a lot of stuff about fraud. I don’t know just what. You see, she sued for divorce mainly over some stuff which happened in Chicago, but with a few more things which happened after we got to California thrown in for good measure.”

“She sued in California?”

“Yes, in Santa Barbara.”

“How long had she been living there?”

“When I came from Chicago,” Kent said, “I had two pieces of California property—one of them the Hollywood place, where I’m living now, and the other the Santa Barbara place. She lived with me for a few days in the Hollywood place, then went to Santa Barbara and sued for divorce.”

“How about residence?” Mason asked. “Where was your legal residence?”

“In the Santa Barbara place. I had extensive business interests in Chicago and spent part of my time there, but I voted and kept my legal residence in California. Doris sued for divorce, claimed she didn’t have any money, in spite of the fact she had the plunder of a couple of previous marriages salted away. She got the court to allow her temporary alimony and attorney’s fees. Then she got a divorce and got permanent alimony. She’s been collecting fifteen hundred dollars a month and playing around. Now she’s heard I want to get married again, and she figures I’ll pay a lot of money to get my freedom.”

“What else?” Mason asked casually.

“I’m in love.”

Mason said, “Paying fifteen hundred bucks every thirty days should be good medicine for that.”

Kent said nothing. “Any other troubles?” Mason asked, as a doctor might ask for additional symptoms.

“Lots of them. My partner, for one.”

“Who’s he?”

“Frank B. Maddox.”

“What about him?”

“We’re in partnership—a business in Chicago. I had to leave very suddenly.”

“Why?”

“Private reasons. My health for one thing. I wanted a change.”

“What about your partner?”

Kent was suddenly seized with a fit of twitching. His facial muscles jerked. His hands and legs shook. He raised his shaking hand to his twitching face, took a deep breath, then steadied himself and said, “I’m all right, just a nervous twitching that I get when I’m excited.”

Mason said, watching him with eyes that were hard and unwavering in their scrutiny, “You were telling me about your partner.”

Kent controlled himself by an effort and said, “Yes.”

“What about him?”

“I found Frank B. Maddox, a crackbrained inventor, virtually penniless, in a little woodshed shop in the back of a rickety house in one of the cheapest districts in Chicago. He had a valvegrinding tool that he claimed could be sold to garages. He didn’t even have a patent on it. The only model he had was one which had been made by hand at a prohibitive cost. I backed him and organized the Maddox Manufacturing Company in which I was a silent partner. Business was showing a fine profit when my doctor told me to quit. I left everything in Maddox’s hands and came out here. From time to time, Maddox sent me accounts of what the business was doing. His letters have always been cordial. Then he wrote he had something he wanted to talk over with me and asked if he could come out for a conference. I told him to come ahead. He came out and brought a chap with him by the name of Duncan. At first he said Duncan was a friend. Now it turns out he’s a lawyer, a potbellied, bushybrowed old fogey. He claims Maddox is entitled to draw back salary out of partnership earnings, that I wrote some letter to the owner of a patent on another valvegrinding machine saying our claims wouldn’t interfere with theirs and that this letter detracted from the value of the partnership patent, which is worth a million dollars.”

“In other words,” Mason said, “your partner wants the business now that it’s grown profitable; is that right?”

“Not only wants the business,” Kent exclaimed, “but wants to bleed me for a settlement. It’s the damnedest thing I ever heard of! And what makes me doubly mad is the fact that this treacherous snake came out here under the guise of paying me a friendly visit. After all I’ve done for him, too!” Kent jumped up from his chair, started furiously pacing the office. “Don’t ever wish for money,” he said; “it ruins your faith in human nature. People attach themselves like barnacles fastening to a ship’s hull. You don’t dare accept anyone at face value. You distrust everyone, and distrust breeds distrust.”

“Specifically,” Mason interrupted, “what is it you want me to do?”

Kent came striding toward the desk. “I’m going to dump my troubles right in your lap. You come out to my house, get rid of Maddox and this potbellied lawyer of his, then go to Santa Barbara and buy my wife off.”

“When do you want to get married?” Mason asked.

“As soon as I can.”

“How far shall I go with your wife?”

“Pay her seventyfive thousand dollars in cash.”

“In addition to alimony of fifteen hundred a month?”

“No, that’ll cover everything.”

“Suppose she won’t take it?”

“Then fight… She’s going to claim I’m crazy.”

“What makes you think so?”

“When I left Chicago I was walking in my sleep.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re crazy.”

“I picked up a butcher knife and tried to get into her bedroom.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Over a year.”

“You’re cured now?” Mason asked.

“Yes, all except for this confounded twitching and spells of nervousness.”