Mason caught Della Street’s eye, jerked his head toward Doris Kent. Della moved toward her.

“I’m sure you’ll excuse me, won’t you, my dear, but I have only a few minutes available.”

Mrs. Kent smiled graciously. “Not at all,” she said, “don’t mention it. I realize how busy Mr. Mason is. After all, I think he understands my position and…”

“Where can I get in touch with you?” Mason asked.

“At the Lafitte Hotel. I’ll be there for the next two or three days.”

Mason gave a start of surprise and said, “Why, that’s your hotel, isn’t it, Miss Street?”

“Yes, I’m staying there. It’s very nice,” Della Street remarked amiably.

Mason escorted Doris Kent to the corridor. “I’m very sorry,” he said, “that this happened. She really shouldn’t have opened the door to my private office. But she had the appointment. She’s rather wealthy and quite impulsive…

“I understand perfectly,” Doris Kent said, and, turning, gave him her hand. “After all,” she said, “we can be friends, can’t we?” and her eyes were filled with promise.

Mason patted her hand, turned and reentered his office. Della Street, looking up at him anxiously, said, “Did I muff it?”

“No,” he told her, “you did nobly. Just exactly what I wanted.”

“What was the big idea?”

“Get a bunch of glad rags and move into the Lafitte Hotel. Keep sticking around until you see Doris Kent. Go over and get acquainted with her. Tell her how sorry you were that you interrupted her conference; that you realized afterward you had no right to bust in on her and that you don’t know what made you do it. Tell her I’m usually so careful about appointments, that you felt there’d been a mistake made by someone in the office; that you were in a hurry and simply had to see me.”

“Then what?” she asked. “Surely, Chief, you don’t think she’d become confidential and tell me anything which would damage her side of the case? Particularly when she knows that I know you, and…”

He chuckled. “What’s the name of the girl who got gypped in the love racket?”

She frowned at him and asked, “What the devil are you talking about, Chief?”

“You know, the girl that wanted me to handle her case? She got gypped for five thousand dollars…”

“Oh, you mean Myrna Duchene.”

“That’s the one,” he told her. “Where’s her boyfriend?”

“He’s at the Palace Hotel. Going under the name of George Pritchard.”

“Okay,” Mason said, “now you go to the Lafitte Hotel. Cultivate a speaking acquaintanceship with Mrs. Kent. Get Myrna Duchene to point out this love pirate to you. I presume he’s the type that makes a girl’s heart go pittypat, isn’t he?”

“I gather that he is,” Della Street said, puzzled. “I saw a photograph of him. He certainly looked like the answer to a maiden’s prayer.”

Mason said, “Scrape an acquaintance with him. Hand him a hard luck story about having lost your money but don’t do that until after he’s called on you at your hotel. Keep him calling there until you have an opportunity to point out Mrs. Kent to him as a very wealthy widow. And, if you can possibly work it, you’ll introduce him to Mrs. Kent and…”

Her eyes showed swift comprehension. “And let nature take its course?” she interrupted.

Mason bowed and smiled. “Exactly,” he said.

The sign which stretched across the front of the store was relatively new. Peasley Hardware Co. it read. the rest of the store was old. In the dusty, drab show windows an attempt had been made to put new wine into old bottles. Various tools had been arranged in geometric designs. Wooden steps had been covered with green cloth and used to display stock to advantage, but, for the most part, that stock gave unmistakable evidences of having been on display for some time. Perry Mason pushed his way through the door. Obviously new electric fixtures showered brilliant illumination over the counters; but the gloomy walls drank up the light and left only drab dregs for the eye.

Bob Peasley came walking briskly forward from a little office in the rear. When he was close enough to recognize Mason his step faltered appreciably, then he squared his shoulders and came up, giving Mason a forced smile of greeting. “How do you do, Mr. Mason? This is indeed a pleasure!”

“Hello, Peasley. Nice place you have here.”

“Think so? Glad you like it.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Not so long. I picked it up cheap at a receiver’s sale. I’m trying to get rid of some of the old stock now. Then I either want to move or else have the whole interior done over.

“A lease?” Mason asked.

“Yes, and it’s rather an advantageous lease. But I can’t get the landlord to do anything toward fixing up. I have the right to make changes and improvements at my own expense, however.”

“Going to start soon?”

“Soon as I can move some of the old stock and get some cash.”

“How’s it going?”

“Fair. I’m going to have a big clearance sale in about thirty days. I really don’t know all that I have here yet. There wasn’t any current inventory, and the one the receiver made was just a makeshift. It was so dark in here that I honestly don’t know how a customer ever had a chance to find his way in. I put in new lights; but, somehow, it still seems cobwebby.” Peasley glanced cautiously over his shoulder, lowered his voice and said, “How was the carving knife?”

“Excellent,” Mason answered. “Just exactly what I wanted. Peasley fidgeted uncomfortably. “What’s the matter,” Mason inquired, “anything?” Peasley shook his head. “Seen Helen Warrington lately?”

“Last night,” Peasley answered. “Why? Nothing wrong is there?” His eyes didn’t meet Mason’s.

“Seen Miss Hammer lately?”

“No.”

“Harris?”

Peasley’s face flushed. “Any particular reason why you should ask me about him?” he asked.

“Just wondering,” Mason said.

“No, I haven’t seen him.”

“Well,” Mason said, “whom have you seen?”

“What do you mean?”

Mason placed a fatherly hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Look here, Peasley,” he said, “something’s gone wrong. What is it?”

Peasley hesitated a moment then said in a mumbled undertone, “Nothing.”

He casually moved so that Mason’s hand dropped from his shoulder. His manner turned surly. Mason said slowly, “I think I’ve been doublecrossed. What do you know about that?”

Peasley’s eyes flared. “Not a damn thing,” he said, “and I don’t know what you’re coming here for.”

“Talk with anyone about the knife?” Mason asked, casually, and almost cheerfully.

Peasley said, “Say, what the devil are you after?”

“Just wanted to find out,” Mason remarked. Peasley kept quiet. “Have you?” Mason asked.

“I can’t tell you.”

“Why can’t you?”

“Because… because I can’t.”

“Helen Warrington tell you not to?” Mason asked. Peasley was silent. Mason laughed and said, “Don’t make such a mystery of it. Sergeant Holcomb knows about it so there’s no reason why you shouldn’t tell the world.”

Peasley’s face showed a peculiar change of expression. “You know about that?” he asked.

“What, about Sergeant Holcomb?”

“Yes.”

“Of course I know about it. He told me.” Mason took a cigarette case from his pocket, extended it to Peasley. They both took cigarettes. Mason held a match. “Holcomb’s a pretty smart chap,” Mason said, casually. “He doesn’t miss much.”

“I’ll tell the world he doesn’t.”

“How did he find out about the knife, did he tell you?”

“Yes.”

“Did you give him a written statement?”

“Look here,” Peasley said, “I’m not supposed to discuss this.”

“Oh, Holcomb wouldn’t care, if you talked it over with me.”

“You’re the very one he didn’t want to know about it.”

Mason raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Why, I don’t see how that can be, because I do know about it.”