Lucille Mays, longlimbed, leanwaisted, tall, met Perry Mason’s appraising eyes with frank candor. “I’m a nurse,” she said. “Mr. Kent is twenty years older than I am. Naturally, people think I’m marrying him for his money. I’m not. I just wanted to give you my personal assurance I’d sign anything which would protect Mr. Kent.”

Mason nodded. “Thanks,” he said. “I’m glad to have had the chance for this talk. By the way, have you ever talked this over with Mr. Rease?”

She laughed and said, “No. Mr. Rease doesn’t like me. He’s a hypochondriac and he doesn’t like people who won’t humor him. Harris, that’s Edna’s wealthy fiance, humors him all the time. Why, just tonight Rease complained his room was draughty and Harris humored him and fixed things up so he’ll change rooms with Maddox. Mr. Kent won’t like it when he finds it out. I’ve repeatedly explained to him he mustn’t give in to Rease’s imaginary ailments.”

“Kent doesn’t know about it?” Mason asked.

“No. It was right after dinner. Peter was telephoning. The others were all there, and…”

The door opened. Kent bustled into the room, slipped his arm protectingly about Lucille Mays’ waist. “If we go into the solarium,” he said, “we’ll be just in time for a drink. Harris is mixing one of his famous cocktails.”

Lucille Mays nodded, but her eyes remained fixed on Mason’s. “Very well,” she said, “I just wanted you to know where I stand, Mr. Mason.”

Mason nodded, said to Kent, “I want to prepare an affidavit for your signature so we can get that final decree. Also, I want to send someone to Santa Barbara to relieve my man up there. He’s keeping watch on Doris Kent.”

Peter Kent motioned toward a door which led to an adjoining room, from which came sounds of laughter. “I want you to meet my niece,” he said, “and Jerry Harris is here. He’s the young man she’s engaged to. He’ll be willing to do anything he can to help out.”

Mason nodded, permitted himself to be escorted through the door into a room, one end of which was devoted to a bar. Behind the bar, a grinning young giant in shirt sleeves was shaking cocktails. Edna Hammer stood with one foot on the brass rail, saying, “Does this look about right?” At the other corner of the bar, Helen Warrington, Peter Kent’s secretary, was toying with the stem of a cocktail glass, her eyes showing goodnatured amusement.

“No,” the man behind the bar was saying, “you don’t look drunk enough. If we’re going to put on this act and…” He broke off as his eyes caught sight of Perry Mason.

Kent said, “I want to present Perry Mason, the lawyer—my niece, Miss Edna Hammer, and Jerry Harris. You’ve met Miss Warrington. I believe that Jerry is about to mix one of his famous KDDO cocktails.”

Edna Hammer came from the bar to give Perry Mason her hand. “I’ve heard so much about you,” she exclaimed. “It’s a real pleasure. Uncle told me he was going to consult you, and I’ve been hoping I’d have a chance to meet you.”

Mason said, “Had I known your uncle had such a beautiful niece I’d have insisted on a drink earlier in the evening.”

“Well put,” Harris exclaimed, “and just for that I’m going to initiate you to the famous Harris KDDO cocktail.”

“Just what,” Mason inquired, “is the KDDO cocktail?”

It was Helen Warrington who answered. “The letters,” she said, “stand for knockdownanddragout.”

Kent walked to the end of the bar, knocked on the mahogany with his knuckles as though he had been calling a directors’ meeting to order. “Folks,” he said, “a serious situation has developed. Let’s cut out the comedy for a minute. I want your help.” The smiles instantly faded from their faces. “I’m going to be married,” Peter Kent said, “tonight—or rather, early in the morning.”

Harris started to applaud, but as he caught the expression on Kent’s face, dropped his hands back to his sides. “Now, then,” Kent went on, “I haven’t any secrets from anyone in this room. You’re all my friends. I know I can depend on you. I’m going to put the cards on the table. Mr. Mason wants some assistance. He wants someone to go to Santa Barbara right away.”

“Count me in,” Harris said, raising his hand. “Volunteer number one.”

Kent nodded his thanks, and said, “Here’s the situation: Doris, whom you all know, and whose character you understand without any comments from me, is planning to start lawsuits which will block my marriage. However, due to a change of lawyers, her suit has been delayed. If Mr. Mason can get a final decree of divorce at Santa Barbara tomorrow morning before the other actions are filed, Lucille and I can fly to Yuma, Arizona, and be married.”

Harris reached for his coat. “If you want someone to drive you to Santa Barbara, Mr. Mason,” he said, “I’ve got a Rolls Royce out in front that will make the trip in less than two hours from here. It’s done it before.”

Mason said slowly, “I don’t want to go myself. I’ve a clerk up there I can trust. I want to send him a good stenographer so he can prepare some pleadings if it becomes necessary. I also want someone who knows Doris Kent, to keep watch on her residence and let me know if she either comes in or goes out. Then I’ll arrange to have detectives called in. The person who knows her can put the finger on her, and the professional detectives can carry on from there.”

“I know her,” Harris said. “Edna introduced me to her a month ago.” He turned to Edna Hammer and said, “Come on up, Edna, it would be a nice lark.”

Edna Hammer hesitated, glanced at Helen Warrington; and Peter Kent, interpreting that glance, said, “Go ahead, both of you girls go up. I won’t be needing Helen for anything. She’s had experience as a legal stenographer, and she can be available if anything breaks.”

Mason nodded brief thanks. “That’s taken care of then,” he said. He went to the telephone, called his office and said to Della Street, “Prepare an affidavit for final judgment of divorce in the Kent case. The interlocutory decree of divorce was granted in Santa Barbara a year ago, on the thirteenth. You’ll have to leave the number and page of the judgment book blank until we can get the data. It was entered on the same day it was made.”

“I already have that,” she said calmly. “I have the affidavit all prepared and the final decree of divorce ready for the judge’s signature.”

“Been reading my mind again, eh?” he asked.

“You’d be surprised,” she told him. “Do you come after the affidavit or do I bring it over?”

“Where’s Paul Drake? Is he there?”

“No, he went out. He’s been in and out all evening.”

“Has he found out anything new?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Get a cab,” Mason told her, “and come on out.”

By the time Mason hung up the telephone, Helen Warrington, on an extension telephone which had been plugged into a phone jack back of the bar, had a call through to the airport. “I have a pilot who can furnish a bimotored, cabin plane,” she said, “but he wants to wait until daylight to make the trip. He says he can leave at daylight and have you in Yuma by seventhirty in the morning.”

Kent looked questioningly at Mason. The lawyer nodded his head. “That’s okay,” Kent said. “Charter the plane.”

Abruptly he began to shake, his arms, legs and face twitching. He turned his back as though to hide his affliction. Helen Warrington said in a coolly capable voice, “Very well, have the plane ready to start at daylight.”

The butler opened the door, said to Helen Warrington, “Mr. Peasley calling, Miss Warrington.”

Kent abruptly snapped out of his jerking fit. “Look here,” he warned, turning to face them, “not a word of this to Bob Peasley.”

“Really,” Helen Warrington said, “unless it’s imperative that I go…”

“I want you to,” Edna Hammer said petulantly. “After all, you know, it’s going to be an all night trip.”

“Tell Peasley,” Kent said, “that you’re going out on business for me; don’t tell him how long you’ll be gone or where you’re going. Tell him he’ll have to excuse you tonight.”