Mason said irritably, "Snap out of it! Tell me what happened. If anyone can help you, I can."

Julia Branner said, "Well, if you've got to know, I tried to bring some pressure to bear on Brownley."

"What pressure?"

"There was a watch he'd given Oscar when Oscar graduated from high school. The case was a family heirloom. Renwold had had new works put in it. He thought the world of it. I had the watch. I was carrying it the day Oscar skipped out to go back to his father The old man wanted that watch about as much as he wanted anything on earth. I sent him a message by a cab driver and told him I wanted to talk with him for ten minutes, that if he'd come alone and at once to a certain place down at the beach and let me talk to him for ten minutes without interrupting me, I'd give him the watch."

"You thought he'd come?"

"I knew he'd come."

"You didn't think he'd have you arrested?"

"No. I told him the watch would be hidden, that the only way he could get it would be by playing square with me."

"So what?" Mason asked.

"He came."

"How did he know the place?"

"I drew him a little sketch map and told him where I'd meet him. I told him he'd have to come alone."

"Then what did you do?"

"Drove down to the harbor so I'd be there to meet him."

"What were you going to talk to him about?"

"I was going to make the only argument he'd ever have listened to. I was going to prove to him that my daughter had been the dead image of her father, that if he cared anything at all for Oscar he'd see that Oscar's flesh and blood didn't want for the good things of life. I was going to tell him that I didn't care what he did to me, with me or for me, that all I wanted was a square deal for Oscar's child. I was going to tell him that the girl who was pretending to be Oscar's child was an impostor."

"Why did you make him go all the way down to the waterfront?"

"Because I wanted to."

"Why the water-front?"

"That's got nothing to do with it."

"Was your gun a.32 caliber Colt automatic?"

"Yes."

"What became of it?"

"I don't know. I missed it early this evening."

"Don't pull an old gag like that. It won't get you any place."

"It's the truth."

"And if you didn't kill Renwold Brownley, who did?"

"I don't know."

"Just what do you know?"

"I met him down by one of the yacht clubs," she said. "I told him to drive around a couple of the side streets to make certain he wasn't followed, then to come back to me. He drove around, came back and slowed down. He was about half a block away from me when some woman wearing a yellow rain coat made like mine ran out toward the car. Naturally, Brownley stopped. She jumped on the running board, and started to shoot."

"What did you do?"

"I turned and ran just as hard as I could."

"Where did you run to?"

"My car was parked about a block away."

"You jumped in it and drove away?"

"I had some trouble getting it started. It had been raining and the engine didn't go immediately."

"Did anyone see you?"

"I don't know."

"Where did you get the automobile?"

"It was Stella's car. I borrowed it."

"And that's the best story you can tell?"

"It's the truth."

Mason said slowly, "It may or may not be the truth. Personally, I don't think it is. One thing is certain: No jury would ever believe it. If you tell a story like that, you'll be stuck for first degree murder just as sure as you're sitting here. Pull down that bed, turn off that damned gas heater, open the windows, ditch that rain coat, undress and get into bed. If the police call for you, don't say a word. Don't make a single statement, no matter what they ask. Simply tell them you're not going to answer any questions unless your lawyer tells you to, and tell them I'm your lawyer."

She stared at him. "You mean you're going to stand by me and help me?"

"For a while, yes," he said. "Go on now, get your clothes off and get into bed. And you, Stella, don't you say a word. Simply sit tight and keep quiet. Do you think you can do that?"

Stella Kenwood looked up with pale, frightened eyes and said, "I don't know. I don't think so."

"I don't either," Mason told her, "but do the best you can. Stall things along as long as you can in any event, and remember, Julia, don't you say a word, not to anyone. Don't answer questions and don't make any statements."

"You don't need to worry about me," she told him. "That's one of the things I'm good at."

Mason nodded, jerked the door open, stepped out into the corridor and, as he closed the door, heard the creak of springs as Julia Branner, calmly competent, pulled the wall bed into position.

Mason noticed that the rain had slackened to a cold drizzle. There was enough daylight to show low-flung clouds raising up from the southeast. The smell of a cold, wet dawn was in the air. He had just started the motor on his car when a police machine swung around the corner and slid to a stop in front of the Sunset Arms Apartments.

Della Street was in the office when Perry Mason arrived the next morning. "And what's new?" he asked, tossing his hat on the top of the desk and grinning at the pile of mail.

"I presume you knew," she said, "that Julia Branner was arrested for the murder of Renwold Brownley?"

Mason widened his eyes in a look of simulated surprise and said, "No, I hadn't heard of it."

"The newspapers got out extras," she remarked. "Julia Branner says you're going to defend her, so you should know about it."

"No," Mason said, "this is a great surprise to me."

Della Street leveled a rigid forefinger at him, after the manner of a cross-examining attorney, and said, "Chief, where were you about daylight this morning?"

He grinned and said, "I can't tell a lie. I beat it from the Beechwood address about sixty seconds before the cops got there."

She sighed and said, "Some day you're not going to be so fortunate."

"It wouldn't have hurt," he said, "if they'd caught me there. I certainly had a right to interview my client."

"The newspaper also says that Julia Branner refuses to make any statement, but that a Stella Kenwood, who shared the apartment, while at first refusing to answer questions, has finally made a complete statement."

"Yes," Mason said, "she would."

The secretary's voice held a note of concern. "Can she tell them anything which would implicate you, Chief?"

"I don't think so," he said. "I don't think she can implicate anybody. What else is new?"

"Paul Drake wants to see you, says he has some news for you. The wireless you sent to Bishop Mallory aboard the Monterey was not delivered because the Monterey has no William Mallory aboard." Mason gave a low whistle of surprise. Della Street consulted her notebook and said, "So I took the responsibility of sending a radiogram addressed to the Captain of the Steamship Monterey asking if Bishop William Mallory had sailed from Sydney on the northbound voyage and if so to ascertain definitely whether that same person was now aboard the ship either under that or some other name, first or second class."

Mason said, "Good girl. I'll have to think that over a bit. In the meantime, get Paul Drake on the line and tell him I want him to come in and bring Harry with him. What else is new, anything?"

"C. Woodward Warren wants an appointment with you. He talked with me and said he'd pay up to a hundred thousand dollars if you could save his son's life." Mason shook his head. "That's a lot of money," Della Street remarked.

"I know it's a lot of money," Mason said bitterly, "and I'm going to turn it down. That kid's nothing but the spoiled, pampered child of a millionaire. He's dished it out all of his life and never learned to take it. So when he ran up against the first real setback he'd ever had, he grabbed a gun and started shooting. Now he says he's sorry, and thinks everything should be smoothed out for him."