A separate door, marked. "Basset Auto Finance Company. Walk in " was immediately to the right of the door on which a brass placard bore the legend:
HARTLEY BASSET RESIDENCE
Private
No Peddlers or Solicitors
Perry Mason opened the door which led to the office, and walked in. The outer office was deserted. A door marked "Private " was at the further end. Above an electric pushbutton appeared the words, "Ring and be seated."
Perry Mason rang.
Almost immediately the door opened. A deepchested man, with a closecropped gray mustache and a thick shock of hair which had grizzled at the temples, stared at him with lightgray eyes, from the centers of which pinpointed black pupils held a hypnotic fascination.
Moving with quick virility, he shot out his left wrist so that he could stare at the wristwatch.
"On time." he said. "to the minute."
Perry Mason bowed, said nothing, and followed Hartley Basset into a rather plainly appointed office.
"Not here," Basset said. "This is where I collect money. I don't want it to look too prosperous. Come into the office from which I make my big loans. I like it better in there."
He opened a door and indicated an office sumptuously furnished. From a room beyond came the sound of a clacking typewriter.
"Work nights?" Perry Mason asked.
"I'm usually open for a couple of hours during the evening. That's to accommodate people who have jobs. A man who isn't working and wants to borrow on an automobile isn't as good a risk as the man who has a job and needs money."
He indicated a chair. Mason dropped into it.
"You want to see me about Harry McLane?" Basset asked.
At the lawyer's nod, Basset pressed a button. The typewriting in the adjoining office ceased. A chair made a noise as it scraped back. Then a door opened. A narrowshouldered man, about fortyfive years of age, with grayish eyes, peered owlishly from behind hornrimmed spectacles.
"Arthur," Basset said, "what are the exact figures on the McLane embezzlement?"
"Three thousand, nine hundred and fortytwo dollars and sixtythree cents," the man in the doorway said, his voice husky and without expression.
"That includes interest?" asked Basset, "at the rate of one per cent a month?"
"Interest at the rate of one per cent a month," the man affirmed, "from the date the money was embezzled."
Basset said, "That's all."
The man in the doorway stepped back and closed the door. A few seconds later, the clack of the typewriter sounded with mechanical regularity. Hartley Basset smiled at Perry Mason, and said, "He's got until tomorrow afternoon."
Mason extracted a cigarette from his cigarette case. Basset pulled a cigar from his waistcoat pocket. Both men lit up at virtually the same time. Mason extinguished his match by blowing smoke on it, and said, "There's no reason why you and I should misunderstand each other."
"None whatever," Basset agreed.
"I don't know the facts of the case," Mason went on, "but I'm acting on the assumption that McLane embezzled the money."
"He's confessed to it."
"Well, let's not argue that point. Let's assume that he did embezzle it."
"Saving the point so you can defend him in court?" Basset asked, his eyes growing hard.
"I'm simply not making any admissions," Mason said. "If my clients want to make admissions they can do so. I never make admissions."
"Go ahead," Basset remarked.
"You want your money."
"Naturally."
"McLane hasn't got it."
"He had an accomplice."
"Do you know who the accomplice was?"
"No. I wish I did."
"Why?"
"Because the accomplice has the money."
"What makes you think so?"
"I'm virtually certain of it!
"Why doesn't the accomplice pay it back then?"
"I don't know all of the reasons. One of them is that the accomplice is a gambler. He has to have a roll in order to gamble. You dig into Harry McLane's mental processes deeply enough, and you'll find that he's figuring on staging a big comeback. He's got sense enough to know that if he and his accomplice pay back all the money Harry embezzled, they won't have any operating capital. A gambler needs something to gamble with.
"Not that I blame them particularly," Basset said, "if they can get away with it. But they can't get away with it. Not with my money. They're either going to kick through, or go to jail."
"I presume you realize," Mason said, "that you're compounding a felony."
"I'm doing nothing of the sort. I'm getting my money back."
"You're offering embezzlers immunity from prosecution if they make good the money embezzled."
"Let's not be overly technical about it," Basset remarked. "You know what you want. I know what I want. I'm talking plainly to you. I might not talk as plainly elsewhere. I want my money."
"And you think McLane has it?"
"No, I think his accomplice has it."
"But don't you think if McLane could get it from his accomplice, he'd have done so already?"
"No'" Basset said. "They stole money to gamble with. They lost some of it. They want to keep on gambling. McLane's sister will put up money to keep McLane from going to jail. That will leave the pair money to gamble with."
"Well?" Mason asked.
"The girl hasn't all of the money," Basset said. "She's got a little over fifteen hundred dollars. McLane's accomplice has about two thousand left. I'll get the girl's money and then I'll find out who the accomplice is and get what money he's got."
"Suppose," Mason asked, "it doesn't work that way?"
"It will."
Mason said slowly, "I can get you fifteen hundred dollars in cash and monthly payments of thirty dollars. I'm representing the sister."
"Her money?" Basset asked.
"Yes."
"All of it?"
"Yes."
"The boy hasn't kicked through with any of it?"
"No."
"I'll take the fifteen hundred cash and a hundred a month from the girl," Basset said.
Mason flushed, sucked in a quick breath, controlled himself, puffed on the cigarette, and said tonelessly, "She can't do it. She's supporting an invalid mother. She can't live on what would be left of her salary."
"I'm not interested," Basset said, "in getting my money back in small installments. Monthly payments of one hundred dollars will get the principal reduced reasonably so that Harry McLane may get a job in the meantime. He can pass the loss on to his new employer."
"What do you mean," Mason inquired, "by passing the loss on to his new employer?"
"He can work out some scheme of embezzling from his new employer to pay me off my losses."
"You mean you'd force him to theft?"
"Certainly not. I'm simply suggesting that he pass on the burden. He embezzled from me. I held the sack for a while. Let someone else hold it for a while now."
Mason laughed. "You might find yourself an accessory before the fact in that new embezzlement, Basset."
Basset stared coldly at him and said, "What do I care. I want my money. I don't care how I get it. There's no legal evidence against me. The moral aspect of the case leaves me completely indifferent."
"I gathered it did," Mason told him.
"That's fine. It eliminates misunderstandings. I'm not going to talk with you about the morals of your profession and you're not going to talk with me about the morals of mine. I want my money. You're here to see that I get it. The sister doesn't want the boy to go to jail. I've given you my terms. That's all there is to it."
"Those terms'" Mason told him, "won't be met."
Basset shrugged his shoulders and said, "He's got until tomorrow."
Knuckles sounded in a gentle knock on the panels of the door, which almost immediately opened. A woman, between thirtyfive and forty, glanced at Perry Mason with a quick half smile, and turned solicitously to Hartley Basset. "May I sit in on this, Hartley?" she asked.
Hartley Basset remained seated. He regarded her through the smoke which twisted upward from the cigar. His face had no flicker of expression.
"My wife," he said to the lawyer.
Mason got to his feet, surveyed the slender figure appreciatively, and said, "I am very pleased, Mrs. Basset."
She kept her eyes fastened apprehensively upon her husband.
"Please, Hartley, I'd like to have something to say about this."
"Why?"
"Because I'm interested."
"Interested in what?"
"Interested in what you're going to do."
"Do you mean," he asked, "that you're interested in Harry McLane?"
"No. I'm interested for another reason."
"What's the other reason?"
"I don't want you to be too hard if the money is coming from his sister."
"I think," Basset said, "I'm the best judge of that."
"May I sit in on your conference?"
The eyes were cold and hard. The voice was utterly without emotion, as Basset said, "No."
There was a moment of silence. Basset did nothing to soften the curtness of his refusal. Mrs. Basset hesitated a moment, then turned and walked across the office. She didn't leave through the door by which she had entered, but went, instead, into the adjoining office, and a moment later, the sound of a closing door announced that she had gone through it to the reception room.
Hartley Basset said, "No need for you to sit down again, Mason; we understand each other perfectly. Good night."
Perry Mason strode to the door, jerked it open, called back over his shoulder, "Good night, and goodby."
He strode across the outer office, slammed the door of the reception room behind him, and crossed the porch in three swift strides. He crossed to the left side of his coupe, jerked open the door and was just sliding in behind the wheel when he realized someone was huddled at the opposite end of the seat.
He stiffened to quick vigilance, and a woman's voice said, "Just close the door, please, and drive around the corner."
It was the voice of Mrs. Basset.
Mason hesitated a moment. His face showed irritation, then curiosity. He slid behind the wheel, drove around the block, stopped, and switched off lights and motor. Mrs. Basset leaned forward, put her hand on his sleeve, and said, "Please do what he asks."
"What he asks," he said, "is humanly impossible."
"No, it isn't impossible," she said. "I know him too well for that. He'll get blood out of a turnip. He'll get the last drop of blood, but he'll never ask for something that's impossible."
"The girl's supporting an invalid mother."
"But surely," Mrs. Basset said, "there's charitable aid for such people. After all, the girl doesn't have to do it. People don't starve to death in civilized communities, you know. If the girl should die, you know, the mother would be taken care of some way."
Mason said, savagely. "And you think the girl should try to live on sixty dollars a month, and cut off her mother without a cent; all in order to pay back your husband money that's been embezzled from him by a no account kid?"
"No," she said. "Not to get him back his money. To keep him from doing what he'll do if he doesn't get his money back."
Mason said slowly, "And you sneaked out here to tell me that?"
"No," she told him; "to ask you something. I just mentioned about that embezzlement incidentally."
"If you want to consult me," he told her, "come to my office."
"I can't come to your office. I never get away. I'm spied on all the time."
"Don't be foolish." Mason told her. "Who'd want to spy on you?"
"My husband, of course."
"Do you mean to say you couldn't come to a lawyer's office if you wanted to?"
"Certainly I couldn't."
"Who would stop you."
"He would."
"How would he do it?"
"I don't know how. He'd do it. He's utterly ruthless. He'd kill me if I crossed him."
Mason frowned thoughtfully and said, "What was it you wanted to ask me about?"
"Bigamy."
"What about it?"
"I'm married to Hartley Basset."
"So I understand."
"I want to run away and leave him."
"Go ahead."
"I have another man who wants to support me."
"Swell."
"I'd have to marry him."
"Then you could get a divorce from Basset."
"But I'd have to marry him at once."
"You mean you'd go through a marriage ceremony without getting a divorce from Basset?"
"Yes."
"Then this man doesn't know you're married to Basset?"
"Yes," she said slowly; "he does."
"He wants to become a party to a bigamous marriage?"
"We want to fix it so it isn't bigamy."
"You could," Perry Mason said, "get a quick divorce by going to certain places."
"Would he have to know anything about it?"
"Yes."
"Then I couldn't get it."
"Then you couldn't get married."
"I could get married, couldn't I? It would be only a question of whether the marriage was legal or illegal."
"You'd have to perjure yourself in order to get a license."
"Well, suppose I perjured myself. What then?"
The lawyer, turning to study her profile, said, "You mentioned something about being followed. I presume you noticed the automobile parked close to the curb behind us?"
"Good God, no!" she said.
She whirled around so that she could look through the rear window, and gave a stifled halfscream.
"My God, it's James!"
"Who is James?"
"My husband's chauffeur."
"That your husband's car?"
"Yes, one of them."
"You think the chauffeur followed you?"
"I know it. I thought I had slipped away from him, but I didn't."
"What do you want to do now; get out?"
"No. Drive around the block and let me out at the house."
"The man in the car behind," Mason said, "knows that you've seen him."
"I can't help that. Please do as I say. Please, at once!"
Mason drove the car around the block. The car which had been parked behind him switched on headlights and followed doggedly. Mason slid the car to the curb in front of Basset's residence, leaned across the woman and opened the door.
"If you want to consult me," he said, "I'll come in."
"No, no!" she halfscreamed.
A figure moved from the shadows, stepped up close to the car, and Hartley Basset said, "Did you, by any chance, have a rendezvous with my wife?"
Mason opened the door on his side of the car, got out, crossed around the rear of the car, and stood toe to toe with Hartley Basset. "No," he said, "I didn't."
"Then," Basset said, "my wife must have arranged a meeting. Was she trying to consult you about something?" Mason braced himself, feet wide apart.
"The reason I got out of the car," he said, "and walked over here, was to tell you to mind your own damned business."
The other car which had followed Mason had parked close to the curb. A tall, thin man who walked with a quick, catlike step, opened the car door, started toward Mason, then, as he heard the tone of Mason's voice, turned back to the car, took something from a side pocket in the door and walked rapidly toward the lawyer, approaching him from the rear. The headlights gleamed on a wrench which he held in his right hand.
The lawyer swung around so that he faced both men. Mrs. Basset ran up the steps to the house, slammed the door shut behind her.
"Do you birds," Mason asked ominously, "want to start something?"
Basset looked over at the tall man with the wrench.
"That's all, James," he said.
Mason stared at them steadily, then said slowly, "You're damn right that's all."
He turned to his own car, slid behind the wheel, and kicked in the clutch. The pair behind him stood watching him, silhouetted against the headlights of the parked car.
The lawyer swung his car into a skidding turn and straightened into swift speed as he hit the main boulevard.
He braked the car to a stop when he came to a drug store, walked to the telephone booth, dialed a number, and, when he heard Bertha McLane's anxious voice said, "It's all off."
"Wouldn't he accept it?"
"No."
"What did he want?"
"Something that was impossible."
"What was it?"
"It was impossible."
"But, at least you must tell me what it was."
"He wanted you to pay one hundred dollars a month."
"But I couldn't!"
"That's what I told him. I told him you had a mother to support. He feels that your mother can go on public charity."
"Oh, but I couldn't do that!"
"That's what I told him. Now listen. You make Harry tell you what he's done with the money, and who his accomplice is."
"But Harry won't do it."
"Then let him go to jail."
"Where are you now?"
"At a drug store."
"Near Basset's place?"
"Yes."
"Go back and tell Mr. Basset I'll arrange to get the money some way. I can meet the payments for one or two months at least. By that time, Harry will be working. I have some things I can sell."
"I'll tell Basset nothing of the sort."
"But I want to accept his offer before Harry goes to jail."
"You have until tomorrow afternoon to get some other attorney to act for you."
"You mean you won't represent me?"
"No," Mason said; "not to accept any such offer as that. The only way I'll represent you is for you to let me take your kid brother apart and see what makes him tick. After he comes clean, I'll do the best for you that I can. Otherwise, you get some other lawyer. Don't argue with me over the telephone. Think it over. Give me your answer later."
He banged up the receiver.