could only be abortive at any rate."
"And what do you mean by that?" pressed the attorney.
"I mean by that, that inasmuch as Miss Celane was not in the house at the time, it would naturally have been impossible for her to have been in that room."
"Then you did not see a woman in the room?" Mason asked.
"I didn't say that either," said Graves. "I said that if there had been another person in the room that I had seen, that person would probably have been a woman."
"Why," asked the lawyer, "do you say that?"
"Well," said Graves, "there is in my mind a more or less confused impression of a woman's head and shoulders showing momentarily in one corner of the window. But of course I couldn't be sure of it, because my glance was riveted on the man with his arm upraised."
"One more question," said Mason. "Did the police take down, in shorthand, the answers which you gave to the questions they asked you, when they inquired about what you had seen?"
"Yes," said Graves.
"And you didn't mention anything about a woman at that time?"
"No."
Mason said slowly: "You understand, Graves, that there is something very peculiar about this. Both you and Crinston have intimated to me that my client might be in some danger. Yet, apparently, she was not anywhere near the house at the time."
"That's right," said Graves eagerly, "she wasn't here."
"Then how could she be in any danger?" asked Mason.
"She isn't," said Graves. "That's the point I'm trying to make. And I'm trying to protect her against any insinuations which might be made, because, you understand, there's a motive which might be attached to her."
"Very commendable," said Mason dryly. "I wouldn't want you to commit any perjury, Graves, but you will, of course, understand that if you tell your story a few times without mentioning the woman, and that story is recorded in shorthand, or reported in the press, and then you should subsequently be placed upon the stand and asked specifically if you saw a woman or had the impression that a woman was there, an answer which tended to change your previous story wouldn't do my client such a great amount of harm. On the other hand, it wouldn't do you such a great amount of good."
Graves said with dignity: "I am prepared to make some sacrifices in order to protect the good name of Miss Celane."
"And," went on Perry Mason, ominously, "when you did amplify your story to include a woman, as being present in that room, I'd rip you wide open."
"Sure," said Graves, readily.
"And," Mason told him grimly, "when I say wide open, I mean wide open."
At that moment, a door opened and a detective looked into the room, stared at Mason, then shifted his eyes to Graves, and beckoned.
"Graves," he said, "we want you back upstairs. There are one or two questions we want to ask you. When you gave your statement, you seemed to have evaded answering one of the questions. That is, the chief thinks that you did, now that your statement is being read over."
Graves looked at Mason with eyes that were suddenly apprehensive.
"You won't mind answering these questions?" asked the detective.
"Not at all," said Graves, and walked from the solarium.
When the door closed behind Graves and the detective, Perry Mason pulled a paper from his pocket, unfolded it and examined it with thoughtful appraisal. The paper was Frances Celane's promissory note for forty thousand dollars.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE woman slipped in through the door of the solarium and stared at Perry Mason, watched him pacing back and forth, following him with her eyes, studying every motion.
There was a keen concentration in the intentness of her gaze; she might have been a motion picture director, studying a new star for the strong, as well as the weak, points. She was short and broad, but not particularly fat. She seemed heavily muscled and big-boned; a woman of immense strength, capable and self reliant, and in her eyes was a glitter of greedy vitality.
Her features were rugged; the chin rounded
"And what do you mean by that?" pressed the attorney.
"I mean by that, that inasmuch as Miss Celane was not in the house at the time, it would naturally have been impossible for her to have been in that room."
"Then you did not see a woman in the room?" Mason asked.
"I didn't say that either," said Graves. "I said that if there had been another person in the room that I had seen, that person would probably have been a woman."
"Why," asked the lawyer, "do you say that?"
"Well," said Graves, "there is in my mind a more or less confused impression of a woman's head and shoulders showing momentarily in one corner of the window. But of course I couldn't be sure of it, because my glance was riveted on the man with his arm upraised."
"One more question," said Mason. "Did the police take down, in shorthand, the answers which you gave to the questions they asked you, when they inquired about what you had seen?"
"Yes," said Graves.
"And you didn't mention anything about a woman at that time?"
"No."
Mason said slowly: "You understand, Graves, that there is something very peculiar about this. Both you and Crinston have intimated to me that my client might be in some danger. Yet, apparently, she was not anywhere near the house at the time."
"That's right," said Graves eagerly, "she wasn't here."
"Then how could she be in any danger?" asked Mason.
"She isn't," said Graves. "That's the point I'm trying to make. And I'm trying to protect her against any insinuations which might be made, because, you understand, there's a motive which might be attached to her."
"Very commendable," said Mason dryly. "I wouldn't want you to commit any perjury, Graves, but you will, of course, understand that if you tell your story a few times without mentioning the woman, and that story is recorded in shorthand, or reported in the press, and then you should subsequently be placed upon the stand and asked specifically if you saw a woman or had the impression that a woman was there, an answer which tended to change your previous story wouldn't do my client such a great amount of harm. On the other hand, it wouldn't do you such a great amount of good."
Graves said with dignity: "I am prepared to make some sacrifices in order to protect the good name of Miss Celane."
"And," went on Perry Mason, ominously, "when you did amplify your story to include a woman, as being present in that room, I'd rip you wide open."
"Sure," said Graves, readily.
"And," Mason told him grimly, "when I say wide open, I mean wide open."
At that moment, a door opened and a detective looked into the room, stared at Mason, then shifted his eyes to Graves, and beckoned.
"Graves," he said, "we want you back upstairs. There are one or two questions we want to ask you. When you gave your statement, you seemed to have evaded answering one of the questions. That is, the chief thinks that you did, now that your statement is being read over."
Graves looked at Mason with eyes that were suddenly apprehensive.
"You won't mind answering these questions?" asked the detective.
"Not at all," said Graves, and walked from the solarium.
When the door closed behind Graves and the detective, Perry Mason pulled a paper from his pocket, unfolded it and examined it with thoughtful appraisal. The paper was Frances Celane's promissory note for forty thousand dollars.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE woman slipped in through the door of the solarium and stared at Perry Mason, watched him pacing back and forth, following him with her eyes, studying every motion.
There was a keen concentration in the intentness of her gaze; she might have been a motion picture director, studying a new star for the strong, as well as the weak, points. She was short and broad, but not particularly fat. She seemed heavily muscled and big-boned; a woman of immense strength, capable and self reliant, and in her eyes was a glitter of greedy vitality.
Her features were rugged; the chin rounded
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