The Case of the Grinning Gorilla

Chapter number 7

Mason and Della Street, working late in the office that night, were interrupted by the constant buzzing of the switchboard in the outer office.

“I thought we’d shut that off,” Mason said.

“It still buzzes,” she said. “You can hear it.”

“Someone certainly is optimistic,” Mason said. “That board’s been buzzing away at intervals for the last five minutes. Go see who it is, Della.”

“I don’t know who could possibly think you’d be at the office this time of night.”

“Well, you remember what happened with James Etna. We took a chance and — see who it is, Della.”

Della plugged into the switchboard, said, “Hello,” frowned, said, “Yes... Who...? Oh yes, Mrs. Kempton.”

She motioned to catch the attention of Perry Mason and pointed to the telephone.

Mason gently picked up the receiver from his telephone so he could listen in on the conversation.

Mrs. Kempton’s voice, coming over the line, sounded almost hysterical. “I can’t get Mr. Etna. I’m in a terrible situation! I don’t know what to do. I have to see someone I want — oh, I want Mr. Mason so desperately! I’ve tried and tried and someone must help me. I don’t know what’s happening here. I’m in an awful predicament.”

“Where are you?” Della Street asked.

“I’m out at Stonehenge. Out at Benjamin Addicks’ place, and something terrible has happened.”

“You’re where?”

“At Stonehenge. At Mr. Addicks’ place.”

Mason cut in on the conversation.

“This is Perry Mason, Mrs. Kempton. Now can you tell me what the trouble is?”

“Not over the telephone, Mr. Mason. It’s terrible. I need help.”

“I suggest you call the police, Mrs. Kempton.”

“No, no, no, not the police. Not until I’ve seen a lawyer. I simply have to see a lawyer. I tried to get Mr. Etna so that he could get you. You’re the one I want. Mr. Mason, I have money to pay you with, thanks to you. I simply must see you.”

“You can’t leave there?”

“I don’t want — there’s something here that — that’s what I want to see you about. I need your advice.”

“How did you happen to go out there?”

“Mr. Mason, please! I can’t explain over the telephone. Oh, if you could only come out here. Please come out, Mr. Mason. I can assure you it’s the most important thing I ever asked of anybody in my whole life. I’m going absolutely crazy.”

“All right,” Mason said. “I’ll come out. Now where’s Mr. Addicks?”

“Mr. Mason,” she said, ignoring the question, “please do exactly as I say. The front entrance of the house is on Olive Street. There’s a barred gate and a watchman there, but there’s a back entrance on Rose Street that is used by the people who work with the animals. That entrance doesn’t have a watchman. There’s a locked door. I’m going to try to be at that door. It’ll take you about fifteen minutes to get out here, Mr. Mason. Please hurry just as fast as you can. Can you start now?”

“I’ll start now,” Mason said. “You meet me at the back door. That’s on Rose Street, as I understand.”

“On Rose Street, exactly opposite the place on Olive Street where the big iron gates are located. It’s just a plain looking structure like a garage. The door has the number 546 on it. That’s all there is. Just that door with the number 546, and it’s on Rose Street. You go there and turn the knob of the door. I’ll be there, waiting — if I can make it and if you hurry.”

“Is there any reason why you might not be able to make it?” Mason asked.

“Yes,” she said, and abruptly hung up.

Mason clicked the receiver a couple of times, then glanced at Della Street, who had left the other telephone to come and stand beside him.

“Think she was cut off, Della?”

“I think she hung up, Chief.”

“Well,” Mason said, “evidently the situation out there has come to a head.”

“But, Chief, what in the world would she be doing out there? She’s made a settlement with Addicks.”

“She may have been trying to blackmail him for the murder of Helen Cadmus,” Mason said. “You know, she’s rather a peculiar individual. She certainly was listening intently to everything we said about Helen Cadmus and her diaries.”

“Well,” Della Street said, “let’s go. We can talk it over on the road and...”

“Where do you get that ‘we’ stuff?” Mason asked. “This may be a little rugged, Della.”

“Don’t think you’re going to leave me behind now,” she said. “I’m a rugged girl. Come on, let’s go.”

She flew around the office, switching out lights, grabbed her hat, thrust it on her head, handed Mason his hat, and jerked open the exit door.

“I’ll run down the hall and get the elevator up here,” she said, and flashed past Mason to run on tiptoes down the long, echoing corridor of the building.

By the time Perry Mason had arrived at the elevator, Della Street had the cage waiting at the floor.

“Good girl,” Mason said.

The night janitor, on duty at the elevator, said, “You folks look as though you’re going some place in a hurry.”

“We are,” Mason told him.

The janitor dropped the cage to the ground floor while Mason was scrawling his signature in the book, showing the time of departure from his office.

They ran over to the parking place, jumped into Mason’s car, and Mason gunned the motor into life, waved at the parking attendant, and tore out through the back of the parking lot into the alley so fast the tires sent up a squeal of protest.

Mason slowed the car just enough to keep it under control as he came to the end of the alley, made an abrupt right turn into the street and pressed the accelerator almost to the floor board.

He slipped through the first intersection on an amber light, just skimmed a red signal at the next.

“If we should have to stop and do a lot of explaining to a traffic officer,” Della Street said, “it’s going to delay us.”

“I know,” Mason told her, “but I have a hunch this is really urgent.”

“And,” Della Street pointed out, “if we don’t get there in one piece, we might as well not have started.”

“That also is true,” Mason said dryly.

“Chief, are you going to go at this thing blind?”

“What do you mean?”

“Just take her as a client in case she’s... well, you know what I mean?”

“In case we find a body out there?” Mason said.

“Yes.”

“I don’t know,” Mason told her. “There’s something peculiar about Josephine Kempton. I don’t know what it is. You have the impression all the time you’re talking with her that she’s very much interested in finding out what you’re thinking, but that she has no intention of letting you know what she’s thinking. It’s like playing stud poker. You have the feeling that she has a pretty good idea of what your hole card is, but you don’t know anything about hers, and somehow you have the uneasy feeling that it may be an ace.”

“She could get you into trouble in case you became impulsive.”

“I know,” Mason admitted. “That’s why I want to size up the situation before I decide what to do. There’s something about this case, Della, the whole thing, that has aroused my curiosity.”

“For your information,” she told him dryly, “that was a boulevard stop back there.”

“I know,” Mason said, “but I didn’t see any cars coming, and I saw no reason to comply with an empty legal formality.”

Della Street settled back in the cushions of the car, placed a nearly shod foot against the dash so as to brace herself against sudden stops, and said, “I think probably that last remark is a very complete index to your character.”

As they approached Stonehenge Mason said, “I’m just going to take a quick swing around the front of the house, Della.”

“The watchman will see you.”

“I’m not going to stop in the parking place. I’m just going to drive by long enough to give it a once-over and see what the front of the house looks like.”

“You can’t see it from the road, can you?”

“I think we can get a glimpse of it.”

The lawyer drove his car down Olive Street, slowed slightly as he came to the parking place by the side of the road and the two massive square stone columns.

The heavy iron gates were closed.

“I don’t see anything of the watchman,” Della Street said.

“If I stopped the car I have an idea he’d pop into sight,” Mason said, driving rapidly to the intersection and turning to the right.

Halfway down the side street there was a place where it was possible to get an unobstructed view of the entire north gable of the house.

“The place is lit up like a church,” Della Street said.

Mason slowed the car to a stop.

“A ten foot, heavy-meshed fence all around the place,” he said. “It breaks into a Y at the top, with barbed wire on both sides of the Y. That means there’s an overhang so you can’t climb in or climb out. Mr. Addicks certainly does value his privacy.”

“Doesn’t he — Chief, look! Look up there!”

“Where?”

“That upper window in the gable. See the man — he’s pushing his way out of the window and...”

“That’s not a man,” Mason said. “That’s a gorilla.”

They sat in spellbound silence while the oblong of light framed the massive body of the huge gorilla. The animal stretched forth a long, groping arm, then made a leap for the branches of a shade tree. A moment later he was slithering down the shade tree, and, within a matter of seconds after that, floodlights blazed on all over the yard, sirens began to scream a warning, and the barking dogs reached a crescendo of excitement.

“Now what?” Della Street asked.

“Evidently our gorilla slid down to the ground,” Mason said, “and crossed a beam of invisible light. He’s set in motion an electrical apparatus which turns on floodlights all over the place, starts sirens going and releases the police dogs. Now we’ll see what’s going to happen.”

He sat watching for a second or two, then suddenly put the car into gear.

Della looked at him in surprise. “Chief, you’re not going to try to get to the house now?”

He nodded.

“Hadn’t we better wait and see what developments are?”

“Perhaps we’d better get there before some of these developments take place,” Mason said.

He spun the car into Rose Street.

The high, wire fence, with the barbed-wire Y at the top, angled back from the road, leaving a cemented parking place in front of a row of garages. A two-story building sat back some twenty feet from the road, leaving ample space for parking and turning automobiles.

On the door of this two-story building the numbers 546 were plainly legible.

Mason stopped the car in front of the door, jumped out and pushed his finger against a bell button.

He could hear the sound of an electric bell in the interior, but waited in vain for any indication that anyone had heard the summons.

“Chief,” Della Street said apprehensively, “she said she’d meet us here. If she doesn’t... well, that’s all there is to it. We can call the police, or...”

Mason shook his head and pressed the bell button again. “Something’s happened,” he said, “something that upset her plans. At least one of those big gorillas is loose.”

“Chief, they could tear you in two. The way that big animal loomed against the oblong of light and then jumped out into space to grab the tree limb...”

She broke off, shuddering.

“I know,” Mason said. “It gives you the creeps, but there’s something definitely wrong here. Mrs. Kempton had real panic in her voice.”

“Well, apparently no one’s going to answer the bell. She must have gone somewhere.”

Mason tried the door.

“It’s unlocked,” he said.

“Chief, don’t.”

“You wait in the car,” Mason told her. “If I’m not back here in five minutes, drive to the nearest telephone and notify the police.”

“No, no. I’m going with you. I...”

“You wait in the car,” Mason told her. “You have five minutes...”

“Chief, I’m going in there with you.”

“You can’t help any. You can’t do a thing.”

“Perhaps not, but it would be a lot better than sitting out here in the car wait...”

“No,” Mason interrupted. “You’re going to wait in the car. At the end of five minutes call the police. If I’m not out in five minutes don’t wait for me, don’t hesitate. Just drive that car to the nearest telephone and get the police.”

“If you’re not back in five minutes it wouldn’t do any good to call the Army,” she said. “You know it and I know it.”

“You wait in the car,” Mason told her.

“You’re just trying to keep me out of danger,” she protested.

“That’s an order,” Mason told her, and, opening the door, he went inside, slamming it shut behind him. There was a bolt on the inside of the door and he slid it into place, just in case Della Street should decide to ignore his instructions and try to follow him.

Here the peculiar, fetid smell of animal occupancy was accentuated. It was as though he had stepped into a zoo.

He walked down a short corridor toward an open door and entered an office equipped with desks, filing cabinets and typewriters. There were a dozen or so graphs on the wall.

Mason crossed this office, opened a door and found himself in a long, concrete corridor, on one side of which was a long row of cages.

In these cages were gorillas, chimpanzees, monkeys, all apparently in a state of great excitement.

Every light in the place seemed to be on and the whole corridor was flooded with brilliance.

Far down at the end of the corridor he saw that two of the big iron gates were swung open.

Hesitating for a long instant, he then walked down the corridor, keeping his steps as uniform as possible, his eyes straight ahead, trying above all else not to show any fear.

Monkeys chattered at him in shrill excitement. A gorilla clapped his hands as the lawyer walked by. The explosive sound was like that of a machine gun ripping into action.

With effort, Mason continued to walk steadily, controlling every outward manifestation of his nerves.

He was directly abreast of a big cage with heavy iron bars across the door, when, with a demoniacal cry, a huge gorilla that had been at the far corner of the cage sprang toward him, hurling against the bars of the cage with an impact which made even the floor shake. A moment later a long, hairy arm came snaking through the bars, trying to grab the lawyer.

He jumped back. The stubby fingers of the huge gorilla scraped down his coat, tried for a hold and failed.

He flattened against the wall. The huge animal glared at him ferociously, and then, suddenly dropping from the bars of the cage, bared his fangs and began to bear a tattoo on his chest.

Pressing against the wall, Mason edged his way on past.

The big gorilla made another grab. This time his hand was inches short of reaching Mason’s garment.

Then apparently the gorilla started laughing. Mason stared in fascination at the black body, the black face, the sardonic eyes, and the huge red mouth that opened up, baring fangs in a great engulfing grin.

Mason said, “Old boy, I don’t know whether you’re playing games with me and tried to frighten me, or whether you wanted to grab me and tear me into my component parts, but I’m just not taking any chances.”

The gorilla continued to beat his chest.

Beyond this cage was a cage containing an animal which Mason took to be a chimpanzee, then a cage of monkeys, and then the two empty cages with swinging doors that were wide open.

He had the uneasy feeling that it had been only a few moments earlier that the huge animals had made their escape, and in all probability had entered the main house through the door which Mason could see swinging ajar at the end of the corridor.

He looked at his watch. It had been but a little over a minute since he had left Della Street at the door.

Mason pushed back the door. As he had surmised, this door led directly into the main house, with its rich deep carpets on the floor, a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling, a flight of winding stairs leading up to a second floor.

Mason hesitated, debated whether to turn back.

“Hello!” he called.

Even to his own ears his voice seemed to lack assurance.

Suddenly from the second floor came a terrific pounding, a series of blows struck with indescribable rapidity, a pounding that seemed to shake the entire house.

Mason called out, “Mrs. Kempton, are you all right?”

The pounding ceased.

“Mrs. Kempton!” he called. “Oh, Mrs. Kempton!”

Again the pounding was renewed, this time seeming to be closer, nearer to the head of the stairs.

He ran up the stairs two at a time.

The stairs led to an upper corridor. Looking down this corridor, Mason learned the cause of the noise. A big gorilla was hanging onto the top edge of an open door, his long left arm extended. His two feet and the other hand were beating violent tattoo on the floor of the hallway.

As he saw Mason, the gorilla released his hold on the door, ceased pounding and came running toward the lawyer with a peculiar shambling gait.

Mason stood stock-still.

The gorilla continued to advance.

Mason looked apprehensively back over his shoulder, realized that before he could get halfway down the staircase the gorilla would overtake him.

Mason stretched forth his arm, holding up his hand with the palm outward.

The gorilla came to a stop, stood upright, beat his chest rapidly with both hands until the whole hallway reverberated with hollow, drumlike sounds.

Mason took a slow step backwards, groping behind him with his hand for the edge of the iron balustrade.

The gorilla abruptly ceased to beat his chest, watched Mason as a cat might watch a mouse.

The lawyer’s groping hand encountered not the iron balustrade but the knob of a door. He twisted the knob. The door, which was unlocked, opened inward. He slipped through the door, abruptly closed it, and, searching frantically for a lock, found a heavy bolt which he shot into place.

There was complete, utter silence from the hallway.

Mason found that he was in a big room equipped as a combined bedroom and office. Behind a screen he could see the foot of a bed and on the bed he was able to glimpse a man’s foot.

There was a big desk, a couple of filing cases, a round cannon ball safe, shelves containing books, paintings on the walls, some framed photographs, and a half a dozen large chairs.

Mason started around the big desk, and as he did so stopped short as he saw the body of a woman crumpled on the floor, lying slightly on one side, her head bent backwards, her left hand clenched, her right hand on the carpet with the fingers extended.

Light shining down on the woman’s face left no. doubt of her identity. It was Mrs. Kempton.

Mason ran around the screen to the bed.

A man lay face down on the bed, sprawled out.

The handle of a big carving knife protruded from his back. The knife had been driven in to the hilt, and blood had spread out over the bedspread, blood had spurted up onto the wall, and, as Mason looked closer, he saw another jagged wound on the side of the man’s neck.

There was no need to take the man’s pulse. He was obviously dead.

Mason turned back toward the place where Mrs. Kempton was lying.

As he did so the whole room rocked under the impact of a terrific weight which was hurled against the door.

Then, for a moment, there was silence. A framed painting on the corridor wall, which had been pushed out by the impact, thudded back into place.

There was a half-second of silence, and then suddenly the impact against the door was renewed. This time the door crashed from its hinges and exploded inward into the room.

Standing in the doorway, glowering at Mason was the big gorilla the lawyer had seen at the end of the corridor.

Mason tried using his voice. “Just a minute, boy,” he said. “Steady. Take it easy now.”

The gorilla stood perfectly motionless, looking directly at Mason. The bulk of the big desk prevented the animal from seeing Mrs. Kempton sprawled on the floor, just as it had prevented Mason from seeing her.

It was a tense moment. Mason could hear the pounding of his own heart, could see the gorilla watching him with keen eyes that took in every move, every detail of Mason’s appearance.

“Take it easy, boy,” Mason said.

The gorilla moved forward, putting one of its feet on the smashed, splintered doorway, then abruptly withdrawing it as though thinking better of it. The animal’s long arms were thrust forward, the knuckles of the left forearm resting lightly on the splintered doorway, the right arm clinging to the wrecked doorjamb.

Mason tried to hold the animal with his eyes.

For a long moment neither moved.

Mason started talking, striving to keep his voice natural. “I don’t know what the devil to say to you under the circumstances,” Mason said, addressing the gorilla. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I have an idea that if I advance I’m going to get killed, and if I retreat I’m sure I’ll get killed. If I stand here without doing anything, I’m simply building up a tension and...”

Abruptly Mason became conscious of Mrs. Kempton’s voice from the floor, a voice that was weak but edged with urgency.

“Don’t look at him, Mr. Mason,” she warned. “Crouch down on the floor and start doing something, anything. Take some coins from your pocket, a knife, a watch, anything that glitters. Start arranging them in patterns.”

Mason, with his eyes still on the gorilla, said over his shoulder, “Are you all right? I was afraid you...”

“Never mind about me, do as I say. Hurry!”

Mason heard Mrs. Kempton stir behind him, struggling to a sitting position.

Mason had some loose coins in his right-hand trouser pocket. He pulled them out and started arranging them in a haphazard design on the floor, bending over the coins in complete concentration.

After a moment Mason was conscious that the gorilla had moved another step forward, sensed that the animal was peering down at the coins Mason was arranging with such careful precision.

Mrs. Kempton managed to get to a sitting position, then to her knees. “Haven’t you something else?” she asked. “A gold pencil, a watch? Anything.”

Mason unbuckled his wrist watch, placed in on the floor in the center of the circle of coins, noticing as he did so that it was now exactly five and one half minutes since he had left Della Street at the doorway. If she followed instructions she should now be headed for a telephone, calling the police.

“Now then,” Mrs. Kempton said, “back away slowly, keeping your eyes on the coins. Don’t look at the gorilla. Back away. Back away slowly. When you do that he’ll come forward and try to find out what you were doing. He’ll be curious. He’ll start playing with the objects you’ve left on the floor — I hope.”

Mason straightened to his feet.

“Don’t look at the gorilla,” she warned.

Mason continued to stare down at the assortment of coins and the wrist watch on the floor.

“Keep backing away,” she said. “Back away slowly over toward me.”

Mason followed instructions.

He felt her hand on his arm, felt her weight for a moment as she used his arm as support to pull herself to her feet.

The gorilla, his eyes fastened on the assortment of objects on the floor, moved forward and bent down over the coins just as Mason had done.

“Quick,” she said, “but don’t run. Walk quietly, firmly, and with a great deal of assurance. Leave him there with that problem to puzzle over. Come quickly.”

Mason said, “What’s happened? What...?”

“I don’t know. Let’s get out of here first. Our lives are in danger. That gorilla is dangerous. If he ever thinks we’re afraid of him, if he ever thinks we’re running away from him — oh, please, come!”

“There’s a dead man on the bed,” Mason said.

“I know,” she told him. “Benjamin Addicks. He’s been stabbed.”

“Who stabbed him?”

“Don’t talk now. Just follow me, please.”

She led the way around the bed to a bathroom. “In here, quick.”

She closed and locked that door, opened a door at the other end of the bathroom which opened on a communicating bedroom.

“Hurry,” she said.

She was running now, leading the way.

Mason kept pace with her.

“Will that gorilla...?”

“Heaven knows what that gorilla will do,” she said. “You can’t tell what’s going to happen. Gorillas are unpredictable anyway, and these animals have been subjected to psychiatric experiments. They’re nervously unstable.”

“What in the world are you doing here?”

“I’ll tell you later on.”

She had crossed the room now and stood listening at a door. She opened this door, put her head out, glanced quickly from side to side, said in a whisper, “I think the coast is clear. We’re going to have to cross this corridor and go down the stairs to the front reception room — I think you’d better take off your shoes.”

Mason slipped his shoes off and was aware that Mrs. Kempton also had removed her shoes while she was talking.

“We’ll run,” she said, “but we don’t want them to know we’re running. If they hear the sound of running feet, if there’s any sign of panic — it’s going to be too bad.”

She stepped out into the corridor. Mason was at her side. Together they reached the winding staircase which led down to the reception hallway where Mason had been given his first glimpse of the interior of the house.

Abruptly Mason realized that for some time now he had been conscious of a background of noise, which now resolved itself into the steady wailing of sirens, an almost hysterical barking of police dogs. Suddenly the barking rose to a crescendo, and then abruptly ceased in a chorus of yelps, the sound being similar to that made by a dog that has been hit a glancing blow by an automobile.

“What’s that?” Mason asked.

“I tell you I don’t know,” she said. “We’ve got to get out of here! We’ve got to get out of here!”

She led the way down the stairs, across the reception corridor. Mason moved toward the front door.

“No, no, not that way,” she said.

She crossed through another room, through a dining room, a serving pantry, a kitchen, said, “we’ve got to take a chance on this. This is a doorway that leads to the zoo. Heaven knows whether any of those animals are back.”

She opened the door.

Mason stepped past her into the corridor, saw that the doors on the vacant cages were still swung open. Apparently no animals were loose in the corridor.

“Come on,” Mason said, and led the way at a run.

“Watch out for that gorilla,” she warned.

They paused to put on their shoes. Mason veered over so that he was brushing against the wall.

Once more, as he passed the cage, the gorilla flung himself in a savage leap that was arrested by the bars of the cage.

Even the walls of the corridor shook at the impact of that body as it hurtled against the door.

Mason looked back over his shoulder to see that Mrs. Kempton was keeping against the wall.

The gorilla’s long, hairy arms shot through the bars in the cage, groped in savage fury, missed them by a matter of inches.

Out in the yard the dogs began barking as though they had something treed. The sirens were sounding a continual scream of noise.

Mason opened the door, looked out, said, “Let’s make a run for it.”

They emerged on Rose Street. The night air seemed pure and sweet in their nostrils in contrast to the animal odors of the corridor with its closely packed cages.

Behind them was the blaze of light from the battery of floodlights which now illuminated every inch of the grounds. One of the dogs yelped in pain, then there was another round of excited barking.

Mason surveyed the street. Since he had left his wrist watch for the gorilla to play with he had no means of knowing how long it had been since Della had gone for the police.

“We may run into someone,” he said, “so let’s try to act like passers-by who have been attracted by the commotion. We’ll walk rapidly, but try not to run.

“Now, tell me what happened.”

“Well,” she said, “it’s a long story. There’s one matter on which I need the help of a lawyer at once, and...”

“Who killed Addicks?” Mason interrupted impatiently.

She quickened her pace.

“Hold it,” Mason ordered. “Who killed...?”

He broke off as a police car swung around the corner, two red spotlights throwing blood-red beams ahead of the car.

The headlights etched Mason and Mrs. Kempton into brilliance, then a huge searchlight pilloried them in a glare.

A siren screamed at them.

Mrs. Kempton looked at Mason in dismay.

“Stand still,” Mason said.

A voice from the police car shouted, “Get ’em up!”

Mason elevated his hands.

The police car slowed almost to a stop, drew up alongside. Mason could see the reflection of lights from the blued steel of weapons.

“What the devil’s coming off here?” a voice asked.

“I wish I knew,” Mason told them.

“Well, you should know. You were legging it away from the house just as fast as you could make it.”

Mason said, “Any time you are sufficiently satisfied that I am unarmed, I’ll reach into my pocket, bring out my billfold and show you that I am an attorney at law, and that I am the one who summoned the police.”

“By gosh, it’s Perry Mason!” another voice in the police car said. “You’ve been in that house, Mason?”

“I have been in that house,” Mason said. “I wish to report a dead man lying on a bed in a bedroom on the second floor. He has quite evidently been stabbed, and from the position of the wounds and the manner in which the handle of the knife is sticking from his back, I would say definitely that it was not suicide. Now then, I’ve made my report.”

The searchlight was clicked off. One of the officers said, “Who’s that with you?”

“Her name is Josephine Kempton,” Mason said. “She’s a client of mine, and I’ll do the talking.”

“Let’s not start that angle.”

“It’s started,” Mason told him.

“What has she got to conceal?”

“As far as I know, nothing.”

“Why doesn’t she tell her story then?”

“Because,” Mason said, “she happens to have certain rights. I want an opportunity to talk with her privately and in detail before I know what she should say and what she shouldn’t say. I might further point out that if I were the only one involved I would endeavor to ascertain the facts in the situation and make a statement which would clarify her position. However, as it happens, I am only one of two counsel.”

“Who’s the other one?”

“James Etna of Etna, Etna and Douglas.”

“Where’s he?”

“That,” Mason said, “is something we don’t know, something we’ve been trying to find out.”

“All right, get in the back of this car,” the officer said. “There’ll be another car here in a minute. If this woman isn’t going to talk, she’s going to be held as a material witness. You know that.”

“That’s quite all right,” Mason said. “You know your business, and I know mine. Hold her as a witness if you want to. She’ll talk when I tell her to. I’ll tell her to when I know what she has to say.”

One of the officers opened the back door of the automobile. “Get in there in the back seat,” he ordered. “How the devil do you get into this house? The front gate seems to be barred, and...”

“You get in by driving along this street to a door bearing the number 546. You want to be pretty careful when you go in because there are some gorillas loose in the place and they look as though they might be belligerent.”

“Isn’t this the devil of an assignment,” one officer complained to the other. “Where’s car nineteen?”

“Here it comes.”

Another police car swung in at the opposite entrance of Rose Street, and came toward them. Its siren, which had been screaming in a crescendo, was now lowering to a grumbling wail.

“All right,” the driver said. “I guess I go in with nineteen. You stay here and keep an eye on these people. You’d better hand me that machine gun. This gorilla hunting is something I don’t like.”

Mason turned to Mrs. Josephine Kempton. “You heard what I said?” He inquired in a low voice.

“Yes.”

“Do you understand you’re not to talk to anybody until you have talked to me, until I have had a chance to get your whole story? You understand that?”

“Yes.”

“Can you follow those instructions? Can you keep from making any statement?”

“Certainly.”