in," he said, "I want to talk with him."
She nodded and turned, holding the door open.
"You may come in," she said.
There was the rustle of motion. A man came into the room who radiated restlessness. He was a thin man with a very pointed nose and large ears. He walked with nervous jerky steps. He was in the late twenties or early thirties.
"You're Mason, the lawyer?" he asked, his voice quick with impatience.
Perry Mason surveyed him with patient eyes peering out from under heavy eyebrows.
"Sit down," he said.
His visitor hesitated, then sat down on the edge of one of the straight-backed chairs.
"Now, what did you want?" asked Perry Mason.
"I want to find out whether Frances Celane called on you to-day."
Perry Mason's face was patiently appraising.
"This is a law office and not an information bureau, Mr. Gleason," he said.
Gleason jumped nervously to his feet, made three swift strides to the window, stood against the light for a moment, then whirled to stare at the lawyer.
His eyes were dark and smouldering. He seemed to be fighting some overpowering emotion.
"Never mind the wisecracks," he said. "I've got to know whether or not Fran Celane was here talking with you."
Perry Mason's voice did not change its expression in the least. The other man's impatience dropped from his calm manner as easily as butter slips from a hot knife.
"Let's not have any misunderstanding about this," said Perry Mason. "You're talking about a Miss Frances Celane?"
"Yes."
"Do you know Miss Celane personally?"
"Of course I do."
Perry Mason made a frank, disarming gesture with his right hand as though the entire matter were dismissed as of no importance.
"That simplifies it," he said.
"What does?" asked Gleason, suspiciously.
"The fact that you know Miss Celane," said Perry Mason. "Under the circumstances, all you have to do is to ask her if she has consulted me. If she has not, there will be no necessity for you to return. If she has and doesn't want you to know it, she will doubtless find some way of concealing the fact. If she has consulted me and doesn't care if you know the fact, she will tell you."
He got to his feet and smiled at his visitor as though the interview were terminated.
Robert Gleason remained standing by the window. His face showed that he was laboring under a great strain.
"You can't talk that way to me," he said.
"But," explained Mason, patiently, "I have already talked that way to you."
"But you can't do it."
"Why not?"
"It would be all right to talk that way to a stranger," he said, "but I'm not a stranger. I'm close to Fran Celane. I've got a right to know. She's being blackmailed, and I want to know what you propose to do about it."
Perry Mason raised his eyebrows in polite interrogation.
"Who is being blackmailed?" he asked. "And by whom?"
Gleason made an impatient gesture.
"What's the use of all that hooey?" he asked. "I know she was here, and you know she was here. You know she's being blackmailed, and I want to know what you propose to do about it."
"I think," said Mason, "that under the circumstances I'm going to ask you to step out of the office. You see, when I asked you to come in, I thought that you had some matter of legal business to take up with me. As it happens, I am rather busy to-day, and I really haven't time to discuss with you the only matter which seems to interest you."
Gleason kept his position.
"At least," he said, "you can tell me who is doing the blackmailing. That's all I want to know. If you'll give me that information I'll arrange to take care of it myself."
The lawyer walked to the door, standing there very efficient and gravely dignified.
"Good-by, Mr. Gleason," he said. "I'm sorry that I can be of no assistance to you."
"That's final?" asked Gleason, his lips twisting with emotion, until he seemed to be snarling.
"That's all," said Perry Mason, in a tone of finality.
"Very well," said Gleason, and strode across the room and through the door without another
She nodded and turned, holding the door open.
"You may come in," she said.
There was the rustle of motion. A man came into the room who radiated restlessness. He was a thin man with a very pointed nose and large ears. He walked with nervous jerky steps. He was in the late twenties or early thirties.
"You're Mason, the lawyer?" he asked, his voice quick with impatience.
Perry Mason surveyed him with patient eyes peering out from under heavy eyebrows.
"Sit down," he said.
His visitor hesitated, then sat down on the edge of one of the straight-backed chairs.
"Now, what did you want?" asked Perry Mason.
"I want to find out whether Frances Celane called on you to-day."
Perry Mason's face was patiently appraising.
"This is a law office and not an information bureau, Mr. Gleason," he said.
Gleason jumped nervously to his feet, made three swift strides to the window, stood against the light for a moment, then whirled to stare at the lawyer.
His eyes were dark and smouldering. He seemed to be fighting some overpowering emotion.
"Never mind the wisecracks," he said. "I've got to know whether or not Fran Celane was here talking with you."
Perry Mason's voice did not change its expression in the least. The other man's impatience dropped from his calm manner as easily as butter slips from a hot knife.
"Let's not have any misunderstanding about this," said Perry Mason. "You're talking about a Miss Frances Celane?"
"Yes."
"Do you know Miss Celane personally?"
"Of course I do."
Perry Mason made a frank, disarming gesture with his right hand as though the entire matter were dismissed as of no importance.
"That simplifies it," he said.
"What does?" asked Gleason, suspiciously.
"The fact that you know Miss Celane," said Perry Mason. "Under the circumstances, all you have to do is to ask her if she has consulted me. If she has not, there will be no necessity for you to return. If she has and doesn't want you to know it, she will doubtless find some way of concealing the fact. If she has consulted me and doesn't care if you know the fact, she will tell you."
He got to his feet and smiled at his visitor as though the interview were terminated.
Robert Gleason remained standing by the window. His face showed that he was laboring under a great strain.
"You can't talk that way to me," he said.
"But," explained Mason, patiently, "I have already talked that way to you."
"But you can't do it."
"Why not?"
"It would be all right to talk that way to a stranger," he said, "but I'm not a stranger. I'm close to Fran Celane. I've got a right to know. She's being blackmailed, and I want to know what you propose to do about it."
Perry Mason raised his eyebrows in polite interrogation.
"Who is being blackmailed?" he asked. "And by whom?"
Gleason made an impatient gesture.
"What's the use of all that hooey?" he asked. "I know she was here, and you know she was here. You know she's being blackmailed, and I want to know what you propose to do about it."
"I think," said Mason, "that under the circumstances I'm going to ask you to step out of the office. You see, when I asked you to come in, I thought that you had some matter of legal business to take up with me. As it happens, I am rather busy to-day, and I really haven't time to discuss with you the only matter which seems to interest you."
Gleason kept his position.
"At least," he said, "you can tell me who is doing the blackmailing. That's all I want to know. If you'll give me that information I'll arrange to take care of it myself."
The lawyer walked to the door, standing there very efficient and gravely dignified.
"Good-by, Mr. Gleason," he said. "I'm sorry that I can be of no assistance to you."
"That's final?" asked Gleason, his lips twisting with emotion, until he seemed to be snarling.
"That's all," said Perry Mason, in a tone of finality.
"Very well," said Gleason, and strode across the room and through the door without another
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