word.
Perry Mason closed the door gently, hooked his thumbs in the armholes of his vest, dropped his head forward and started pacing the floor.
After a few moments, he went to his desk, and took out the typewritten paper containing the copy of the clause in the will of Carl Celane, setting forth the terms of the trust to Frances Celane.
He was still studying this typewritten document when Della Street opened the door once more.
"Miss Celane," she said.
Mason looked at her speculatively for a moment, then beckoned to her.
She interpreted the gesture, and stepped fully into the room, pulling the door closed behind her.
"Did Gleason go out of the office as soon as he left here?" he asked.
"Yes," she said, "in just about nothing flat. He acted as though he was trying to win a walking race."
"And Miss Celane just came in?"
"Yes."
"You don't think they met in the elevator?"
Della Street pursed her lips thoughtfully.
"They might have, Chief," she said, "but I don't think they did."
"How does Miss Celane seem?" he asked. "Excited?"
"No," she said, "cool as a cucumber, and she's trying to look her best when she comes in. She took out her compact and is making her face all pretty. She's got her hair arranged just so."
"All right," said Mason, "send her in."
The secretary opened the door. "Come in, Miss Celane," she said.
As Frances Celane walked into the room, the secretary slipped out through the door, and noiselessly closed it behind her.
"Sit down," said Perry Mason.
Frances Celane walked over to the same leather chair which she had occupied earlier in the day, sat down, crossed her knees and regarded the attorney from limpid black eyes in wordless interrogation.
"A Robert Gleason called on me a few minutes ago," said Mason, "and insisted on my telling him whether or not you had been here."
"Bob's so impulsive," she said.
"You know him then?"
"Yes, of course."
"Did you tell him you were going here?" he asked.
"I mentioned your name to him," she said. "Did you tell him that I had been here?"
"Certainly not. I told him to get in touch with you if he wanted to ask any questions about your affairs."
She smiled faintly.
"Bob Gleason wouldn't appreciate your talking to him like that," she said.
"He didn't," Mason told her.
"I'll see him," she said, "and tell him."
"Gleason," went on the attorney, "said that you were being blackmailed."
For just a fraction of a second there was a look of startled terror in the eyes of the young woman. Then she regarded the attorney with a placid and impassive face.
"Rob is so impulsive," she said, for the second time.
Mason waited for her to tell him more if she wished to take advantage of the opportunity, but she sat calmly placid, waiting.
Mason turned to the papers on his desk.
"I have copies of the trust provisions of the will, and the decree of distribution," he said. "I also find that there have been annual accounts submitted by the trustee. I'm afraid that I can't give you very much hope, Miss Celane, as far as the decree of distribution itself is concerned. The administration of the trust seems to be largely discretionary.
"You see, even if I should be able to get the provision in regard to marriage set aside, as being in violation of public policy, we would still be confronted with the fact that the distribution of the trust estate remains largely in the discretion of the trustee. I am afraid that your uncle would consider our attack upon the will in the light of an interference with the wishes of your father, and with his authority as trustee. Even if we should win our point in court, he would have it in his discretion to nullify our victory."
She took the blow without flinching, and said, after a moment: "That's what I was afraid of."
"There is another peculiar provision in the trust," said Mason, "to the effect that the discretion vested in the trustee is a personal discretion, due to the confidence which your father had in his judgment. The will and
Perry Mason closed the door gently, hooked his thumbs in the armholes of his vest, dropped his head forward and started pacing the floor.
After a few moments, he went to his desk, and took out the typewritten paper containing the copy of the clause in the will of Carl Celane, setting forth the terms of the trust to Frances Celane.
He was still studying this typewritten document when Della Street opened the door once more.
"Miss Celane," she said.
Mason looked at her speculatively for a moment, then beckoned to her.
She interpreted the gesture, and stepped fully into the room, pulling the door closed behind her.
"Did Gleason go out of the office as soon as he left here?" he asked.
"Yes," she said, "in just about nothing flat. He acted as though he was trying to win a walking race."
"And Miss Celane just came in?"
"Yes."
"You don't think they met in the elevator?"
Della Street pursed her lips thoughtfully.
"They might have, Chief," she said, "but I don't think they did."
"How does Miss Celane seem?" he asked. "Excited?"
"No," she said, "cool as a cucumber, and she's trying to look her best when she comes in. She took out her compact and is making her face all pretty. She's got her hair arranged just so."
"All right," said Mason, "send her in."
The secretary opened the door. "Come in, Miss Celane," she said.
As Frances Celane walked into the room, the secretary slipped out through the door, and noiselessly closed it behind her.
"Sit down," said Perry Mason.
Frances Celane walked over to the same leather chair which she had occupied earlier in the day, sat down, crossed her knees and regarded the attorney from limpid black eyes in wordless interrogation.
"A Robert Gleason called on me a few minutes ago," said Mason, "and insisted on my telling him whether or not you had been here."
"Bob's so impulsive," she said.
"You know him then?"
"Yes, of course."
"Did you tell him you were going here?" he asked.
"I mentioned your name to him," she said. "Did you tell him that I had been here?"
"Certainly not. I told him to get in touch with you if he wanted to ask any questions about your affairs."
She smiled faintly.
"Bob Gleason wouldn't appreciate your talking to him like that," she said.
"He didn't," Mason told her.
"I'll see him," she said, "and tell him."
"Gleason," went on the attorney, "said that you were being blackmailed."
For just a fraction of a second there was a look of startled terror in the eyes of the young woman. Then she regarded the attorney with a placid and impassive face.
"Rob is so impulsive," she said, for the second time.
Mason waited for her to tell him more if she wished to take advantage of the opportunity, but she sat calmly placid, waiting.
Mason turned to the papers on his desk.
"I have copies of the trust provisions of the will, and the decree of distribution," he said. "I also find that there have been annual accounts submitted by the trustee. I'm afraid that I can't give you very much hope, Miss Celane, as far as the decree of distribution itself is concerned. The administration of the trust seems to be largely discretionary.
"You see, even if I should be able to get the provision in regard to marriage set aside, as being in violation of public policy, we would still be confronted with the fact that the distribution of the trust estate remains largely in the discretion of the trustee. I am afraid that your uncle would consider our attack upon the will in the light of an interference with the wishes of your father, and with his authority as trustee. Even if we should win our point in court, he would have it in his discretion to nullify our victory."
She took the blow without flinching, and said, after a moment: "That's what I was afraid of."
"There is another peculiar provision in the trust," said Mason, "to the effect that the discretion vested in the trustee is a personal discretion, due to the confidence which your father had in his judgment. The will and
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