decree of distribution provide that in the event the trust should terminate because of the death, inability or refusal on the part of the trustee to continue to act, that then and in such event, the entire trust fund is to be vested in you unconditionally."
"Yes," she said, "I know that."
"There is therefore," said Mason, "some possibility that your uncle might be placed in a position where he could no longer act to advantage. In other words, we might make some legal attack upon his capacity to act as trustee – perhaps show a commingling of trust funds with his own accounts, or something of that sort. It's rather sketchy, and I'm mentioning it to you simply because it seems to be the only possible plan of campaign open to us."
She smiled at him and said: "You don't know my uncle."
"Just what do you mean by that?" asked Mason.
"I mean," she said, "that my uncle is meticulously careful, and is so obstinate that no power on earth can swerve him from anything he wants to do, or decides that he doesn't want to do. He is entirely self-sufficient."
For the first time during the interview, there was some feeling in her voice – a certain bitterness which colored her tone, though her eyes remained calm.
"Have you any suggestions?" asked Mason, watching her closely.
"Yes," she said, "I think that something might be done through Arthur Crinston."
"And who," asked Perry Mason, "is Arthur Crinston?"
"Arthur Crinston," she said, "is my uncle's partner. They are engaged in business together, buying, selling and mortgaging real estate, and buying and selling stocks and bonds. Arthur Crinston has more influence with uncle than any other living person."
"And how does he feel toward you?" asked Mason.
"Very kindly," she said, and smiled as she said it.
"Would there be any chance," asked Mason, slowly, "that Crinston could persuade your uncle to give up the administration of the trust and let you have the entire trust fund?"
"There's always a chance of anything," she said, abruptly, getting to her feet. "I'm going to have Mr. Crinston come in and see you."
"Sometime to-morrow?" asked Mason.
"Sometime this afternoon," she said.
He regarded his watch. "It's twenty minutes past four. I close the office at five. Of course I could wait a few minutes."
"He'll be here at quarter of five," she said.
"Do you want to telephone from here?" he asked.
"No, it won't be necessary."
"What," asked Perry Mason, snapping the question at her without warning, as she stood in the doorway of the office, "did Rob Gleason mean when he said that you were being blackmailed?"
She regarded him with wide, tranquil eyes.
"I'm sure," she said, "I haven't the faintest idea," – and closed the door.
CHAPTER THREE
ARTHUR CRINSTON was forty-five, broad-shouldered, and affable. He strode across Mason's private office, with his hand outstretched, and said in a booming voice of ready cordiality:
"Mighty glad to meet you, Mr. Mason. Fran told me that I must come in right away, so I dropped everything to run up."
Perry Mason shook hands and surveyed Crinston with his steady, appraising stare.
"Sit down," he said.
Arthur Crinston dropped into the same black leather chair which Frances Celane had occupied, fished a cigar from his pocket, scraped a match across the sole of his shoe, lit the cigar and grinned through the smoke at the lawyer.
"Wants to get married pretty badly, doesn't she?" he said.
"You know about that?" asked Perry Mason.
"Sure," said Crinston heartily, "I know everything about Fran. In fact, she's nearer being my niece than Edward's niece. That is, we get along together and understand each other."
"Do you think," asked Mason, "that anything could be done by a talk with Edward Norton?"
"Talk by whom?" asked Crinston.
"By you," Mason suggested.
Crinston shook his head.
"By Miss Celane then?" ventured Mason.
Again Crinston shook his head.
"No," he said, "there's only one person who could talk with Norton and do any good."
"And
"Yes," she said, "I know that."
"There is therefore," said Mason, "some possibility that your uncle might be placed in a position where he could no longer act to advantage. In other words, we might make some legal attack upon his capacity to act as trustee – perhaps show a commingling of trust funds with his own accounts, or something of that sort. It's rather sketchy, and I'm mentioning it to you simply because it seems to be the only possible plan of campaign open to us."
She smiled at him and said: "You don't know my uncle."
"Just what do you mean by that?" asked Mason.
"I mean," she said, "that my uncle is meticulously careful, and is so obstinate that no power on earth can swerve him from anything he wants to do, or decides that he doesn't want to do. He is entirely self-sufficient."
For the first time during the interview, there was some feeling in her voice – a certain bitterness which colored her tone, though her eyes remained calm.
"Have you any suggestions?" asked Mason, watching her closely.
"Yes," she said, "I think that something might be done through Arthur Crinston."
"And who," asked Perry Mason, "is Arthur Crinston?"
"Arthur Crinston," she said, "is my uncle's partner. They are engaged in business together, buying, selling and mortgaging real estate, and buying and selling stocks and bonds. Arthur Crinston has more influence with uncle than any other living person."
"And how does he feel toward you?" asked Mason.
"Very kindly," she said, and smiled as she said it.
"Would there be any chance," asked Mason, slowly, "that Crinston could persuade your uncle to give up the administration of the trust and let you have the entire trust fund?"
"There's always a chance of anything," she said, abruptly, getting to her feet. "I'm going to have Mr. Crinston come in and see you."
"Sometime to-morrow?" asked Mason.
"Sometime this afternoon," she said.
He regarded his watch. "It's twenty minutes past four. I close the office at five. Of course I could wait a few minutes."
"He'll be here at quarter of five," she said.
"Do you want to telephone from here?" he asked.
"No, it won't be necessary."
"What," asked Perry Mason, snapping the question at her without warning, as she stood in the doorway of the office, "did Rob Gleason mean when he said that you were being blackmailed?"
She regarded him with wide, tranquil eyes.
"I'm sure," she said, "I haven't the faintest idea," – and closed the door.
CHAPTER THREE
ARTHUR CRINSTON was forty-five, broad-shouldered, and affable. He strode across Mason's private office, with his hand outstretched, and said in a booming voice of ready cordiality:
"Mighty glad to meet you, Mr. Mason. Fran told me that I must come in right away, so I dropped everything to run up."
Perry Mason shook hands and surveyed Crinston with his steady, appraising stare.
"Sit down," he said.
Arthur Crinston dropped into the same black leather chair which Frances Celane had occupied, fished a cigar from his pocket, scraped a match across the sole of his shoe, lit the cigar and grinned through the smoke at the lawyer.
"Wants to get married pretty badly, doesn't she?" he said.
"You know about that?" asked Perry Mason.
"Sure," said Crinston heartily, "I know everything about Fran. In fact, she's nearer being my niece than Edward's niece. That is, we get along together and understand each other."
"Do you think," asked Mason, "that anything could be done by a talk with Edward Norton?"
"Talk by whom?" asked Crinston.
"By you," Mason suggested.
Crinston shook his head.
"By Miss Celane then?" ventured Mason.
Again Crinston shook his head.
"No," he said, "there's only one person who could talk with Norton and do any good."
"And
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