Mason laughed, and said, "Ten, to be exact."
"There you are," Drake remarked, as though addressing an imaginary audience.
"The fee has nothing to do with it," Mason said. "A lawyer has a trust to his client. He can set any fee he pleases. If the client doesn't pay it, the lawyer doesn't need to take the business; but if a client pays it, it doesn't make any difference whether it's five cents or five million dollars. The lawyer should give the client everything he has."
"You couldn't practice law on that sort of theory unless you were a damned individualist, Perry Here's the waffle joint. Come on in."
Mason stood in the doorway, looking dubiously into the lighted interior. A young woman, with dark hair, laughing eyes, and full, red lips, was presiding over a battery of waffle irons. The only customer in the place paid his check. She rang up the money in the cash register, flashed him a bright smile, and started wiping off the counter.
"I don't think I want a waffle," Mason said.
The detective, taking him by the arm, gently pushed him through the door, saying, "Sure, you want a waffle."
They seated themselves at the counter. Dark eyes flashed to their faces as the full, red lips gave a quick smile.
"Two waffles," Drake said, "stripped with bacon."
The young woman's hands became a blur of swift efficiency as she poured waffle dough and spread strips of bacon on a hot plate.
"Coffee?" she asked.
"Coffee," Drake said.
"Now?" she asked.
"Now."
She drew two cups of coffee, placed them, with a little pitcher of cream at each plate. She produced paper napkins, arranged silverware, put down glasses of water and butter.
Drake raised his voice, while steam simmered up from the waffle irons.
"Do you think you can bust Pete Laxter's will, Perry?"
"I don't know," Mason admitted. "There's something queer about that will. I've been stewing over the thing for three hours."
"Seems funny that he'd have disinherited his favorite grandchild," the detective went on in a loud voice. "Sam Laxter went in for bright lights, and dissipation. The old man didn't like it. Oafley is a secretive, nonsocial duck. The old man didn't care much for him. He's too damned negative."
The young woman behind the counter turned the bacon, flashed them a swift glance.
"It takes a lot to bust a will, doesn't it?" Drake persisted.
"An awful lot," Mason admitted wearily, "if you try to break it on the ground of undue influence, or unsoundness of mind. But I'm telling you, Paul, I'm going to break that will."
A plate banged down on the counter explosively. Mason raised perplexed eyes to encounter a flushed countenance, straight determined lips, blazing black eyes. "Say," the girl said, "what kind of a game is this? I'm making my own way without asking odds of anyone, and you came"
Paul Drake waved a hand with the studied nonchalance of one who is creating a sensation, but wishes to make it appear it is all in the day's work.
"Perry," he said, "meet Winifred."
Mason's face showed such unmistakably genuine surprise that the indignation faded from Winifred Laxter's eyes. "Didn't you know?" she asked.
Mason shook his head.
She pointed to the sign on the outside of the place. "You should have known from the sign Winnie's Waffles. "
"I didn't read the sign," Mason said. "My friend brought me in here. What was the idea, Paul, trying to make a grandstand, or pull a rabbit from the hat, or something?"
Drake, caressing his coffee cup with the tips of his fingers, gave a slow smile. "I wanted you two to get acquainted. I wanted my friend here to see how you ran the place, Miss Laxter. Most people would think an heiress couldn't turn to running a waffle kitchen."
"I'm not an heiress."
"Don't be too sure," Drake told her. "This is Perry Mason, the lawyer."
"Perry Mason," she repeated slowly.
Her eyes widened slightly.
"Heard of him?" Drake asked.
"Who hasn't?" she said, and colored.
"I wanted to ask you some questions about your grandfather," Mason said. "I employed Mr. Drake to locate you."
She opened the waffle iron, took out two crisply brown waffles. Moving with swift efficiency, she poured melted butter on the waffles, set out a pitcher of syrup, handed each a waffle and strips of goldenbrown bacon on a side dish.
"A little more coffee?" she asked.
"No, this will be fine," Mason assured her.
He put syrup on the waffle, cut into it, and his face showed surprise as he conveyed a piece to his mouth.
Paul Drake, at his side, chuckled and said, "I don't know what the case is worth to you, Perry, but these waffles are a pretty good fee in themselves."
"Where did you learn how to make these waffles?" the lawyer wanted to know.
"I studied cooking, and Grandpa used to like these waffles. When I found myself out on my own, I figured it would be a good plan to make waffles. Things are rather quiet now, but an hour ago there was a rush, and after the theater, there'll be another big rush. Then, of course, there's a big trade in the morning."
"Who handles the morning trade?" Mason asked.
"I do."
"And the aftertheater trade?"