"I beg of you! I implore you! Don't do it!"
"Shut up," Burger said once more, taking Sam's arm as Sam walked up the steps toward him.
Laxter and Burger entered the house, closely followed by Glassman. Shuster slowly climbed the stairs, moving like an old man whose every step was an effort.
Mason watched the three men cross the living room and disappear through a door. He entered the living room and sat down. Drake pulled a cigarette from his pocket, sat crosswise on an overstuffed chair and said, "Well, that's that."
Jim Brandon stood in the doorway and said to Shuster, "I don't know if you're supposed to come in or not."
"Don't be silly," Shuster told him, and then lowered his voice, saying something which was inaudible to Mason and the detective. Brandon also lowered his voice. The two men engaged in a conversation conducted in a low monotone.
The telephone rang repeatedly. After several minutes, a fat woman with sleepswollen eyes came shuffling down the corridor, wrapping a bathrobe about her. She picked up the telephone, said «Hello» in a drowsy, uncordial voice, then, her face showing surprise, she said, "Oh, yes, Miss Winifred… Why, I could call him. He's asleep, of course… Tell him to have Mr. Mason call you at once at…"
Perry Mason crossed toward the telephone. "If that's someone asking for Mr. Mason," he said, "I'm here and will talk on the telephone."
The woman handed him the receiver. "It's Miss Winifred Laxter," she said.
Mason said «Hello» and heard Winifred's voice, hysterical with excitement. "Thank God I was able to reach you. I didn't know where to get you so I called for Ashton to leave a message for you. Something terrible has happened. You must come at once."
Mason's voice was guarded. "I'm rather occupied here at present. Could you tell me generally what has happened?"
"I don't know, but Douglas is in serious trouble… You know Douglas, you met him… Douglas Keene."
"And what has happened to him?"
"I don't know, but I must see you at once."
"I'll leave here," Mason told her, "within ten minutes. That's the best I can do. There's another matter here I'm interested in. Where will I find you?"
"I'll be at the waffle place. There won't be any lights on—just open the door and come in."
Mason said crisply, "Okay, I leave here in ten minutes."
Mason hung up the receiver as Shuster, leaving Brandon at the door, crossed the hallway with quick, nervous strides. He grabbed the lapel of Mason's coat.
"You can't do it!" he said. "You can't get away with it! It's outrageous. I'll have you brought up before the Grievance Committee. It's pettifogging."
Mason placed the flat of his hand against the man's chest, pushed him out at arm's length and said, "You should go in the lecture business, Shuster. No one could ever accuse you of delivering a dry lecture."
Mason pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his face. Shuster jumped about as excitedly as a terrier barking at a steer. "You knew you couldn't break the will; that will is as good as gold. So what did you do? You started in trying to frame up a murder charge on my clients. You can't make it stick! You and your caretaker are going to find yourselves in plenty of trouble. Plenty of trouble! You hear me? You…"
He broke off as District Attorney Burger, accompanied by Tom Glassman, reentered the room. Burger's features were puzzled. "Mason," he said, "do you know anything about diamonds your client Ashton has?"
Mason shook his head. "We can ask him," he suggested.
"I think we want to talk with him," Burger said. "Apparently he's mixed up in this thing."
Mason nodded.
Shuster said, "A damned outrage! A frameup! Mason cooked this up in order to bust the will."
Mason's smile was tolerant as he remarked, "I told you, Shuster, that I always hit in an unexpected place."
"Do you wish me to call the caretaker?" the flabby woman in the wrapper asked, as Oafley, in bathrobe and slippers, shuffled into the room.
"Who are you?" Burger inquired.
"The housekeeper," Oafley interposed. "Mrs. Pixley."
"I think we'll go and interview the caretaker without giving him previous notice," Burger announced.
"Look here," Mason said. "In view of the circumstances, don't you think it would be fair to let me know just what it is you're after?"
"Come along," Burger said, "and you'll find out, but don't interrupt to ask questions or give advice."
Shuster darted around the table. "You've got to watch him," he warned. "He's hatched up this whole business."
"Dry up," Tom Glassman said over his shoulder.
"Go on," Burger said to Mrs. Pixley; "show us the way."
The woman moved along the hallway, her bedroom slippers slopping against her heels as she walked. Paul Drake fell into step beside Perry Mason. Oafley dropped behind, for a word with Shuster. Burger held Sam Laxter's arm.
"Funnylooking character—the housekeeper," Drake remarked in a low voice. "All soft except her mouth and it's hard enough to make up for everything."
"Underneath that softness," Mason said, his eyes appraising the woman's figure, "is a great deal of strength. Her muscles are cased in fat, but she's plenty husky. Notice the way she carries herself."
The woman led the way down a flight of stairs to a basement. She opened a door, crossed a cement floor, paused in front of another door, and said, "Shall I knock?"
"Not unless it's locked," Burger told her.
She turned the knob of the door and stepped to one side, pushing open the door.
Mason couldn't see the interior of the room but he could see her face. He saw light from the inside of the room strike her features. He saw the flabby flesh of her face freeze in an expression of wild terror. He saw the hard lips sag open, and then heard her scream.
Burger jumped forward. The housekeeper swayed, flung up her hands, and her knees sagged as she slid to the floor. Glassman jumped through the door into the caretaker's room. Oafley caught the housekeeper by the armpits. "Steady," he said. "Take it easy. What's the trouble?"
Mason pushed past them into the room.
Charles Ashton's bed was by an open window in the basement. The window opened almost directly at street level. It had been propped open with a stick, the opening being some four or five inches, just enough to enable a cat to slip through easily.
Directly beneath the window was the bed, covered with a white counterpane and on this white counterpane was a series of muddy cat tracks, tracks which covered not only the spread, but appeared on the pillow as well.
Lying in the bed, his face an unpleasant thing to behold, was the dead body of Charles Ashton.