I'm going to be on the move from now on." He dashed out of the office, climbed a flight of stairs and ran down the corridor to his own office. "Is he going to give himself up?" he asked Della Street as he rushed into his private office.
"I think so. He seemed sullen, but I think he's okay."
"Did you give him a good argument?"
"I told him the truth. I told him you were doing everything on earth for him and that he simply couldn't let you down."
"What did he say?"
"He sort of grunted, the way a man does when he's going to do what a girl wants him to but doesn't want to let her think she's having her own way."
Mason groaned, and said, "My God, you women!"
The telephone rang.
"Wait a minute before you answer it," Della Street said. "Do you know who's hanging around the street by the office?"
"Who?"
"Your little playmate—Sergeant Holcomb."
Mason frowned. The telephone rang again.
"Serious?" she asked.
"Yes," he said, "they'll try to arrest him before he can surrender and claim they nabbed him as a fugitive from justice, and…"
He picked up the receiver and said, "Hello."
A man's voice said, "This is Douglas Keene, Mr. Mason."
Mason's eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
"Where are you now?"
"Out at Parkway and Seventh Streets."
"Have you got a wristwatch?" Mason asked.
"Yes."
"What time does it show?"
"Thirteen minutes to eleven."
"Make it closer than that. How are you on seconds? Say 'thirty' when it's twelve minutes and thirty seconds to eleven."
"I've passed that," Keene said. "I'll say eleven when it's just exactly eleven minutes to eleven."
"Be sure and call it right on the dot," Mason said, "because…"
"Eleven!" Douglas Keene interrupted.
Perry Mason held his watch in his hand. "All right," he said, "you're about twentyfive seconds slow, as compared with my time. But don't change your watch. I'll change my watch so it'll be even with yours. Now, listen, they're going to tail me when I leave the place, hoping I'll lead them to you. You walk down toward my office and stand on the corner of Seventh—that's just west of my office building—you know where that is?"
"Yes."
"At exactly ten minutes past eleven," Mason said, "walk out to the corner and catch the first eastbound street car that comes down Seventh Street. Pay your fare, but don't go inside the car. Stand right by the conductor where you can get off the car when I give you the word. I'll get aboard that car, but won't recognize you or speak to you in any way. A girl will drive right alongside the car in a convertible coupe with the rumble seat open. She'll be going at the same rate of speed the car's going. It may be a block or it may be two blocks after I get aboard, but when I yell, 'Jump, you make a jump for that rumble seat. Can you do it?"
"Sure I can do it."
"Okay, Douglas, can I depend on you?"
"Yes, you can," the young man said in a voice which had lost its sullen tone. "I guess I've made a damn fool of myself. I'll play ball with you."
"Okay," Mason said. "Remember, ten minutes past eleven."
He hung up the telephone, grabbed his hat and said to Della Street, "You heard what I told him. Can you do it?"
Della Street was adjusting her hat in front of the mirror. "And how!" she said. "Do I leave first?"
"No, I leave first," Mason said.
"And you don't want me to get the car out until after you've reached the corner?"
"That's right. Holcomb will tail me. If he thinks I've got a car, Holcomb will use a car. He'll have one parked somewhere near here. If he thinks I'm walking, he'll walk."
"What'll he do when you take the street car?"
"I don't know. How's your wristwatch?"
"I was listening over the extension telephone. I synchronized it with his."
"Good girl. Let's go."
Mason ran down the corridor, caught the elevator and I managed to give the appearance of strolling casually as he crossed the lobby of the building and reached the street. The thoroughfare was well crowded. Mason took the precaution of glancing hastily over his shoulder, but saw no sign of Sergeant Holcomb. He knew, however, that the Sergeant was on his trail. The officer was too old a hand at the game to crowd his quarry too closely, particularly at the start.
Mason walked half a block up the street, paused in front of a store, looked at his watch, frowned, and looked in a show window, ostensibly trying to kill time. After a minute, he looked again at his wristwatch, then turned to look up and down the street. He walked a few aimless steps, lit a cigarette, took two puffs, threw the cigarette away and looked at his watch for the third time.
In the street, directly opposite from the place where Mason was standing, was a safety zone. Mason walked aimlessly toward the corner, as though he had a few minutes to kill.
His wristwatch showed eleventen.
Mason watched the signals a block away. A street car came through the signal, rumbled slowly down the block, and came to a stop at the safety zone. The signal changed so it was against the car. Mason acted as though he intended to cross the street, and then, as though changing his mind, paused, undecided. The signal changed. The motorman clanged the bell of the car and sent it across the intersection. As the car rolled past him, Mason swung aboard the rear platform. Douglas Keene was standing by the conductor.
Mason heard the sound of running feet. Sergeant Holcomb, sprinting, just managed to catch the car as it gathered headway. Della Street, driving Mason's convertible coupe with the top down, was coming just behind the street car, holding a line of traffic behind her. As soon as Holcomb boarded the car, Della Street shot the automobile forward, so that the rumble seat was just even with the place where Keene was standing.
"Jump!" shouted Mason.
Keene made a leap for the rumble seat, landed on the cushions, clutched at the top of the car. Mason jumped to the runningboard and clung to the back of the front seat with one hand and the well of the rumble seat with the other. Sergeant Holcomb, who had dropped his fare into the box in front of the conductor, shouted, "Stop! You're under arrest!"
"Give it the gun, Della," Mason said, "and cut in front of the street car."
Della Street 's shapely foot pushed the throttle against the floorboards. The car leapt forward. Mason flung one leg over the side of the car and got into the rumble seat.
"Police headquarters," he said to Della, "and give it everything it's got."
Della Street didn't even bother to nod. She cut the corner in a screaming turn. A traffic officer raised a whistle but she was halfway down the block by the time the first blast echoed through the street.