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another twenty-four or forty-eight hours. If Mr. Harrod calls to see you again, I want you to tell him only what I shall tell you to tell him.”
    “What’s that?”
    “You have a pencil?”
    She shook her head. Mason nodded to Della Street.
    Della Street handed the young woman a shorthand notebook and pencil.
    “You take shorthand?” Mason asked.
    “Oh yes.”
    “All right, take this down,” Mason said. “Here is what you tell Mr. Harrod. Simply say, quote, Mr. Harrod, I have consulted my attorney, Mr. Mason, about all matters in connection with your previous visit. Mr. Mason has advised me that, if you call on me again, I am to ask you to get in touch with him. So, therefore, I ask you to call Mr. Perry Mason, who is representing me in the matter. If his office doesn’t answer or if it is night, call the Drake Detective Agency and leave word with Mr. Paul Drake. Mr. Mason is my lawyer. Aside from that, I have nothing to say. I don’t care to discuss the matter with you. I don’t care either to confirm or deny any deductions you may have made. I am, in short, referring you to Mr. Mason for all information concerning the matter under discussion.” Mason watched the pencil fly over the page of the notebook with deft, sure strokes.
    “You’re evidently a pretty good stenographer,” Mason said.

    She smiled. “I think I am. I’m fast and accurate.” 
    Mason glanced at his watch. “All right. That’s all you do. Just tear that page out of the notebook, read it over enough so you remember it, and if Mr. Harrod calls, refer him to me.”
    She detected the note of dismissal in his voice, got to her feet. “How much do I—?”
    Mason waved his hand. “Forget it,” he said. “You’re employed on the same floor here in the building, which makes you something of a neighbor, and after all there’s nothing—Wait a minute, do you have a nickel in your purse?”
    “Why, yes.”
    “All right,” Mason said, smiling, “give me the nickel. That means that I’ve been duly retained to protect your interests and anything you have told me is a privileged communication. Also, anything I have told you is entirely confidential. Now then, go back to work and quit worrying about Mr. Harrod. If he becomes a nuisance, we’ll find some way to deal with him.”
    Impulsively she gave Mason her hand. “Thank you so much, Mr. Mason.”
    Mason held her hand for a moment, looked at her searchingly, said, “All right, Miss Driscoll . . . You’re certain you’ve told me all of it?”
    “Yes, yes. Of course.”
    “All right,” Mason told her. “Run along back and get to work.” When she had left the office. Mason turned to Della Street. “What do you think, Della?”
    “She’s really frightened. Why did you tell her not to report the accident? Didn’t you take a risk doing that?”
    “Probably,” Mason said. “However, I didn’t want her to get in any worse trouble than she is now. Her story of what happened isn’t true. I don’t want her to make a false report.”
    “In what way isn’t it true?”
    “The other car didn’t crowd her off the road. Notice she said, ‘It was impossible to avoid the other car entirely.' No one on earth ever described an automobile accident of that sort in that way. A person would have said, ‘Although we got way over on our side of the road, the other car hit us.’“ 
    Della Street thought that over, then nodded thoughtfully.
    Mason said, “Now that you know this Fern Driscoll, you’ll be seeing her in the elevator and in the rest room. Keep an eye on her and see if she doesn’t try to find some opportunity to confide in you. I have an idea the situation will change within the next forty-eight hours.”
    “And I’m to report to you?” Della Street asked.
    “That’s the idea,” Mason said.

Chapter 4
    THAT NIGHT after Mildred had cleaned away the dinner dishes, put the apartment in order, the chimes on the apartment door sounded.
    She took a deep breath, set