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for you to feel that way, but don't forget you may not always feel that way. Money is hard to get. You've been tricked into signing something we could set aside…"
    Winifred handed Perry Mason a full coffee cup, and said to him significantly, "Tell your boy friend what it's all about, will you?"
    Mason interrupted Paul Drake by placing a hand on Paul's arm, digging in with his powerful fingers. "Paul, you don't get the sketch. You're too damned commercial. Why not forget about money and laugh at life? It isn't the future that counts; it's the present. It isn't what you save; it's what you make, and the way you make it."
    Winifred nodded. The detective shrugged his shoulders, and said, "It's your funeral."
    Perry Mason finished his waffle, eating slowly and appreciatively. "You're going to make a success," he said, as he pushed back his empty plate.
    "I've already made a success; I'm finding myself. The bill is eighty cents."
    Mason handed her a dollar bill. "Put the change under the plate, if you will, please," he said, grinning. "How did you and Ashton get along?"
    "Ashton's a great old crab," she laughed, manipulating the cash register.
    Mason remarked with studied carelessness, "Too bad he's going to lose his cat."
    Winifred paused, the change drawer open, her hand held poised over it. "What do you mean, he's going to lose his cat?"
    "Sam won't let him keep the cat."
    "But he has to under the will. He has to keep Ashton employed as a caretaker."
    "But not the cat."
    Dismay showed on Winifred's face. "Do you mean to say he isn't going to let Ashton keep Clinker?"
    "That's it."
    "But he can't put Clinker out."
    "He says he's going to poison him."
    Mason nudged Drake surreptitiously, started toward the door.
    "Wait a minute," she called. "We've got to do something about that. He can't get by with that. Why, that's outrageous!"
    "We'll see what we can do," Mason promised.
    "But look here. You must do something. Perhaps I can do something. Where can I reach you?"
    Perry Mason gave her one of his cards, and said, "I'm Ashton's lawyer. If you think of anything that will help, let me know. And don't sign any more papers."
    The door from the street opened. A young man of medium build smiled at Winifred Laxter, then regarded Perry Mason with a level, appraising stare, shifted his eyes to Paul Drake and suddenly became hostile.
    He was a head shorter than the tall detective, but he pushed up in front of him belligerently, stared at him steadily with gray eyes that didn't so much as flicker. "Say," he demanded, "what's your game?"
    Drake remarked casually, "Just eating waffles, Buddy. Don't quarrel with the cash customers."
    "He's all right, Doug," Winifred said.
    "How do you know he's all right?" the young man resorted, without taking his eyes from Paul Drake. "He hunted me up this afternoon with a stall about going into the contracting business and wanting to have someone who knew architecture work with him. I hadn't talked with him five minutes before I found out he didn't know a single thing about contracting. I think he's a detective."
    Drake, smiling, said, "You're a better detective than I am a contractor. You've guessed right. So what?"
    The young man turned to Winifred. "Shall I throw him out, Winnie?" he asked.
    She laughed. "It's all right, Doug. Shake hands with Perry Mason, a lawyer. You've heard of him. This is Douglas Keene, Mr. Mason."
    The young man's expression changed. "Perry Mason," he said. "Oh…"
    Mason's hand found Keene's right hand and pumped it up and down. "Glad to know you, Keene," Mason said. "Shake hands with Paul Drake."
    As Mason released his grip of Keene's hand, Drake grabbed it. "Okay, Buddy," he said, "no hard feelings. It's all in the day's work."
    The steady gray eyes surveyed the two men thoughtfully. The first diffidence gave place to a very evident determination.
    "Let's find out if it's all right," he said. "I've got something to say about this. Winifred and I are engaged. She's going to