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observed.
    Abruptly, Mason stepped from the curb, held up his hand. The Chevrolet swerved toward the curb. Tires protested as brakes were applied. Rhoda Montaine's flushed face stared at Perry Mason. The car jerked to a dead stop.
    The lawyer's first words were as casual as though he had been expecting her. "I've got your purse," he said.
    "I know it," she told him. "I knew it before I'd gone half a block from your office. I started back after it, and then decided to let it go. I figured you'd open it and ask a lot of questions. I didn't want to answer them. What were you doing at Gregory's?"
    Perry Mason turned to the cab driver. "That, buddy," he said, "is all."
    He extended a bill, which the cab driver took, staring in puzzled speculation at the woman in the coupe. Mason jerked open the door of the car, climbed in beside Rhoda Montaine and grinned at her. "Sorry," he said. "I didn't know you'd left a retainer. When I found out about it, I did what I could to help you."
    Her eyes were glittering points of black indignation. "Did you call it helping me to bust in on Gregory?" He nodded. "Well," she said bitterly, "you've raised the devil. As soon as I knew you were there, I started to drive out as quickly as I could. You've spilled the beans now."
    "Why didn't you keep your five o'clock appointment?" he asked.
    "Because I couldn't reach a decision. I telephoned him, to tell him that he'd have to wait until later."
    "How much later?"
    "A lot later."
    "What," asked Perry Mason, "does he want?"
    "That," she said, "is none of your business."
    The lawyer stared at her speculatively, and said, "That is one of the things you were going to tell me when you called at my office. Why won't you tell me now?"
    "I wasn't going to tell you."
    "You would have if I hadn't hurt your pride."
    "Well, you did!"
    Mason laughed. "Look here," he said. "Let's not work at cross purposes. I've been trying to get in touch with you all day."
    "I presume," she said, "you went through my purse."
    "Every bit of it," he admitted. "What's more, I purloined your telegram, went to see Nell Brinley, started detectives to work getting all the dope I could."
    "What did you find out?"
    "Plenty," he said. "Who's Doctor Millsap?"
    She caught her breath in quick consternation. "A friend," she explained vaguely.
    "Does your husband know him?"
    "No." Mason's shoulders gave an eloquent shrug. "How did you find out about him?" she asked after a moment.
    "Oh, I've been getting around," he told her. "I've been trying to put myself in a position to help you."
    "You can't help me," she said, "except by telling me the one thing, and then leaving me alone."
    "What one thing do you want to know?"
    "Whether, after a man has disappeared for seven years, he's presumed to be dead."
    "Under certain circumstances he is, yes. It's seven years in some cases, five in others."
    There was vast relief on her countenance. "Then," she said, "a subsequent marriage would be legal."
    Mason's face was lined with sympathy as he slowly shook his head. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Montaine," he said, "but that's only a presumption. If Gregory Moxley is really Gregory Lorton, your first husband, and he showed up alive and well, your marriage to Carl Montaine is voidable."
    She looked at him with eyes that were dark with suffering. Slow tears welled up in them. Her lips quivered. "I love him so," she said simply.
    Perry Mason's hand dropped to her shoulder, patted it reassuringly. It was the impersonal gesture of the protective male. "Tell me about him," he invited.
    "Oh," she said, "you wouldn't understand. No man would understand. I can't even understand, myself. I nursed him when he was sick. He had a drug habit and his folks would have died if they'd known. I'm a trained nurse, you know – that is, I was."
    "Go on," Mason said. "Everything."
    "I can't tell you about my marriage to Gregory," she said, her lips quivering. "That was ghastly. It happened when I was just a kid – young, innocent and