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temper. It isn't the murder, it's the incidental things that may come out in connection with the investigation. Now you get to her and keep the police from asking her questions."
    Mason said: "All right, I just didn't want to misunderstand you, that's all. I wanted to know if you felt there was danger of her getting into trouble."
    "Of course there is!" Crinston snapped.
    "You mean about her private affairs?" asked Mason.
    "I mean about everything," Crinston said. "Come on. Let's get in the house."
    An officer stood at the front porch and questioned Mason.
    "He's all right," said Crinston. "He's my attorney, the attorney for the estate, and also the personal attorney for Frances Celane."
    "All right," said the officer, "you folks that live here can go in and out, but you understand that you're not to touch anything, or interfere with the evidence at all."
    "Of course," said Crinston, and pushed on ahead of him into the house.

CHAPTER SIX
    FRANCES CELANE wore a short sport outfit, with a blue and gold sweater which set off to advantage the spun-gold effect of her silken hair.
    She sat in her bedroom on an overstuffed chair, with her knees crossed, her dark eyes staring at the face of her lawyer. There was that about her which indicated she was warily watchful. She seemed to be listening, waiting for something to happen.
    All about them the big house echoed with sounds; creaked with a suggestion of packed occupancy. Feet were constantly pounding the boards of floors, hallways and stairs in an endless procession. Doors made noise as they opened and shut. The drone of voices sounded as a distant rumble.
    Perry Mason stared down at Fran Celane. "Go ahead," he said, "and tell me exactly what happened."
    She spoke in a voice that was a low monotone, expressionless and thoughtful, as though she might be reciting a part that had been learned by rote.
    "I don't know very much about it. I had a fight with Uncle Edward after you left. He was impossible. He was trying to make a chattel of me and break my spirit. I told him that that wasn't what father wanted, and that he was being false to his trust."
    "What did you mean by being false to his trust?" asked Mason.
    "I meant that father had created that trust only because he wanted to see that the money didn't go to my head too much, and make me too wild. He didn't intend that Uncle Edward should grind me down so I became just an automaton."
    "All right," said Mason. "Did anyone know of the quarrel?"
    "I guess so," she said dispiritedly. "Don Graves knew about it. And I think some of the other servants heard it. I got mad."
    "What do you do when you get mad?" he asked.
    "Everything," she said.
    "Did you raise your voice?" he inquired.
    "As high as I could."
    "Did you do anything unladylike? That is, did you curse?"
    She said, still in the same toneless voice: "Of course I cursed. I was angry, I tell you."
    "All right," he said, "then what happened?"
    "Then," she said, "I came downstairs and decided that I would run away and leave Edward Norton and his money and everything. I just wanted to get away."
    "That was when you took the car?" asked Mason.
    "No," she said, "I'm coming to that. I got things packed up as though I was going away, and then decided not to do it. I commenced to cool off a little bit. I've got a bad temper, but after I get over it, I can realize when I've made a mistake. So I knew that I'd make a mistake if I ran away. But I did want to get some air. I didn't want to go out and walk. I wanted to drive a car. I wanted to drive a car fast."
    Perry Mason made a dry comment: "Yes, I can understand how you could keep your mind off your troubles by driving fast."
    "Well," she said, "you have to do something to get your mind off your troubles."
    "All right," he told her, "go on. What happened?"
    "Well," she said, "I went to the garage. My Packard was in behind the Buick and I was going to have to move the Buick anyway, so I moved the Buick, and didn't see any reason why I should