Chapter 1
Two persons in the city had the number of Perry Mason’s private, unlisted telephone. One was Della Street, Mason’s secretary, and the other Paul Drake, head of the Drake Detective Agency.
It was early in March, a blustery night with rain pelting at intervals against the windows. Wind howled around the cornices and fought its way through the narrow openings in the windows to billow the lace curtains of Mason’s apartment into weird shapes which alternately blossomed into white ghosts, collapsed, and dropped limply back against the casements.
Mason fought off the heavy lethargy of that deep sleep which comes during the first part of the night, to grope for the ringing telephone.
The instrument momentarily eluded his sleep-deadened fingers.
Mason’s right hand found the chain which dangled from the light over his bed. At the same time, his left, reaching for the telephone, became entangled with the cord and knocked the instrument to the floor.
Now thoroughly awake, he retrieved the telephone, placed the receiver to his ear, and said, “My gosh, Della, why don’t you go to bed at a decent hour?”
A man’s voice said, “Mr. Mason?”
Surprised, Mason said, “Yes. Who is it?”
The voice said crisply, “You are talking with Cash.”