“My name’s Mason. I’m a lawyer. You didn’t telephone me?”
“You’re — you’re Perry Mason?”
“Yes.”
She clung to his arm. There was something of desperation in that grip. He could feel the tremor of tortured nerves in the tips of her fingers. “Why didn’t you say so?”
“You’re the one who telephoned for me?” Mason asked.
“No.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I... I came here — to meet someone.”
“Whom?”
“It doesn’t make any difference. I think now it was a trap. I want to get out. Can’t we leave here?”