“You thought perhaps I could be of some help?” Mason asked.
Dimmick nodded.
Rodney Cuff coughed disapprovingly. Dimmick flashed him a glance and said, “Go ahead, young man, cough your head off. I know what I’m doing.”
Cuff lapsed into silence and lit a cigarette. Della Street let her amused eyes drift toward Perry Mason.
“We’re counsel for Second Fidelity Savings & Loan,” Dimmick said. “They’re trustees under a probate trust. The sole beneficiary is a chap by the name of James Driscoll. Now then, do you get the picture?”
Mason settled back in his swivel chair, lit a cigarette and regarded his visitors with wary eyes. “I’m beginning,” he said, “to get the sketch.”
“All right,” Dimmick went on. “Under the provisions of the probate trust we’re to give Driscoll such legal advice as he needs. He isn’t at liberty to employ any other counsel except with the permission of the trustee. Now then, he goes and gets himself mixed up in a murder case and there’s hell to pay.”
“Just why did you come to me?” Mason asked.
“We want you to help.”
Again Rodney Cuff coughed.