The train came to a stop at the station in St. Louis, Missouri .

Most of the passengers were eager to get out of their cramped quarters and step off the train for fresh air. Perry Mason was one of them. He inhaled the sweet air slowly, enjoying the cool breeze.

As he looked around him, Mason noticed Helen Carmichael stretching before taking a seat on a park bench across from the train station. Mason reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of quarters, all the time keeping his eyes on Helen. She didn't seem to notice. Mason inserted the quarters into the metal box containing the local newspaper while making his decision about what he should do. The practical thing would be to just remain uninvolved. But Perry Mason very rarely did the practical thing.

Taking his newspaper, Mason walked over to where Helen was seated.
"Excuse me," he said. "May I sit here?"

Helen looked up, just blinking for a moment.
"Oh, I'm sorry," she said at last. "Go right ahead."

Mason gently lowered himself to the spot next to Helen. He began to unfold the newspaper, carefully choosing his next words. Finally, he selected an article and began to read aloud: "Enraged farmer murders wife. This morning, the St. Louis police heard a confession from farmer Steve Doogan. Doogan admitted to the beating and murder of his wife, Rachel, nearly one week earlier..."

"Funny, the number of people who think they can get away with murder," he mused, just loudly enough for Helen to hear him. Helen remained silent. "I wouldn't do it if I were you."

Now Helen looked at Mason in shock.
"What are you talking about?"
"Attempting murder," said Mason. His voice was smooth and sure, not at all excited or bothered. He simply made it a statement of fact. "That is what you're planning, isn't it?"
"How could you possibly...?"
"I'm sorry," said Mason. "I have the compartment next to yours on the train. I wasn't trying to eavesdrop. It's just that the walls are much thinner than either you or I knew."
"What exactly did you hear?" said Helen, her beautiful face turning a shade whiter.
"Enough," said Mason. "'He has to die.' 'The jeweled letter opener that I bought him for his birthday.' ' I'll shove it through his heart.' 'I'm going to kill him.' I take it the 'him' would be Bill Anders, the man who sent you those roses you and your friends were admiring the other day."
"What is this?" asked Helen weakly. "You're not trying to...? You're not black-mailing me, are you?"
"Black-mail?" said Mason. "Good Heavens! I hope it hasn't come to that. I couldn't really black-mail you unless you actually had killed him."

"Or you knew I was going to kill him."
"Are you?" asked Mason. Helen rose from her seat. "I'm sorry," said Mason hastily. "I didn't mean to offend you."
"Look, Mr...?"
"Mr. Mason."
"Look, Mr. Mason, I'm not sure what you want in all of this, but that conversation was between me and my friends. Now, what is it that you want, anyway?"
"I want to help," insisted Mason. "That's all. As a concerned friend."
"Are we friends?" asked Helen.
"I was hoping we could be," said Mason. "You're plotting murder. I'm just trying to advise you, as a friend, that you'd never get away with it."

"What do you mean?" asked Helen.
"The police have become so advanced with everything now,"said Mason. "Fingerprints. Hair samples. Blood stains. You'd leave a thousand tell- tale signs."
"I'll wear gloves," said Helen.
"Gloves can only do so much," said Mason. "What are you going to do for an alibi?"

"Alibi?" said Helen. "Do you think I need one? I mean, the police will never suspect me in the first place."
"They will if I tell them about the conversation I overheard."
"You wouldn't! I mean, you're not going to tell them, are you?"

Helen's face turned into a lovely pout. She looked so innocuous at this point that it was hard to believe she was the same woman Mason had heard vehemently plotting to shove a knife through another human being's heart.

"I'm not going to tell anyone anything," said Mason. "I'm just trying to talk you out of something you'd regret."
"You seem like you'd be very good at talking people out of things," said Helen. "You know, Mr. Mason, maybe you should be a lawyer."

Mason laughed.

"Actually, I am a lawyer," he said. "My name is Mr. Perry Mason. I'm a relatively well-known criminal defense attorney." He extended his hand. Helen clasped it gently.

"Helen Carmichael," she said. "I think I've heard of you. On the news. You're very good at what you do."
"Thank you," Mason said simply.
"I'm afraid you've failed to make your case this time, though," said Helen. "My mind's already made up."
"You mean you're seriously considering murder?"
"Bill Anders has to pay for what he's done to me."
"It would be much better for you if you had an alibi," said Mason. "When evidence points to you, which it will, it will only be a matter of time before you appear in court. And I know from experience that it's very difficult to put up a good defense without a decent alibi."
"How would the prosecution build a case against me?" asked Helen.
"Simple," replied Mason. "Physical evidence. Eyewitness accounts, perhaps. And if someone was to tell the police of the falling-out you had with Anders..."
"No one will, Mr. Mason," said Helen. "The only people who know about the relationship I had with Mr. Anders are me and my best friends. And you. But you said yourself that you want to be friends."
"I do," said Mason. "And, as a friend, once again I am going to ask you to put this silly idea out of your head. Bill Anders isn't worth this. Lovers fight and break up. I'm sorry for you, but these things happen all the time. You'll get over it. You'll move on. Trust me. Murder is not the answer."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Mason," said Helen. "But there's nothing you or anyone else can say to change my mind. I'm going to kill Bill Anders." Her voice was beginning to show signs of the grim determination Mason had heard in it the other night. "Good bye, Mr. Mason."

Mason cleared his throat, stopping Helen in her track before she could walk away. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small business card.
"You'd better take this, just in case," he said as he handed his card to Helen. She took one brief look at the card before shoving it in her pocket and walking away.

> > > > > >

Perry Mason and Helen Carmichael didn't speak for the rest of the trip. Occasionally Mason would see Helen, alongside Kay and Natalie, and acknowledge her with a slight nod. Most of the time it seemed she didn't even notice.

Helen, Kay, and Natalie seemed content, though. Young women that had their whole lives before them. They gossiped and told jokes and fussed with their make-up. They looked like any young women would. Not at all like conspirators to murder. This eased Mason's mind a little.

Still, the silence between Mason and the girls seemed unbearable at times. Mason could easily understand that Helen didn't want to talk to him. But the ride was a long one, stretching over a period of weeks, and to receive the silence treatment for that long seemed cruel at times. Yet Helen appeared happy. It seemed like she had forgotten all about her murder plot. But Mason could not shake off the memory of the grim determination he had heard in Helen's voice.

Finally, the train arrived in California. Mason was relieved that his long journey was finally over. He came off the train with a smile.

As Mason claimed his baggage, he noticed Helen Carmichael passing by. "Mr. Mason," said Helen gently, giving the lawyer a polite nod. "Good luck, Ms. Carmichael," said Mason, shaking Helen's hand. For a moment, her eyes held some sort of pleading look. As if they were begging him to try once more to persuade her out of danger. The look soon passed. Helen nodded again before walking off.

Mason realized there was nothing more he could do for Helen. He could not answer that plea in her eyes. He did not, however, want to leave the situation at that. If Helen Carmichael was plotting a murder, Perry Mason was going to do everything in his power to prevent it.

On an impulse, Mason picked up a thick copy of the Yellow Pages from within a tollbooth and scanned the business section for Anders & Anderson.

> > > > > >

"Is Mr. Anders in?" Mason asked the receptionist outside of Bill Anders' office.

"Do you have an appointment?" asked the receptionist.

"I'm afraid I don't," said Mason. "But my business with Mr. Anders will only take a few minutes."

"Mr. Anders isn't here at the moment," said the receptionist. "You may talk with Mr. Anderson if you'd like."

"No thank you," said Mason. "It's critical that I talk to Mr. Anders."

"What is your business with Mr. Anders?"

"It's personal," replied Mason. "I'm an old friend of Mr. Anders', and I think he'd really like to hear what I have to say."

"I'm sorry," said the receptionist. "But Mr. Anders won't be in for another hour. I'll tell him you were here. Is there a name or a number...?"

"Just give Mr. Anders this," replied Mason, removing another business card from his coat and handing it to the receptionist.

> > > > > >

The next afternoon, Bill Anders invited Perry Mason to his estate. Mason found Anders behind the house, firing off clay pigeons and aiming at them with his shotgun.

"Thanks for having me, Bill."

"No problem," said Anders. "I enjoy class reunions. It's not everyday that an old high school chum comes looking for me, wanting to have some kind of talk."

"I haven't really missed you all that much, Bill."

"I'm sure you haven't, Perry. Now what's all this you want to talk about? You've got my whole business into a stir. They think I'm in some kind of legal trouble now. Getting business cards from famous lawyers."

The whirring of a clay pigeon shooting through the air interrupted the conversation. Anders took aim. There was a loud gunshot, and when the smoke cleared, Anders had missed. "Oh, well," he said to himself. "Better luck next time."

Anders looked up. "So, Mr. Perry Mason," he said. "It looks like you've done all right for yourself."

"I could say the same about you," said Mason.

"I don't think there was much doubt in my case," said Anders. "I was the captain of the football team. I was dating the captain of the cheerleading team. Meanwhile, you were the geek sitting on the sidelines, trying to make revision to an article for the school paper. It looks like that whole law school thing worked out for you after all."

"And business school for you?" said Mason. "I never expected you to become a committed man of business. Now you're the head of one of the most successful businesses in California.

"In America," corrected Anders.

"How did you stumble into that?"

"Well, let's just say finding a career in the NFL never exactly worked out."

"Other than that, you haven't changed a bit since high school," said Mason. "Still cocky. Still arrogant. Still thinking you're invincible."

"And still getting all the women," added Anders. Another clay pigeon whirred across the sky. This time, Anders' bullet managed to clip it. "Would you like a try?" asked Anders, offering the shot gun to Mason.

"Not right now," said Mason. "I'm trying to talk to you, Bill."

"Then talk," said Anders impatiently.

"This lifestyle's not healthy, Bill," said Mason. "Waving money and muscles in front of impressionable women, than taking them away. Women aren't toys you can just take and break as you choose. If you treat them like they are, one might just try to do something about it."

"If I needed a lecture, I'd talk to my parents," said Anders. "Is that all you wanted to talk about?" Anders took a shot at another flying target and missed once again.

"Bill, suppose I told you someone was trying to kill you."

Anders' expression didn't change at all.

"I wouldn't be that surprised."

"I'm being serious," said Mason. "Suppose I've heard from an unnamed source that someone was going to try to kill you. Saturday night, when the maid has the weekend off."

"Really? And who is it that's going to try to kill me? Another business man?"

"A young lady friend."

This time, the gun went off before the clay pigeon had even launched. Anders did his best to look unruffled as he reloaded his weapon. "I have a lot of young lady friends," said Anders. "Could you be more specific?"

"You can't go around breaking hearts like you do," said Mason. "You should know that when you play games with as many different women as you do, at least one of them is going to snap."

"Who is your unnamed source?" asked Anders.
"You should know I can't tell you that," said Mason. "It would be unprofessional of me."
"So you're saying a scorned woman is going to try to kill me?" said Anders. "That wouldn't surprise me. It's happened before. Repeatedly. I get all sorts of crazy threats."
"What if this was more than a threat?" asked Mason.
"Are you sure that it is?"

Mason hesitated.
"No," he finally said.

Anders laughed and took a shot at another clay pigeon.
"I'm just trying to help you," said Mason. "As a courtesy to a former school mate. Now I'll take that gun after all."

Anders handed his shotgun to Mason. As a clay pigeon flew into the air, Mason aimed carefully, pulled the trigger... The pigeon exploded into a hundred pieces. Mason handed the gun back to Anders.

"My advice," Mason said. "Be careful. You've made too many enemies. If I were you, I'd start making apologies, right now."
"Thanks for the advice," said Anders. "It was nice seeing you again, Perry."
"Good bye, Bill."

Mason shook Anders' hand and left.