Della Street brought Gwynn Elston into Perry Mason's office.
"I'm afraid, Mr. Mason," she said nervously, smoothing her skirt over her knees, "I'm afraid I'm going to be mixed up in the murder."
"Just what is your position going to be in the murder?"
"Why should I see her?"
Perry Mason asked.
"Because, Mr. Mason, Miss Elston wants you to translate certain Chinese characters for her and to find out whether a crumpled piece of tissue contains strychnine. And, besides, she's a dish with plenty of this and that and these and those."
"Let's take a look at her."
"I stepped forward and could see a man's leg and then the other leg sort of doubled up. I parted the brush and saw the face of Felting Grimes."
"He was dead?" Perry Mason asked.
"Stone, cold dead."
"What made you think he's been murdered?"
"There was a bullet hole in his chest."
"All right. Let's hear the rest of it."
"You know, Gwynn," Mason said, "you're a rotten liar."
Her face flushed and she started to get up.
"Honestly Mr. Mason, I'm telling you the absolute truth. If I were lying, it would be a lot more artistic."
