type of man you'd pick for a poet. There's something peculiar in hisexpression, a soulful, sensitive something. You'll like him, but he's thetype that would make business for you, if you ask me - a romanticdreamer who would commit an emotional murder if he felt circumstancesrequired him to do it.""You can readily detect the glass eye?" Mason inquired."I can't detect it at all," she said, shaking her head. "I alwaysthought I could tell an artificial eye as far as I could see one, but I'dnever know there was anything wrong with Mr. Brunold's eye.""Just what was it he told you about his eye?""He said he had a complete set of eyes - one for morning - one forevening - one slightly bloodshot - one..."Perry Mason smacked his fist against his palm. His eyes glinted."Take away that bunch of mail, Della," he commanded, "and send inthe man with the glass eye. I've fought will contests, tried suits forslander, libel, alienation of affections, and personal injuries, but I'mdarned if I've ever had a case involving a glass eye, and this is going tobe where I begin. Send him in."Della Street smiled, vanished silently through the door which led tothe reception room where clients who were to see Perry Masonpersonally were asked to wait. A moment later the door opened."Mr. Peter Brunold," she said, standing very slim and erect in thedoorway.Brunold marched past her, strode across the office to Perry Mason,thrust out his hand."Thanks for seeing me personally," he said.The lawyer shook hands, stared curiously at Brunold's eyes."Know which one it is?" Brunold asked.As Mason shook his head, Brunold smiled, sat down and leanedforward."I know you're busy. I'm going to get down to brass tacks. I've given your secretary my name, address, occupation, and all the rest of it, so Iwon't bother with that now.