FOREWORD<br > I WAS NOT one of Erie Stanley Gardner s very best friends. There<br >were hundreds who could rightly be so named， for if ever a man<br >had the gift of friendship，， it was he. Almost everyone called him<br >Uncle Erie for reasons ~ost in the annals of long usage， and I came<br >to know him well enough to share that privilege. I met him first in<br >New York， and after that， now and again in Hollywood， which is<br >what outlanders call the Santa Monica， Westwood， and Beverly Hills<br >environs of Los Angeles. And， as writers do， when the spirit moved，<br >we exchanged letters through the years.<br > That first introduction in New York was at the apartment of<br >Baynard Kendrick， whose books， like Gardner s， were published by<br >William Morrow and Company. I was on my annual working visit<br >to New York， and my editor for many years， Marie Freid Rodell，<br >took me along with her to a pre-Mystery Writers of America meet-<br >ing there. Gardner had just flown in from the Bahamas， where he<br >had been covering the trial of Alfred de Marigny for the murder<br >of Sir Harry Oakes. I remember him that day as a large， serious<br >man， dressed impeccably in a dark blue suit， and I remember how<br >at once he put his imprint on the gathering. Later， when we met<br >in California， I discovered that he wasn t a big man physically， but<br >that he was， rather， of .less than average height; that he was more<br >at home in his usual casual Western attire than a dark blue suit;<br >and that although he was a serious man， he was also a merry one.<br > My husband， Levi Allen Hughes， and I spent one happy weekend<br >at Gardner s Rancho del Paisano in Temecula. I never thought of<br >posterity at the time or I might have made copious notes of the<br >visit. Instead， I just enjoyed myself. My husband， being a born and<br >bred Westerner， talked hunting and fishing with Erie， and gold and<br >silver mines， and Baja California， which we had just discovered.<br ><br >