The Case of the Lucky Legs (15 page)

Della Street fidgeted uneasily.

The cab turned down a side street, sped along for two or three blocks; then pulled close to the curb.

"How's this?" asked the cab driver.

"That," Perry Mason said, "is fine." His voice was an even monotone, as though he had been talking in his sleep. His eyes were staring with hypnotic steadiness at Bradbury.

Slowly he said, still in that same expressionless monotone, "Let's understand each other, Bradbury. You want me to represent Marjorie Clune and Dr. Doray."

"Yes."

"I'm to be paid for that representation."

"Yes."

"And, furthermore, you insist upon an acquittal."

"Furthermore," said Bradbury, "I insist upon an acquittal. Under the circumstances, Counselor, I think I am entitled to it. If there is not an acquittal, it will be necessary for me to make a complete disclosure of certain facts, which I need not mention at the present time, but which indicate very strongly, to my mind, that the door was locked sometime after both Marjorie Clune and the murderer had left the apartment where the murder was committed."

"And that," said Perry Mason, "is an ultimatum."

"If you want to put it that way," Bradbury said, "it's an ultimatum. I don't want to be harsh, Counselor. I don't want to have you feel that I'm putting you on a spot, but, by God! I intend to get a square deal for Marjorie Clune. We've been over all that before."

"And for Bob Doray?" asked Perry Mason.

"I expect an acquittal for Dr. Robert Doray."

"Don't you realize," Mason said slowly, "that virtually every fact in the case points unerringly to the guilt of Dr. Doray?"

"Of course I realize it," Bradbury said. "What do you think I am, a fool?"

"Not by a long ways," said Mason, with a degree of respect in his tone. "I was simply remarking that you'd handed me a big order."

Bradbury pulled a wallet from his pocket.

"Now that we have discussed that phase of the situation," he said, "I am perfectly willing to admit that it is a big order, and I am perfectly willing to admit that I expected to pay for it. I have given you a retainer of one thousand dollars. I now hand to your secretary an additional four thousand dollars. I expect to give you further compensation when a verdict of not guilty is returned by the jury."

With the crisp efficiency of a banker, Bradbury counted out bills to the amount of four thousand dollars, and handed them to Della Street.

She looked questioningly at Perry Mason.

Perry Mason nodded.

"Well," Perry Mason said, "we understand each other, anyway. That's one satisfaction. But I want you to understand this, Bradbury. I will endeavor to represent both Dr. Doray and Marjorie Clune. I will endeavor to secure a favorable verdict. I will call your attention, however, to the same thing that you have told me about yourself. That is, that you are a fighter. I, too, am a fighter. You fight for yourself. I fight for my clients. When I start in fighting for Marjorie Clune and Dr. Doray, I'm going to fight. There are not going to be any halfway measures."

Bradbury's face did not so much as change expression by the slightest flicker of a muscle.

"I don't give a damn what you do," he said, "- if you will pardon my French, Miss Street – or how you do it. All I know is that I want to be certain those two persons are acquitted."

Della Street spoke hotly.

"I'm not entirely in the dark about what you have reference to, Mr. Bradbury," she said. "I think you're perfectly horrid. Mr. Mason went out of his way to give you protection for the person you had employed him to protect. He did things that -"

"Steady, Della," warned Perry Mason.

She caught his eye, and was suddenly silent.

"I see," said Bradbury, "that she knows."

"You see nothing," said Mason grimly. "And I want to tell you right now, Bradbury, that you'll do a lot better for yourself and for your clients if you keep your finger out of the pie. We understand each other, and that's enough."

"That's enough," said Bradbury.

"Furthermore," Mason said, "I don't want any more of your veiled threats made to my secretary. I don't want you to try and browbeat her into getting any more interviews with me."

"I am not going to ask for any more interviews with you," Bradbury said. "I have given you my ultimatum. It stands. I am going to have nothing whatever to say about methods. I am going to hold you strictly accountable for results."

Della Street opened her mouth to say something, sucked in her breath with a quick intake; then, as she looked at Perry Mason's grim face, became silent.

Mason looked at Bradbury.

"All right," he said, "I'll get out here. You can take Della Street back to the office. You pay for the cab."

Bradbury nodded.

"See that he gets a receipt for the retainer," Mason said.

"Needless to say," Bradbury warned, "time is of the greatest value. The police are building up a dangerous case against Dr. Doray."

"Did you know they'd identified him as the purchaser of the knife?" asked Perry Mason.

Bradbury's face showed surprised consternation.

"You mean that they've proven he was the one that bought the knife that stabbed Patton?"

"Yes."

"Good God!" said Bradbury, and slumped back against the cushions of the cab and stared at the lawyer, his mouth sagging slightly open, his eyes wide.

"You knew that they'd located his car as having been parked near the vicinity of the crime?" asked Mason.

"Yes, I knew that. That's why I thought they had a damaging case against him. But, this other, my God, that's conclusive, isn't it?"

Perry Mason made a shrugging gesture with his shoulders.

"May I ask," he said, "why you are suddenly so anxious to have Dr. Doray acquitted?"

"That," said Bradbury, "is my business."

"I had rather gathered," Mason said, "that Dr. Doray was your rival for the affections of Miss Clune; that you didn't have any feeling of friendship for him – that is, no particular love."

"My feelings toward Dr. Doray haven't the slightest bearing on the case whatever," Bradbury remarked in a tone of voice which was doubtless intended as a rebuke. "You are an attorney. You make a business of representing people who are accused of crime, and securing acquittals. I have told you that I shall expect an acquittal of Dr. Doray as well as of Margy. If they're not acquitted on the evidence that the police produce, I propose to take steps, through other counsel, to see that the real facts are called to the attention of the court in order to secure a new trial."

"The facts, I take it," Perry Mason said, "relating to the locked door."

"Correct."

"Well, you're plain enough," Mason told him.

He grinned reassuringly at Della Street.

"Don't worry, Della," he said, "I've been in worse jams than this before."

"But," she said hotly, "how can he -?"

Mason frowned and shook his head.

"Della," he said, "the weather is delightful."

"Yes?" she asked.

"And," said Perry Mason, "whenever you discuss any subject with Mr. Bradbury, I want it to be the subject of the weather. The weather is always a very engrossing subject of conversation. It is virtually inexhaustible. Please see that Bradbury confines himself to it."

"Don't worry," Bradbury said, with a sudden frank smile twisting his lips, "I fight a fighter, Mason. I don't pick on women. I couldn't help observing that your secretary was fully familiar with the point I was making as I made it. That would seem to indicate that -"

Perry Mason interrupted with firmly insistent tones.

"The weather, Mr Bradbury," he said, "is delightful for this time of year. It is unusually warm."

Bradbury nodded.

"And, as I was about to remark," he said, "I shall attempt to take no advantage of you because of anything Miss Street might say or do."

Perry Mason pulled open the door of the taxicab, climbed to the sidewalk, and cocked an appraising eye at the cloudless sky. Then he raised his hat.

"There is a chance," he said, "that it may cloud over this afternoon."

Bradbury started to say something, but the banging of the taxicab door cut off his sentence, and Perry Mason was striding down the side street back toward the avenue.

"You're ready to go?"

"It'll take a very few minutes to get it warmed up," the aviator told him. "She's all ready – that is, all filled with gas and inspected."

"Let's go," Perry Mason said.

The aviator smiled.

"You haven't told me yet where you want to go to," he said.

"I'll tell you that while you're getting the plane warmed up," Mason told him.

They walked down the wide cement walk. A small, snub-nosed cabin plane glistened in the sun.

"That's the job," said the aviator.

Perry Mason looked it over while two mechanics swung it into position, put blocks under the wheels, and started the motor warming up.

"There's a mail plane leaves here around midnight," Mason said. "I want to follow that mail plane."

The pilot stared at him.

"You'll never catch it. Why it's as far as -"

"I don't want to catch it, I want to follow it. Where's the first stop?"

"Summerville."

"How long will it take us to get there?"

"About an hour."

Perry Mason said, "That's our first stop. We may not go any farther. Again we may."

The pilot opened the door of the small cabin.

"Get in and sit down," he said. "You've been up before?"

Mason nodded.

"Don't get worried over air bumps," the pilot told him. "They don't amount to anything. The novice gets worried over them."

He made a circle about the plane, as Mason adjusted himself in the seat, then climbed in at the controls, pulled shut the door of the cabin, locked it into position, waved a hand to the mechanics. They pulled away the blocks of wood. The pilot opened the throttle, and the plane roared into motion.

During the ensuing hour, Perry Mason sat almost without motion, his eyes staring at the scenery with the same abstract speculative interest with which he sometimes regarded the smoke which curled upward from his cigarette.

Once or twice the aviator stole a puzzled glance at his preoccupied passenger, but it was not until the plane was over Summerville that he spoke.

"That's Summerville below," he said.

Perry Mason regarded the airport without interest, and only nodded his head slightly.

The pilot nosed the plane forward. It lost altitude rapidly. When the wheels were jolting on the ground, Perry Mason shouted to the pilot:

"Don't stop too close to the hangar."

The pilot cut the throttle down, and the plane droned into a stop. Two men came walking down the hard surface of the packed ground which served as a runway.

Perry Mason got out of the plane, strode to meet the men, looked them over with a swift glance, and said abruptly, "Was either of you men on duty when the mail plane got in – the one that arrives around one o'clock in the morning?"

"I was," said the taller of the two.

Mason motioned him to one side, and lowered his voice.

"I'm looking for a young woman," Perry Mason said, "who was a passenger on that plane. She's in the early twenties. Has very blue eyes, a slender, well-formed figure, and -"

"There wasn't any girl on the plane at all," the man said positively. "There were just two men. One of them got off, and one of them went straight through."

Perry Mason stared at the man with a frown creasing his forehead. His eyes contained a hard glitter which caused the mechanic to shift his own eyes momentarily.

"Describe those men, can you?" he asked.

"One of them was a fat fellow with a bald head. He was about fifty, I guess, and he was pretty well crocked. He had fishy eyes, and I don't remember much about him. He went on through. The fellow that got off was a young chap, wearing a blue serge suit. He had dark hair and black eyes. He asked if there was another plane that was due to arrive before morning. I told him there wasn't. He seemed a little undecided, and then he asked me how he could get to the Riverview Hotel."

Perry Mason's eyes shifted past the mechanic, focused themselves upon distance. He stood for a few seconds absorbed in thought. Then he pulled a five dollar bill from his pocket.

"I wonder," he said, "if you can get me a taxicab."

"There's one right this way," the man said.

Mason turned to the aviator.

"Check your plane over," he said, "get ready to go on from here."

"In which direction?" asked the aviator.

"I don't know," Mason told him. "Wait until I get back and I'll tell you."

He followed the mechanic to the taxicab.

"Riverview Hotel," Mason told the driver.

During the ride the lawyer sat back against the cushions, his eyes patient, steady and unseeing, paying no attention whatever to the buildings which flowed past on either side of the cab windows. When the cab drew up in front of the Riverview Hotel, Perry Mason paid the driver, entered the lobby and approached the clerk.

"I'm in rather a peculiar position," he told the clerk. "I was to meet a man here for a business conference. The man came in from the city on the plane that gets in at one twenty in the morning. I never was very much of a hand at remembering names, and I forgot to bring the correspondence concerning the deal. The sales manager will can me if he finds out about it. I wonder if you could help me out."

The clerk turned to the register.

"I think so," he said. "We rented a room about one thirty to a Mr. Charles B. Duncan."

"What's the room?" asked Perry Mason.

"The room," the clerk told him smilingly, "is the bridal suite – 601."

Perry Mason stared steadily and unsmilingly at the clerk for a matter of a second or two, his eyes calm and patient, boring straight into those of the man behind the counter.

"The hell it is," said Perry Mason, and turned toward the elevator.

He got off at the sixth floor, asked the direction of 601, walked down the corridor, started to pound imperatively upon the panels of the door, then suddenly arrested his hand in mid-motion. He unclenched the fist, and tapped gently upon the door with the tips of his fingers, making the knock sound like the timid knock which would have been given by a woman.

There was the sound of quick steps thudding the floor back of the door. A bolt clicked, the door flung open, and Perry Mason gazed into Dr. Doray's eager eyes.

The face ran through a gamut of emotions – disappointment, fear, anger.

Perry Mason pushed his way into the room, kicked the door shut.

Doray took two or three backward steps, his eyes fastened upon Perry Mason's face.

"Bridal suite, eh?" said Perry Mason.

Dr. Doray sat down abruptly on the edge of the bed, as though his knees had refused to carry his weight.

"Well?" said Perry Mason.

The man on the bed said nothing.

Perry Mason's tone was edged with impatience.

"Come on," he said, "start talking."

"About what?" asked Dr. Doray.

"I want the whole story," Perry Mason said.

Dr. Doray took a deep breath, stared up at the lawyer.

"I haven't any story to tell," he said.

"What are you doing here?" Mason asked.

"Just running away. I thought things were getting pretty hot for me. You gave me that message, and so I came here."

"What message?"

"The message that your secretary gave me, telling me to get out and keep under cover."

"And so," said Perry Mason sarcastically, "you took the midnight plane out of the city, came here and registered in the bridal suite."

Doray said stubbornly, "That's right. I registered in the bridal suite."

"Why didn't Marjorie Clune join you?" Perry Mason asked.

Dr. Doray jumped up from the edge of the bed.

"You can't talk that way," he said. "That's an insult to Marjorie. She's not that kind of a girl. She wouldn't think of any such thing."

"Oh," said Perry Mason, "you weren't going to be married then. I though perhaps you were going to be married and spend your honeymoon here."

Dr. Doray blushed.

"I'll tell you I don't know anything about Marjorie Clune. I came down here because I thought things were getting too hot for me. She wasn't going to join me at all."

"I tapped on the door," said Perry Mason slowly, "with the tips of my fingers, making the same kind of a noise a woman might make if she was very certain of who was on the other side of the door. You rushed to the door with an expression of eagerness on your face; saw me, and then acted as though some one had slapped you in the face with a wet towel."

"It was a shock to me," Doray said. "I didn't know any one knew I was here."

Perry Mason hooked his thumbs in the armholes of his vest, thrust his head slightly forward and started pacing the floor.

"I'm telling you," began Dr. Doray, "that you're all wet. You have the wrong idea about -"

"Shut up," said Perry Mason, calmly and without emotion. "I'm thinking. I don't want to be interrupted."

He paced the floor in silence for more than three minutes; then suddenly whirled to face Dr. Doray. He kept his thumbs in the armholes of his vest; his head was thrust forward, the jaw protruding.

"I was a fool to have come here."

"You were?" asked Dr. Doray, startled.

Perry Mason nodded.

"I'm in this thing deep enough already. I came here in the first place because I thought I'd find Marjorie Clune. I wanted to give her a break. God knows she's going to need it. Why didn't she join you on the midnight plane?"

"I tell you I don't know anything at all about her. I haven't seen her and haven't talked with her."

Perry Mason shook his head, almost sadly.

"Let's reason this thing out," he said. "None of her friends heard anything about her. You became alarmed. So did Bradbury. Both of you love her. Bradbury has money; he's an older man. You're nearer Marjorie's age. You've been practicing dentistry for a year or two and haven't very much saved up. You had a lot of equipment to pay for, and you've been building up a practice. You borrowed what money you could and came to the city to find Marjorie. You also wanted to bring Patton to justice.

"You drove your car in from Cloverdale. It's a distinctive car. You got in touch with Marjorie Clune. I don't know how. Through her you learned where Patton was living. You didn't know that when you talked with me. Therefore you must have reached Marjorie Clune after that. You didn't have any way of getting in touch with Patton except through Marjorie. You didn't have any money to hire detectives with. Marjorie Clune had an appointment with Frank Patton. Your car was tagged in front of a fire plug. It's better than an even money bet you drove Marjorie Clune to keep the appointment with Patton.

"Patton was found murdered. The weapon used was a knife. The police have traced that knife. They've found out the hardware store where it was purchased. The man in the hardware store identified your photograph as that of the one who bought the knife."

Doray's face was suddenly white.

"I'm not making any statements," he said.

"You don't have to," Mason told him in a calm, deliberate tone of voice. "I'm the one who's making the statements. I found Marjorie Clune. I got her to go to a hotel and register. She was to wait for me to call her. She wasn't to leave her room. She looked like the type of woman who would keep her promise.

"Something happened so that she didn't keep that promise. She walked out on me. In tracing her movements, I find that she intended to take the midnight plane. I trail the midnight plane and find you were on it. Therefore it's a fair inference that it was through you she violated the promise she had given to me. Now, what argument did you use?"

"I didn't use any," Doray said. "I tell you I don't know anything at all about Marjorie Clune."

"Then she wasn't to join you here?"

"No."

"You didn't talk with her on the telephone?"

"No."

Mason stared down at Dr. Doray with glittering, savage eyes.

"What a fool you are," he said, "a small-town dentist who's practiced dentistry for three or four years, and you think that fits you to give me a run-around in a murder case, which is my specialty. Young as you are, and dumb as you are, I wouldn't think of arguing with you about how you were going to fill one of my teeth. And yet you have the audacity to sit there and jeopardize the safety of the woman you love by trying to lie to me."

"I'm not lying to you, I tell you," Doray said.

There were beads of perspiration glistening on his forehead and on his nose.