The Case of the Lucky Legs (17 page)

"But," she said, "won't they be watching the hotel when we leave?"

"Exactly," he told her. "That's why I've got to figure out some way of getting us out of it; we're both of us mixed in it now."

He strode to the window; stood once more staring moodily down at the street.

"And you won't tell me," he said, "what changed your mind between the time I saw you and midnight; why it was that you so suddenly decided you were going to marry Bradbury?"

"I've told you," she said, "I knew that was the only way that I could get the money to defend Bob. And I knew that if Bob didn't have first-class legal defense, he would be convicted of the murder. I got to thinking things over, I knew that Bradbury had retained you to represent me. I thought that Jim would also retain you to clear Bob, if he knew that I would marry him."

Perry Mason's eyes glinted.

"Now," he said, "you've said exactly what I was waiting to hear you say."

"What do you mean?"

"He would put up the money for Doray's defense, if he knew that you would marry him."

She bit her lip and said nothing.

Perry Mason stared at her with moody speculation for a few moments.

"I'm going to play ball with you," he said, "and when I play ball, I play ball all the way."

She watched him with wide anxious eyes.

"Take your clothes off," he told her, "and get into bed."

Her face didn't change expression by so much as the flicker of an eyelash.

"How much must I take off?" she asked.

"I want your skirt hung on a chair," he said. "I want your shoes under the bed. You'd better have your stockings over the foot of the bed. I want you to have your waist off, so all that will show above the covers are shoulder straps."

"Then what?" she asked.

"Then," he said, "I'm going to have a man come in the room, he's going to look at you. You're going to act the part of the kind of a girl he'll think you are."

She searched for the fasteners at the side of her skirt.

"You're playing ball with me," she said, "I'll show you that I've got just as much confidence in you, as you have in me."

"Good girl," he told her. "Have you got any chewing gum?"

"No."

"Can you move your jaws as though you were chewing gum?"

"I guess so. How's this?"

He watched her critically.

"Move the jaw a little bit to one side at the bottom of the chew," he said, "give it something of a circular motion."

"It's going to look frightfully common," she said.

"That's just the way I want it to look."

"How's this?"

"That," he told her, "is better. Go ahead and get your clothes off."

He walked once more to the window and stared down at the street until he heard the creak of the bed springs.

"All right?" he asked.

"Yes," she said.

He turned and regarded her critically. Her skirt was over the back of a chair, her stockings were hanging on the foot of the bed, her shoes were under the bed.

"Let's see the gum-chewing business," he told her.

She moved her jaws regularly.

"Now if this man looks at you," Perry Mason said, "don't lower your eyes. Don't act as though you were ashamed. Look at him with a 'come-hither' look. Can you do that?"

"Who is it going to be?" she asked.

"I don't know just yet," he told her, "it'll probably be the porter in the hotel. He won't do anything except look at you, but I want you to look the part."

"I'll do my best," she said.

Perry Mason came over and sat down on the edge of the bed. She met his speculative appraisal with steady blue eyes.

"There was quite a bit of blood on your white shoes?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Did Thelma Bell have any white shoes?"

"I don't know."

"And Thelma took your white shoes to clean them?"

"Yes."

"What was Thelma doing when you got to the apartment?"

"She had just finished taking a bath. She looked at my shoes and told me to get out of them right away, and get out of my clothes, to take a bath and make sure I didn't have any blood on my feet or ankles."

"Did she look at your stockings?"

"No, she told me to make it snappy."

"You took a street car to her apartment?"

"Yes."

"And about the time you were ready to take a bath I called at the apartment?"

"That's right."

"So you don't know what Thelma did with the shoes?"

"No."

Perry Mason slid around on the bed, so that he sat with his left elbow resting on his left knee, his right foot on the floor, his left leg on the bed.

"Margy," he said, "are you telling me the truth?"

"Yes."

"Suppose I should tell you," he went on, "that I made a search of Thelma Bell's apartment; that I found a hat box in the closet; that the hat box was packed with clothes that had been washed and hadn't had a chance to dry; that some of the clothes showed evidences of having been washed to remove blood stains; that there was a pair of white shoes, a pair of stockings and a skirt."

The blue eyes stared at him with fixed intensity Suddenly Marjorie Clune sat bolt upright in bed.

"You mean that the skirt and the stockings had blood stains on them?"

"Yes."

"And they'd been washed?"

"Very hastily washed," Mason said. "And the blood stains were the spattering type of blood stains, such as would have been made from a stab wound."

"Good heavens!" she said.

"Furthermore," Perry Mason told her, "some one was in the bathroom having hysterics about lucky legs. Now one of you girls is lying. Either you were in the bathroom, or it was Thelma."

"It might have been some one else," she said.

"But you don't know any one else it could have been?"

"No."

"I don't think it was any one else," Mason said slowly.

Marjorie Clune blinked her eyes slowly, thoughtfully.

"Now," said Perry Mason, "we're coming to another phase of the situation. Do you know a girl named Eva Lamont?"

"Why, yes, of course."

"Has Eva Lamont got contest legs?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Legs that would win a prize?"

"They didn't," Marjorie Clune said.

"But she had them entered?"

"Yes."

"In other words, she was one of the contestants?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"In Cloverdale."

"Is she," asked Perry Mason, "a young woman with dark hair and snappy black eyes, a woman with a figure something like yours?"

Marjorie Clune nodded.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because," Perry Mason said, "I have every reason to believe that she's in town, registered under the name of Vera Cutter, and that she has taken a most unusual interest in the development of this murder case."

Marjorie Clune's eyes were wide with surprise.

"Now then," Perry Mason said, "tell me where she gets her money."

"She gets it lots of ways," Marjorie Clune said bitterly. "She worked as a waitress for a while. She was working that when Frank Patton came to town with his contest. After that, she did lots of things. She got chances to show her legs and there were lots of people who admired them. She said that whether she won the contest or not, she was going to the city and go into pictures."

"And after you won the contest," Perry Mason said, "then what?"

"Then," she said, "she swore that she was going to come to the city and make a success of her own, which would make mine look sick. She said that I won the contest because I had curried favor with Frank Patton, and that I had an inside track."

"Did you?" asked Perry Mason.

"No."

"You're not telling me very much about Eva Lamont," he said, "and it's important that I know more about her."

"I don't like her."

"That doesn't make any difference, this is a murder case. What do you know about her?"

"I don't know very much about her, but I've heard lots."

"Such as?" asked Perry Mason.

"Oh, lots of things."

"Do you know," Mason asked, "if she looked up Frank Patton after she came here to the city?"

"She would have," Marjorie Clune said slowly, "she's the type that would."

"Has she any reason to be bitter against you, Marjorie?"

Marjorie Clune closed her eyes, slid back into the bed and pulled the covers up around her shoulders.

"She was madly infatuated with Bob Doray," she said.

"And Doray is mad about you?"

"Yes."

Perry Mason took out his package of cigarettes from his pocket, extracted one, had it raised halfway to his lips before he caught himself and extended the package to Marjorie Clune.

"Do you want me to smoke?" she asked.

"Just suit yourself."

"No, I mean when this man comes in. Would it look better if I was smoking?"

"No, it would look better if you were chewing gum, you'd hardly be doing both."

"Then I'll smoke now," she told him.

She took a cigarette. Perry Mason brought an ash-tray from the dresser, set it on the bed between them, held a match to Marjorie Clune's cigarette.

"Give me that other pillow, Marjorie," he said.

She handed him the pillow, he propped it against the foot of the bed and settled his back against it.

"I'm going to think," he told her, "and I don't want to be disturbed."

He smoked the cigarette for a few puffs, then held it in front of him and watched the smoke as it curled upward, with eyes that seemed to be filmed with a dreamy abstraction. The cigarette had almost burnt down to his fingers before he nodded slowly, and let his eyes snap into sharp focus on Marjorie Clune.

He ground out the cigarette in the ash-tray, jumped to his feet and pulled down his vest.

"All right, Marjorie," he said, in a voice that was kindly, "I think I know the answer."

"The answer to what?"

"The answer to everything," he told her. "And I don't mind telling you, Marjorie, that in some ways I've been a damn fool."

She stared at him and shivered slightly.

"You look perfectly cold, when you look at me that way," she said, "as though you were capable of anything."

"Perhaps," he told her, "I am capable of anything."

He pulled another cigarette from his pocket, walked to the dresser, tore the cigarette in two, picked out a couple of grains of tobacco, pulled out the lower lid of his left eye and dropped the grains into place. Then he pulled out the lower lid of his right eye and dropped a couple of grains of tobacco into that, as well. He rubbed his eyes with his knuckles.

Marjorie Clune sat upright in bed to stare at him with curious fascination.

Tears streamed from Perry Mason's eyes and trickled down his cheeks. He groped his way to the wash stand, splashed cold water in his eyes, dried them on a towel and regarded himself in the mirror.

His eyes were red and bloodshot.

He nodded his satisfaction, moistened his fingers in water from the tap, drew them around the inside neckband of his shirt until his collar was moist and crumpled, then he pulled his tie slightly to one side and once more surveyed the effect in the mirror.

"Okay, Marjorie," he said, "wait here until I come back, and remember to chew gum."

He walked to the door, opened it, stepped into the corridor without a single backward glance, and pulled the door shut behind him.

The big elevator moved slowly down the shaft and came at length to a jolting stop. Perry Mason opened the two doors, and stepped out into the baggage room. A uniformed porter, seated at a desk, looked at him with questioning, uncordial eyes.

Perry Mason staggered against the door of the elevator, lurched for two steps, paused, took a deep breath, and grinned fatuously at the man in uniform.

"Came f'r m' trunk," said Perry Mason.

"What trunk?" asked the porter, with hostility in his voice.

Perry Mason grinned and fished around through his pockets, finally bringing out a roll of bills. He pulled out a one dollar bill and lurched across to the porter. He handed over the bill; then, just as the porter was about to take it, jerked it back.

"Thash not 'nuff," Perry Mason said.

He took a five dollar bill from the roll, regarded that speculatively, shook his head in solemn negation, explored the roll of bills, and pulled out a twenty.

The porter's palm was eagerly extended. The porter's fingers clutched at the bill. The look of unsmiling hostility left his face. He pocketed the bill, got to his feet with an amiable grin.

"Have you got the check for the trunk?" he asked.

Perry Mason shook his head.

"Can't find it," he said.

"What kind of a trunk?" asked the porter. "What did it look like?"

"Big trunk," said Perry Mason, "great big trunk. Shalesman's trunk. You know, got all my shtuff in it. Gotta have it. Two daysh late now."

The porter moved toward a pile of trunks. Perry Mason became garrulous.

"Two daysh late now," he said, "wife's showing up. 'Magine that. Jush got tip from friend, wife'sh coming down from city to look me up. Maybe she'sh got detectives trying to get goods on me. Got 'nawful nice little girl friend. Can't get her mixed up in it."

The porter indicated a large trunk.

"This it?" he asked.

Perry Mason shook his head.

The porter moved around a stack of trunks.

"This one," he said, "was left here…"

Perry Mason's face broke into smiles.

"Thash one," he said, and patted the trunk affectionately. "Lesh go."

"What's your room number?" asked the porter.

"Six forty-two," said Perry Mason.

"I'll bring it right up," the porter said.

"Gotta come right now," Perry Mason insisted. "Maybe detectivesh watchin' hotel."

The porter was sympathetic.

"All right," he said, "let's go right away. That's no way for a woman to check on a man who's on the road a lot of the time. He's got to have a little pleasure sometime."

Perry Mason patted the porter's shoulder.

"You shaid mouthful," he confided. "Little pleashure now'n then ain't gonna hurt nobody."

The porter got a hand truck, put the trunk on it, and wheeled it into the freight elevator. Perry Mason stood beside him as the elevator went up to the sixth floor, walked by the side of the truck down to the room. He opened the door of the room and stood to one side.

The porter pushed the hand truck into the room. Marjorie Clune turned her face toward the porter and made chewing motions with her jaw.

The porter stole a surreptitious glance, then averted his eyes.

"Gotta get half cashe whiskey in shish trunk," said Perry Mason, waving his hand in the general direction of the bureau. "Putter down anywhere. Goin' out in about fifteen minutes," said Perry Mason, "maybe ten minutes. Wife may have detectives watchin' hotel. You get me taxicab, wait by trade entrance, will you?"

He flashed his hand once more toward his trouser pocket.

"You've already given me..," said the porter, then let his voice trail into silence as Perry Mason gravely pulled out the roll of bills, took another twenty from it and dropped it into the porter's palm.

"Just give me a ring," he said, "whenever you're ready. I'll have a cab waiting."

He walked to the door, paused with his hand on the knob for one flashing glance at the girl on the bed.

Marjorie Clune was ready for him. She met his eyes with a bold glance of ready invitation.

The porter slipped out into the corridor and closed the door.

"All right," said Perry Mason, "get out of bed and get into your clothes."

Marjorie Clune jumped from the bed and struggled into her dress. Perry Mason pulled the ring of skeleton keys from his pocket, started working on the lock of the trunk.

Marjorie Clune had her dress on, her hair adjusted, and her face powdered before Perry Mason had the trunk open. It was filled with feminine garments, each garment on a hanger, and placarded with a cost tag and catalogue number. Perry Mason pulled the garments from the hangers and tossed them to Marjorie Clune.

"Hang these in the closet," he said, "and then close the closet door."

She took the garments wordlessly, made half a dozen trips to the closet. Perry Mason surveyed the interior of the trunk.

"It isn't going to be pleasant," he told her, "you've got to brace yourself. You'll probably be bruised. The air won't be any too good, but it won't be long."

"You mean I have to get in that?"

"I mean," he said, "you've got to get into that, and like it. You can sit in the bottom if you double your knees up under your chin. I'm going to tell the porter I've got half a case of whiskey in there, to handle the trunk carefully and to keep it right side up. There's a taxicab waiting by the freight entrance. The trunk will be strapped on the side of the taxicab.

"I'll have the cab take me to another hotel. I'll get a room and have the trunk sent right up. I'll bribe everybody to handle it carefully. But you're going to get shaken some, and bruised some, and it isn't going to be pleasant."

"Then what's going to happen?" she asked.

"As soon as I can get you into another hotel, I'll open the trunk," he told her. "You can get out and we'll take a cab to the airport. I've got a fast cabin plane waiting there. We'll take it."

"Take it where?" she asked.

"Back to the city," he told her.

"What will we do in the city?"

"When we get there," he told her, "we're going to bring things to a head."

She put her hand on his arm.

"Those clothes," she said, "those garments of Thelma's that had blood stains on them. Do you know where they are?"

"Yes."

"Where are they?"

"They're where we can get them when we want them, and if we want them we can still tie them up with Thelma Bell."

"It would mean," she said, "a lot to Bob if those garments were discovered. You know Bob was my boy friend. They might figure that he had a motive to kill Patton, but Sanborne was Thelma's boy friend, and he had more motive than Bob Doray could ever have had. You see, Patton was…" Her voice trailed into silence.

"Was what?" asked Perry Mason.

"Nothing," she said. "It doesn't make any difference. I was just wondering about those garments."

Perry Mason gestured toward the trunk.

"Get in," he told her.