The Case of the Lucky Legs (19 page)

"I'd made up my mind to that long ago," she told him.

Perry Mason said nothing, continued to stare at the traffic. The cab driver worked his way toward the right-hand curb.

"Go right up to the hotel entrance?" he asked.

"Yes," Mason said, "that's as far as we're going."

He paid off the cab, took Marjorie Clune's arm, escorted her to the elevator of the hotel.

"Fifth floor," he told the operator.

As they left the elevator on the fifth floor, Perry Mason bent forward so that his lips were close to Marjorie Clune's ear.

"I'm going in the room," he said. "I'm going to get that woman in an argument of some sort. I'll try and get her to raise her voice. You keep your ear close to the door and see if you can recognize her voice. If you can recognize it, okay. If you can't, knock on the door, and I'll open it."

"If it's Eva Lamont she'll recognize me," said Marjorie Clune.

"That's all right," he told her, "that's one of the things we've got to figure on. But I've got to know whether that's Eva Lamont."

He piloted Marjorie Clune around the bend in the corridor.

"Here's the place," he said. "You'd better stand against the wall there. I'll try and get her to talk while the door's open. I'm afraid you aren't going to be able to hear through the door."

Perry Mason knocked at the door.

The door was opened from the inside just a bare crack.

"Who is it?" asked a woman's low voice.

"A man from the Drake Detective Bureau," Mason said.

There was not another word. The door swung wide open. A woman attired in street costume smiled invitingly at him.

Perry Mason entered the room.

"Well," he said, "it looks as though you were getting ready to leave us."

The woman stared at Perry Mason, then followed his gaze to the wardrobe trunk which stood by the side of the bed partially filled with clothes, to the open suitcase on the bed, and the closed suitcase on the chair.

She looked back at the open door, then wordlessly crossed to the door, closed it and locked it.

"What was it," she asked, "that you wanted?"

"I wanted to find out," Perry Mason said, "why it was that you registered under the name of Vera Cutter, and yet your baggage has the initials E.L. on it."

"That's simple," she said. "My sister's name is Edith Loring."

"And you're from Cloverdale?" asked Perry Mason.

"I'm from Detroit."

Perry Mason walked over to the wardrobe trunk. He picked up a skirt which hung on a wooden hanger and turned the wooden hanger so that it showed the imprint:

DYEING WORKS."

"My sister," she said, "lives in Cloverdale."

"But you're from Detroit?" he asked.

"Say, who are you?" she asked in a voice that was suddenly hard. "You aren't from the Drake Detective Bureau."

Perry Mason smiled.

"That," he said, "was just an excuse to get in and talk with you. What I really wanted to ask you was…"

She recoiled from him and stood staring, with her face white, her eyes glittering and cautious, one hand gripping the post on the foot of the brass bedstead.

"What I wanted particularly to know," said Perry Mason, "is where you were when Frank Patton was killed."

For more than ten seconds she stared at him without making any motion or saying any word. Perry Mason met her eyes accusingly.

"Are you an officer?" she asked at length in a low, throaty voice.

"Suppose you answer the question first," Perry Mason told her, "and then I'll answer your questions."

"I'm going to refer you," she said, "to my attorney."

"Oh, then you have an attorney?"

"Certainly I have an attorney," she said. "Don't think that I'd let any cheap heel come in here and start browbeating me about a thing like that. I don't know anything at all about the murder of Frank Patton, except what I've read in the newspapers. But if you think you're going to come in here and pull a fast one on me, you're going to get fooled."

"And you can't tell me where you were when Frank Patton was killed?"

"I won't tell you where I was."

"Suppose," Perry Mason said, "I should take you down to police headquarters, then what would you do?"

By way of answer she crossed to the telephone, took down the receiver and called the number of Perry Mason's office. There was a moment's silence, then the receiver made a squawking noise and the woman said in a cold, haughty voice, "Is Mr. Mason in? I would like to speak with Mr. Perry Mason. You may tell him this is Vera Cutter."

The receiver made more noise.

Perry Mason, studying the expression on the woman's face, was unable to detect any slightest change in it. After a moment she said cooingly, "Oh, good afternoon, Mr. Mason. This is Miss Vera Cutter again. You told me to get in touch with you if any one questioned me concerning my reason for being here in the city. There's a man in the hotel who claims to be an officer, and… what's that?"

The receiver made more noise.

Vera Cutter's face broke into a smile.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Mason. You say that if he is an officer he is to come to your office, and if he is not, I am to notify police headquarters and have him arrested for impersonating an officer? Thank you so much, Mr. Mason, I was sorry to have bothered you again, but those were your instructions – to call you if any one questioned me. Oh, thank you so much."

She hung up the telephone and turned to Perry Mason with triumphant countenance.

"I guess you know my lawyer," she said, "Perry Mason, just about the biggest lawyer in the city. He's representing my interests while I'm here, and he says that if you're not an officer, he's going to see that you're arrested for the crime of impersonating an officer. If you are an officer, you may go to his office and talk with him personally."

"Were you talking with Perry Mason personally?" asked the lawyer.

"Of course I was talking with Perry Mason personally. With the size of the retainer that I paid him, I wouldn't waste my time talking with any law clerks."

"That's funny," Mason said. "I want to see Perry Mason, myself. I called him less than ten minutes ago. They told me he wouldn't be in any more today."

Her smile was patronizing.

"It always makes a difference," she said, "who's calling when you're trying to get Perry Mason on the line. He's a very busy man and he doesn't bother with cheap detectives or peddlers."

"And you're not going to tell me why you were getting ready to leave town?" asked Perry Mason, indicating the baggage.

She laughed mockingly.

"Listen, brother," she said, "I'm not going to tell you anything except to scram. Get out of here! Beat it! If you're an officer, you can see Perry Mason; if you're not, you can get the hell out of here."

There was a knock at the door. Perry Mason turned toward it.

Vera Cutter blazed at him, "Don't you dare to open that door!"

She rushed past him, twisted the knob and flung open the door.

Marjorie Clune stood on the threshold.

"How do you do, Eva Lamont?" said Marjorie Clune.

Eva Lamont stared at her for two or three seconds.

"So," said Perry Mason, "your name is Eva Lamont?"

Eva Lamont pointed a rigid index finger at Perry Mason.

"Are you with him?" she screamed.

Marjorie Clune looked inquiringly at Perry Mason.

Before Mason had a chance to give her a signal, Eva Lamont suddenly whirled and raced toward the telephone.

"Just a minute, dearie," she called over her shoulder. "I know a man who wants to ask you all about your nice moving picture contract."

She grabbed the receiver from its hook.

"Police headquarters!" she screamed. "Police headquarters! Get me police headquarters at once!"

Perry Mason grabbed Marjorie Clune's arm and swung her about. Together they raced down the corridor. Behind them, they could hear Eva Lamont's voice screaming, "Police headquarters! Police headquarters!… Is this police headquarters?"

Perry Mason took the stairs to the fourth floor, then rang for the elevator.

"Steady," he warned Marjorie Clune.

Perry Mason piloted Marjorie Clune through the lobby of the hotel, holding her back when she would have rushed into rapid flight.

"Take it easy," he cautioned in a low voice.

He signaled a cab at the sidewalk.

"Mapleton Hotel," he told the driver. As Mason seated himself in the cab, he extended a cigarette to Marjorie Clune.

"Smoke?"

She took a cigarette. Perry Mason lit it for her, then lit one for himself.

"Settle back against the cushions," he told Marjorie Clune. "Try to think about something besides the case. Relax as much as you can. Don't interrupt me, because I'm going to be thinking, and don't try to think yourself, because it's simply going to make things that much more difficult for you. Think about something else. Relax and rest. You're going to have a trying time."

"Are we going to police headquarters?" she asked.

Perry Mason's tone was grim.

"Not if I can help it," he told her.

They completed the ride in silence. Perry Mason told the cab to wait; told Marjorie Clune to stay in the cab and to keep her hand up in front of her face as much as possible. A uniformed doorman opened the cab door and Perry Mason walked with quick, purposeful strides through the revolving door of the Mapleton Hotel and directly to the desk of the cashier.

"You have a J.R. Bradbury," he said, "staying here in room 693."

The cashier raised her eyebrows inquiringly.

"Yes?" she asked.

"I'm his attorney," Perry Mason said. "There's a possibility I may have to take him out of town on a matter of important business. I want to have his bill all paid up so he can get away if he has to."

"You're checking out for him?" asked the cashier.

"No," he told her, "I'm simply paying his bill to date."

She opened a filing drawer, pulled out a sheet of paper, crossed to an adding machine, manipulated the keys, took the total and returned to Perry Mason.

"The total bill," she said, "is eighty-three dollars and ninety-five cents."

"On 693?" asked Perry Mason.

"He has 693 today," she said, "but he has been connected with 695 and has been paying the bills on both rooms."

Perry Mason pushed a one hundred dollar bill through the window. The cashier inspected it, crinkled it crisply between efficient fingers, then crossed to the cash register. She rang up the amount and handed Perry Mason the change, together with a receipted bill.

Mason studied the bill.

"These telephone calls," he said, indicating the bill with his finger, "are they local or long distance?"

"The long distance calls are marked," she said. "Those others are local."

"I think," Perry Mason told her, "that I would like to have an itemized account of those local calls. You see, I'm paying this bill for Mr. Bradbury. The other amounts are quite all right; he can't question them, but I'd like very much to have an itemized statement of the local telephone calls."

She puckered her forehead for a moment, then said, "I can get them for you. It will be a little trouble and will take a few minutes."

"If you would be so kind," Perry Mason said, smiling. "You can mark them right on the back of this receipted bill."

The cashier took the receipted bill, crossed to the telephone desk and spoke with the operator. A moment later she brought back to the desk a leather-covered notebook, opened it and started writing with nimble fingers. When she had finished, she returned the receipted bill to Perry Mason.

"The calls," she said, "are all marked on there."

Perry Mason thanked her, folded the receipted bill without even bothering to look at it, thrust it into his pocket and turned from the cashier's window.

"Thank you," he said, "very much indeed."

Della Street, who had been seated at the secretarial desk by the switchboard, jumped to her feet and stared from Perry Mason to the blue eyes of Marjorie Clune.

"Della," said Perry Mason, "this is Marjorie Clune, the girl with the lucky legs. Margy, this is Della Street, my secretary."

Della Street made no effort to acknowledge the introduction. She stared at Marjorie Clune, then shifted her eyes back to Perry Mason's face.

"You brought her here?" she said. "You?"

Perry Mason nodded.

"But there have been detectives in," Della Street said. "They'll be coming back. They've got the building watched. You got in, but you can't get out, and Marjorie Clune is wanted for murder. It will simply cinch the case against you as an accessory."

Marjorie Clune clung to Perry Mason's arm.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she said. Then, facing Della Street, added, "I wouldn't have done it for the world if I'd known."

Della Street crossed rapidly to Marjorie Clune, put an arm around her shoulders.

"There, there, dear," she said, "don't you care. It isn't your fault. He's always doing things like that; always taking chances."

"And," said Perry Mason, smiling, "always getting away with them. Why don't you tell her that, Della?"

"Because," Della Street said, "some day you're not going to be able to get away with them."

Perry Mason glanced meaningly at Della Street.

"Take her in my private office, Della," he said, "and wait there."

Della Street opened the door of the private office.

"You poor kid," she said maternally, "it's been frightful, hasn't it? But don't worry. It's going to come out all right now."

Marjorie Clune paused in the doorway.

"Please," she said to Perry Mason, "please don't let me get you into trouble."

Della Street exerted a gentle pressure with her arm and piloted Marjorie Clune to the inner office and sat her in the big leather chair which flanked Perry Mason's desk.

"Wait there and try and get some rest," she said. "You can lay your head right back against the cushions and curl your feet up in the seat."

Marjorie Clune smiled at her gratefully.

Della Street rejoined Perry Mason in the outer office.

Mason walked to the door of the outer office, opened it and pushed the catch into place which put on the night latch.

"I don't want to be disturbed for a few minutes," he said. "Where's Bradbury? In the law library?"

Della Street nodded her head, then glanced toward the door of Perry Mason's private office.

"Where did you find her?" she asked.

"You can take a lot of guesses," Perry Mason said, "and then you'll miss it."

"Where was she, chief?"

"In Summerville."

"How did she get down there?"

"By train. But I got there before she did."

"You did?"

"Yes. I was following some one else."

"Who?"

"Dr. Doray. He went down on the midnight plane."

"And they were there?" she asked.

Perry Mason nodded.

"Together, chief?"

Perry Mason pulled out his package of cigarettes, regarded them ruefully.

"Two left," he said.

"I've got a package here," Della Street told him.

Perry Mason lit a cigarette, and sucked in a huge drag of smoke.

"Were they together?" asked Della Street.

"In the bridal suite," Perry Mason told her.

"She's married then?"

"No, she wasn't married."

"Were they going to get married?"

"No, she was going to marry Bradbury."

"Then," said Della Street, "you mean… that… that…"

"Exactly," he told her. "She was going to marry Bradbury because Bradbury had jockeyed her into such a position that she had no other alternative. But, before she did that, she was going to give a week of her life to Bob Doray."

Della Street motioned toward the book which stood by the telephone.

Mason nodded.

"Yes," he said, "I got the signal as soon as I came in. That was particularly important. It was something I had to know, but I was afraid there might be some detectives in here and I didn't want you to tell me in front of them."

"Well," she said, "there's the signal that you told me to arrange. Marjorie Clune got a telephone call just about five minutes before she left Thelma Bell's apartment."

"Did Thelma Bell know who was on the other end of the wire?"

"No, she said that Marjorie stood and talked a few minutes and then said, 'I'll call you back within an hour,' or words to that effect; that Marjorie didn't seem at all glad to have the telephone call. She was frowning when she hung up the receiver."

Perry Mason studied the curling smoke from the end of his cigarette with thoughtful eyes.

"How about Bradbury?" she asked. "Are you going to follow his instructions?"

"To hell with him," Perry Mason said. "I'm running this show."

The door of the law library swung noiselessly open. J.R. Bradbury strode into the office, his face white and drawn, his eyes cold and determined.

"You may think you're running this show," he said, "but I've got the whip hand. So, the little double-crossing cheap tart had to two-time me, did she? She went to the bridal suite with Doray, did she? Damn them. I'll show them both!"

Mason regarded Bradbury with sober speculation.

"Were you listening at the keyhole," he asked, "or did you bring a chair up to the transom?"

"Just in case you're interested," Bradbury said in cold fury, "I was listening at the transom, which I'd previously opened so that I could hear."

Della Street turned from Bradbury to Perry Mason, her eyes indignant. She sucked in a rapid breath as though to speak; then, catching Mason's glance, remained silent.

Perry Mason lounged upon the corner of her desk easily, swinging his foot lazily back and forth.

"Looks as though we're going to have a show-down, Bradbury," he said.

Bradbury nodded. "Don't misunderstand me, Mason," he said. "You're a fighter; I've got a great deal of respect for you, but I'm a fighter, myself, and I don't think you have the proper respect for me." His voice was harsh, fiat and strained.

Perry Mason's eyes were steady, calm and patient.

"No, Bradbury," he said, "you're not a fighter; you're the type who takes advantage of another person's mistakes. You've got the banking type of mind. You sit on the sideline, watch, wait and pounce, when you think the time is ripe. I don't fight that way. I go barging out, making my own breaks and taking chances. You don't take any chances; you sit in a position of safety. You never risk your own skin."

There was a swift change of expression in Bradbury's eyes.

"Don't you ever think I don't risk my own skin," he said. "I take plenty of risks, but I'm smooth enough to always cover them."

Perry Mason's eyes were patient and contemplative.

"You're partially right at that, Bradbury," he said. "Perhaps I should amend my original statement."

"All this isn't getting us anywhere, Mason," Bradbury told him. "I thought you and I understood each other perfectly. I'm accustomed to my own way. I get it by hook or by crook, but I get it. A lot of people hate me; a lot of them think I use unfair tactics, but every one has to admit that when I say I'm going to do a thing I do it."

Della Street glanced from one man to the other.

Perry Mason smoked in silence.

"I told you," Bradbury said, "that I wanted Bob Doray to plead guilty."

"That isn't what you told me originally," Mason said.

"I've changed my mind, and, incidentally, my plans. It's what I'm telling you now," Bradbury said.

Mason pursed his lips thoughtfully, glanced at Della Street, then back to Bradbury.

"I would never have accepted the employment if I had known that was to have been one of the conditions, Bradbury," he said. "You remember that you forced me to represent Dr. Doray. I told you that if I represented him, I would represent him to the best of my ability; that I would put up a fight for him, and that his interests and the interests of Marjorie Clune would be the only things I would consider."

"I don't care what you told me," Bradbury said impatiently. "Time is getting short here. We've got to have some action, and…"

There was the sound of a man's weight lunging against the door of the outer office. The frosted glass showed the shadows of two men silhouetted against it. The knob rattled once more and then imperative knuckles pounded on the door.

Perry Mason nodded to Della Street.

"Open the door, Della," he told her.

Bradbury spoke swiftly.

"Let's not misunderstand each other Mason. I'm absolutely determined about this thing. You're working for me; you're going to follow my orders."

"I'm working," Perry Mason said, "for the best interests of my clients. I accepted the employment on the understanding that I was going to secure a complete vindication, and…"

He broke off as Della Street swung the door open.

Riker and Johnson pushed their way past her into the room.

"Well," said Riker, "we've got you at last."

"You boys looking for me?" asked Perry Mason.

Johnson laughed.

"Oh, no," he said with heavy sarcasm, "we weren't looking for you at all; we just wanted to see you about a little legal advice."

Riker motioned toward Bradbury.

"Who's this man?" he asked.

"A client," Perry Mason said.

"What's his business?"

"Why don't you ask him?" the lawyer replied. "It's confidential as far as I'm concerned."

Bradbury faced the two men and said nothing.

"They want you at headquarters for some questioning," Johnson remarked.

"It happens," Perry Mason observed, "that I've been out of the office for some little time and I've got quite a bit of business to attend to. I'm afraid I can't go to headquarters right now."

"We told you," Riker said, "that you were wanted at headquarters for questioning."

"Got a warrant?" Perry Mason asked.

"No," said Riker grimly, "but we can get one and it won't take very long."

"That's nice," Mason observed. "Go ahead and get one."

"Look here, Mason," Johnson said, "there's no use acting like a damn fool. You know we can take you down to headquarters. If you insist on a warrant, we'll get a warrant. If we get a warrant, there's going to be a prosecution. You're mixed up in this thing so that it looks as though you've laid yourself wide open on a felony rap. The chief is going to give you a break; he's going to let you explain before he presents the evidence to the Grand Jury. It's a break for you. If you can talk your way out of it, it suits us. We don't care one way or another. We were just sent here to bring you down."

"You boys said you wanted some legal advice," Perry Mason told them. "I guess, perhaps, you were right. Apparently you do. You can take me down to police headquarters when you've got a warrant for my arrest. You can't take me there before that."

"We can take you there right now as far as that's concerned," Johnson told him.

Perry Mason looked them over with a speculative and belligerent eye.

"Well," he said, "perhaps you can, and, again, perhaps you can't."

"Oh hell," Riker said, "go to the telephone and call police headquarters."

Perry Mason looked at the two detectives and laughed sarcastically.

"Come on, boys," he said, "let's cut the comedy. You're not talking with a dumb hick who doesn't know his rights; you're talking to a lawyer. If you folks had enough evidence to get out a warrant for my arrest, you'd have the warrant with you right now. You haven't got a warrant and you're not going to get one; not right away, anyhow. Perhaps the Grand Jury will mill the thing around and return an indictment, or you may find some one foolish enough to sign a complaint, but what you're trying to do is to get me on the defensive so you can inquire into a lot of my private affairs. I'm telling you you can't do it. There's the telephone. Go ahead and call police headquarters."

He turned to Della Street.

"Call their bluff, Della," he said. "Go ahead and get them police headquarters."

Della Street picked up the telephone and snapped in the plug with a vicious click.

"Police headquarters," she said.

Perry Mason grinned at the detectives.

"When I get ready to come to police headquarters," he said. "I'll come. When you fellows want to arrest me, go ahead and arrest me, but be damn sure that you do it in a legal manner."

"Now listen," Johnson said, "we've got a lot of stuff on you, Mason, a lot of stuff that's got to be explained. You're mixed into this case all the way through it. You started in messing around, getting Marjorie Clune out of the way."