The Case of the Lucky Legs (2 page)

"Hello, Mr. Mason," she said.

Perry Mason grinned at her.

"After seeing some of these dumb-bells," he said, "who can't think of anything except getting their powder on smoothly, it's refreshing to look into a pair of eyes like yours."

"I presume," she told him, "that means you're going to try to pump some information out of me that you can't get from any one in the office."

"This is once," he told her, "that your environment has betrayed you."

"Why my environment?"

"Because you always see the seamy side of life. You deal with crooks and with persons who have ulterior motives. My errand today is merely that of a peaceful citizen, a taxpayer if you wish, who comes to the office of a public servant, seeking legitimate information."

She twisted her head slightly to one side as she stared at him.

"I believe you're right, at that," she said.

"I am," he told her.

"You're not kidding?"

"No. On the square."

"Well, I've seen lots of things in my time, but I never expected to see this. What is it you want?"

"I want to find out what deputy was consulted by a man named Bradbury who came here from Cloverdale to see about a racket that was pulled on the Chamber of Commerce in Cloverdale."

She frowned.

"Bradbury?" she said. "Why it was Dr. Doray who was in here about that – Dr. Robert Doray."

"No," he said, "I'm after a Bradbury – that's the name – J.R. Bradbury."

"Wait a minute," she said, "I'll take a look through the appointment book."

She ran her finger down the pages of a daybook, then nodded.

"Yes, he saw Carl Manchester. They both saw Carl Manchester."

"And Dr. Doray," said Perry Mason, "being young, handsome and impressionable, is remembered without consulting the records, whereas Bradbury, being fattish and forty, is relegated to the limbo of forgotten names. Once more psychologists are vindicated in claiming that we remember that which we are interested in, and -"

"Carl Manchester," she said, interrupting him, "is the third door down the corridor on the left. Shall I tell him you're coming? If you start probing the secrets of my heart, I'm going to bang this law book at you, and there's a sadfaced man who was defrauded out of the savings of a lifetime sitting there in the waiting-room, who'll think it's conduct unbecoming a lady and as out of place as an accordion at a funeral."

"Tell him I'm on my way in," Perry Mason said, smiling, and walked through the gate which separated the waiting-room from the long corridor of offices.

Carl Manchester looked up from a law book, a half-smoked cigarette hanging from his lips, as Perry Mason opened the door.

Manchester gave the impression of being one whose body was always on an angle of forty-five degrees. He seemed to put in his entire waking time leaning over a law book in rapt concentration, or else looking up at a visitor with the manner of one who trusts that the interruption will not cause him to lose his place in the book he is reading.

"Hello, Perry," he said. "What brings you here?"

"Doing my duty to a client," said Perry Mason.

"Don't tell me you're retained in that hammer murder!" Manchester said. "We've got a good case against that woman, but if you start in -"

"No," Mason said, "I'm working on the same side of the street you are this time."

"How do you mean?"

"Bradbury was in to see you about Frank Patton, who put on a racket in Cloverdale," Mason said.

"So was Dr. Doray," Manchester told him. "Doray's coming back in half an hour."

"Why coming back?"

"I told him I'd look up a little law."

"Have you looked it up?"

"No, but it's going to make him feel better handling it that way."

"In other words, you're washing your hands of the whole affair?"

"Of course. We aren't washing Cloverdale's dirty linen, and there was nothing pulled here. This is where the girl is, that's all."

"The motion picture company's here," Mason said.

"What of it?"

"Nothing, perhaps; again, perhaps quite a bit of it."

"It's Cloverdale's money, and the Cloverdale merchants are the ones to make a squawk," Manchester went on. "We've got enough troubles of our own. What are you going to do, Perry?"

"That depends," Mason said, "on what I can do."

"What are you driving at?"

"If," Perry Mason said, "I could get a confession from Patton, stating that this was the general scheme he had built up to defraud merchants in Cloverdale and elsewhere, it might change the complexion of the situation."

"Listen," Manchester said, "that bird, Patton, is a smooth individual. He knows what he's doing. He isn't going to make any such confession."

"That depends," Perry Mason said.

"Depends on what?"

"Depends on the way he's approached."

Carl Manchester looked shrewdly at Perry Mason, then took the cigarette from his lips and ground out the end in an ashtray.

"Now," he said, "I'm commencing to get your drift."

"I hoped you would," Mason said.

Manchester looked frowningly thoughtful.

"Look here, Mason," he said at length, running his fingers over the corners of the law book, and letting the pages riffle through his fingers, "we're not washing Cloverdale's dirty linen; that doesn't mean that we're sticking up for Patton. The man's a crook; there's no question of that. I've gone into the evidence enough to know it. I don't know whether we can prove anything; I doubt it. The district attorney at Cloverdale passed the buck; that's a bad sign. We don't want to monkey with it. We've got enough stuff to bother us, as it is, without borrowing trouble. But if you want to take this man to pieces, you go ahead."

"How strong can I go?" asked Perry Mason.

"Just as strong as you damn please."

"Suppose he makes a squawk?"

"Get me right on this," Manchester said. "I know the set-up. It's one of those legalized rackets. A lawyer has advised Patton just how far he can go and keep out of jail. Perhaps the lawyer was right; perhaps he's wrong. It's all a question of intent, and you know as well as I do that it's damn near impossible to prove intent by a preponderance of the evidence as it's required in a civil case, let alone to prove it beyond all reasonable doubt, as is required in a criminal case.

"But if you want to get in touch with Patton and try to take him apart and see what makes him tick, you go right ahead."

"And the limit?" asked Perry Mason.

"So far as this office is concerned," Manchester said, "the sky's the limit. That is, we couldn't countenance mayhem. We couldn't overlook beating up with a club, but a rubber hose might be different. In other words, if Patton shows up at this office and tells any story of sharp practice or abuse at your hands, we'll scrutinize that story with a great deal of skepticism and we'll ask him a lot of questions about his occupation. Our attitude toward him won't be exactly friendly."

"That," said Perry Mason, with his hand on the knob of the door, "is all I wanted to know. And don't tell Doray about me."

"Get a confession out of him," Manchester called as Mason was stepping through the doorway to the corridor, "and I think Cloverdale will do something with him."

"When I get a confession out of him," Perry Mason said grimly, "I'll show all of you fellows something."

He closed the door behind him, paused for a joking comment with Maude Elton, left the court house and took a taxicab to his office.

The blonde girl who operated the cigar counter in the lobby of the building, twisted crimson lips into a flashing smile.

"Hello, Mr. Mason," she said.

Perry Mason paused to lean against the counter.

"Marlboros?" she asked.

"A package," he told her.

"Going to shake for them?" she asked.

"No," he said, "I'll pay cash."

He counted out the money, took the package of cigarettes, tore off a corner and leaned with one elbow on the glass of the showcase.

"You work all the time?" he asked.

She smiled and shook her head.

"You're on evenings," he said.

"Yes," she told him, "I come down evenings to catch the theater trade."

"And you're on mornings and afternoons?"

She smiled, and shook her head slightly from side to side.

"What are you trying to do," she asked, "make me feel sorry for myself? When a woman has a child to bring up and a mother to take care of, she has to work. And she's mighty lucky to find work."

"How old's the girl now?" asked Perry Mason.

She laughed. "Just the same as she was the last time I told you – five and a half. You ask me regularly about once a month."

Perry Mason's grin was sheepish.

"I keep forgetting," he said, "in between times."

He pulled out a wallet from his inside pocket, took out a twenty-dollar bill.

"Put that in the kid's savings account, will you, Mamie?"

There were swift tears in her eyes.

"Listen," she said, "why do you always do that? I don't like it. I can't refuse for the kid, but I'm getting by here all right, making a living, and -"

"It's just like I told you the last time, Mamie," he said.

"Superstition?" she asked, staring at him with eyes that were hard and bright as those of a wild duck.

He nodded his head.

"I guess all gamblers get that way, Mamie, and I'm one of the biggest gamblers in the world. I gamble with human emotions instead of with cards. Every time I've made a little deposit for the kid's account, it's brought me luck."

Slowly her hand came out and the fingers closed over the bill. Tears once more softened her eyes.

"You're commencing to get me half sold that it is superstition," she said, "and that shows how good you are."

Perry Mason started to say something, but turned as he heard some one call his name.

Paul Drake, the detective, and J.R. Bradbury were just emerging from the lobby of the office building.

Paul Drake was a tall man with drooping shoulders. He carried his head thrust slightly forward. His eyes were glassy and prominent. His face was twisted into an expression of droll humor. The eyes held no expression whatever.

"Hello, Perry," he said, "were you just going out?"

Mason looked at his wristwatch.

"I was just coming in," he said. "I've been down for a chat with the D.A.'s office. I see you and Bradbury have had your heads together. What did you accomplish – anything?"

Bradbury's quick gray eyes glinted to Perry Mason's face with swift affirmation.

"I'll say," he said. "This man knows more about the case now than I ever did." His eyes shifted over to the smiling blonde back of the cigar counter.

"Hello, sister," he said, "I'm buying some cigars. Pull out that box over there in the right-hand corner."

He tapped on the glass of the showcase with his finger.

Mamie brought out the box of cigars.

"Ever try these?" asked Bradbury. "They're a fine twenty-five-cent cigar."

Mason nodded, picked out a cigar.

"Take a couple," said Bradbury.

Mason took two cigars.

Bradbury slid the box toward Paul Drake.

"Take a couple," he said.

Drake took two of the cigars and Bradbury took two, and clinked a couple of silver dollars on the glass showcase.

"I'd like to talk with you about this case, Perry," said the detective, as Mamie rang up the sale in the cash register, and pulled change from the compartment of the cash drawer.

"When?" asked Mason.

"Right now, if you can spare the time."

Mamie handed Bradbury the change. Bradbury's gray eyes stared directly at her. His face was twisted into a friendly grin.

"Nice day," he said.

She nodded brightly.

Perry Mason looked at his watch.

"Okay," he said, "I can run up to the office, I guess."

Bradbury turned away from the blonde.

"You folks will want me there?" he asked.

"No," Paul Drake said, "it won't be necessary. I just want to talk over some of the legal points with Mr. Mason and find out just where we stand."

"In other words," Bradbury said, "you'd prefer not to have me there?"