The Case of the Lucky Legs (20 page)

"Do you know I got her out of the way?" asked Perry Mason.

"You had a taxicab running around to her apartment, and she left right after you were there."

"Indeed?" said Perry Mason, and then added, "how fortunate."

"Here's police headquarters on the line," said Della Street.

Johnson looked at Riker.

"Oh, hell," Johnson said, "let 'em go."

"Hang up, Della," Perry Mason said.

Della Street clicked the key as she cut off the connection.

"Just the same," Johnson said to Perry Mason, "I'll bet you five bucks we're here with a warrant before another forty-eight hours."

"I'll bet you five bucks you're not," Mason said. "Put up your money."

"Come on, Johnson," Riker said.

The men turned toward the door.

Bradbury stared steadily at Perry Mason.

"Just a moment, Mason," he said, "are you going to follow my instructions in the matter?"

Mason took two steps toward Bradbury, stood staring at him with ominous steadiness. Riker, his hand on the doorknob, paused. Johnson turned to stare.

"Get this," Perry Mason said to Bradbury slowly, "and get it straight, because I don't want to have to repeat myself. As far as this case is concerned, you're just Santa Claus, that's all. You're the man who put up the money. Aside from that you haven't got a thing to do with it; not one single… God… damned… thing."

Bradbury turned to the detectives.

"Gentlemen," he said, "if you will open the door of that private office, you'll find concealed in there Marjorie Clune, who is at present a fugitive from justice."

Perry Mason swung toward the detectives.

"You open that door without a search warrant," he said, "and I'll break your jaw."

The detectives exchanged glances, looked at Bradbury.

"I tell you I know what I'm talking about," Bradbury said. "She's in there, and if you don't make it snappy she'll get out through the door in the corridor."

Both men made a lunge for the door of the private office. Perry Mason swung about with the lithe grace of a pugilist. Bradbury jumped on him from behind, wrapping his legs about Mason's waist, pinning his arms. Thrown off balance, Mason staggered slightly. Riker charged into him and sent Mason and Bradbury sprawling to the carpet. Della Street screamed. Johnson banged open the door to the private office.

Marjorie Clune was fumbling with the catch on the exit door which led to the hall.

"Stop where you are," yelled Johnson, "or I'll shoot!"

Marjorie Clune turned to stare at him. She stood motionless, her face white, her eyes wide, blue and startled, staring at the two detectives.

"By God!" Johnson said in an undertone, "it sure is! It's Marjorie Clune!"

Perry Mason scrambled to his feet. Bradbury was care fully dusting the knees of his tweed trousers. Riker tugged handcuffs from his pocket.

"Is your name Marjorie Clune?" asked Riker.

Marjorie Clune's eyes stared at him with an unfaltering scrutiny.

"If you have any questions to ask," she said, "you may ask them of my attorney, Perry Mason."

Perry Mason nodded to Della Street.

"Get police headquarters, Della," he said.

"You don't need to do that, you big heel," he said.

Johnson whirled, his eyes glittering with hatred.

"Just because you're a lawyer," he said, "you think you can do anything you damn please. You said we couldn't arrest you before and, by God, you were right. We knew we couldn't. We didn't have enough on you. But the situation has changed since then. We can arrest you now all right."

"Will you listen to me for a moment?" Perry Mason said.

"Oh, you want to talk now, do you?" Riker commented. "The situation is a little bit different now. You're anxious to talk, huh?"

Della Street entered Perry Mason's private office, waited until she caught his eye.

"Police headquarters," she said.

"Tell Detective Sergeant O'Malley that if he can get to my office inside of ten minutes, I'll give him some inside dope on the Patton murder case," Mason said.

Della Street nodded.

"He won't be here ten minutes from now," Johnson said. "You tell O'Malley to wait at headquarters."

Della Street paid no attention to him, but returned to the outer office.

J.R. Bradbury, his face wearing a smile of cold triumph pulled a cigar from his pocket, clipped off the end, and lit it.

"This man," Perry Mason said, indicating Bradbury, "is the one who retained me to represent Marjorie Clune. He is the one who told me to beat it out ahead of the police and get her out of trouble."

"I did nothing of the sort," Bradbury said.

"He is the one who told me to represent Dr. Robert Doray."

"I did nothing of the sort," Bradbury repeated.

"What the hell do we care what either one of you did?" Riker said. "We've got you, and we've got this broad. She's wanted for murder. You knew she was wanted for murder. It's been in the newspapers. You had her in your office, and you were concealing her. That makes you an accessory after the fact. It's a felony, and we don't need any warrant to arrest you. We've got the proof on you. It's a felony that was actually committed in our presence, as far as that's concerned, although in a felony case it doesn't make any difference."

"If you'll listen to me," Perry Mason said, "I'll explain the entire situation to you."

"You can tell it to the judge," Johnson said. "I've chased around after you just as long as I'm going to, Perry Mason. You've been giving us the merry ha, ha and the run-around for a long time. Now you're going with us. Put the bracelets on him, Riker."

Perry Mason stared steadily at the two detectives.

"I want to talk," he said.

"I don't give a damn what you want to do," Johnson told him.

"When we get to police headquarters," Perry Mason said, "they will ask me what I have to say. I will tell them that I was on the verge of making a complete confession; that you two dumb dicks wouldn't let me talk; that now the prosecution can go to hell and try to prove me guilty."

Johnson turned to Riker.

"Lock that door," he said. "If the man wants to confess that's different.

"You want to confess?" he asked.

"Yes," said Mason.

"To what?"

"To things that I shall outline in my confession."

Riker opened the door to Perry Mason's outer office.

"You," he said to Della Street, "come in here and take down what this guy says in shorthand."

"It's his own stenographer," Johnson objected.

"That's all right. She'll take it down if he tells her to," Riker said. "And, if he doesn't tell her to take it down, he won't do any talking."

Mason laughed.

"Don't think you boys are going to bluff me," he said, "but as it happens, I want it taken down. Della, you will please take down every word that is said in this room. I want a complete transcript of what is said, and who says it."

"Go on," Johnson remarked, his lip curling slightly. "Start your speech."

"When I first came into contact with this case," Mason said, "I was employed by J.R. Bradbury, the gentleman standing there. He had been to the district attorney's office. They couldn't help him. He wanted me to find Frank Patton and to prosecute him. At my suggestion, he employed Paul Drake, and Drake's Detective Bureau to find Patton."

"This doesn't sound like a confession," Riker said.

Perry Mason fixed him with a cold eye.

"Do you want to listen, or do you want me to keep quiet?" he said.

"Let him go ahead, Riker," Johnson commented.

"I want it understood I am not bound by anything this man says," Bradbury stated.

"Shut up," Johnson told him.

"I won't shut up until I have expressed myself," Bradbury replied. "I know what my rights are."

Riker reached out and caught Bradbury by the knot of the necktie.

"Listen, you," he said, "we're sticking around here to hear a guy confess, not to hear your solo. Sit down and shut up."

He pushed Bradbury back, and into a chair, then turned to Mason.

"Go ahead," he said, "you wanted to talk. Start talking."

"Bradbury came to my office," Perry Mason said. "Before that I had received a telegram signed Eva Lamont. Bradbury said he had sent that telegram. The telegram asked me to hold myself in readiness to act in a certain case involving Marjorie Clune. Bradbury outlined that case. Marjorie Clune had been victimized by Frank Patton. He wanted me to find and prosecute Frank Patton. Through Drake, I located Patton. In locating Patton, we had occasion to interview a young woman named Thelma Bell who lives at the St. James Apartments on East Faulkner Street. Her telephone number was Harcourt 63891. I have always had an uncanny memory for telephone numbers.

"On the evening that Drake located Frank Patton, I was sitting in my office awaiting a telephone call from Drake. We were going out together and try to shake a confession out of Patton. Bradbury came to my office. I told him to wait. I put him in the outer office. Drake's call came through. I told Drake I would meet him. I grabbed a cab and went down to meet Drake. In the meantime, I sent Bradbury back to the hotel to get some newspapers. He is staying at the Mapleton Hotel. He anticipated it would take him half an hour to make the round trip in a taxicab. That's about right. It would have taken just about that time."

"Are you going," asked Bradbury, in a cold, accusing tone, "to confess about entering Patton's apartment in advance of the officers and locking the door behind you as you went out?"

Johnson turned to Bradbury.

"What do you know about that?" he asked.

"I know that's what he did," Bradbury said.

"How do you know?"

"Because," Bradbury remarked with a triumphant leer at Perry Mason, "this man telephoned me here at his office not much after nine o'clock and told me the details of the murder. He told me how the murder had been committed. Even the police didn't know it at that time. I told him to do what he could to protect Marjorie Clune. I referred, of course, to purely legal methods."

Johnson and Riker exchanged glances.

"Was that the telephone call that Perry Mason put through from the drug store?" asked Riker. "We've traced his taxicab from here to Ninth and Olive, from Ninth and Olive out to Patton's apartment, from Patton's apartment down to a drug store where he telephoned, and from the drug store out to the St. James Apartments."

"I was the one he talked to on the telephone," said J.R. Bradbury. "I want to have it definitely understood that I have made this statement before witnesses, and just as soon as I had any knowledge that the things Mason did were at all illegal. I am not going to be involved in any technical illegality."

Riker looked at Della Street.

"You got that down?" he asked.

"Yes," Della Street said.

"Go ahead," Johnson said to Bradbury.

"Let him go ahead," Bradbury remarked, nodding to Mason.

"I went to Patton's apartment," Mason said. "I knocked at the door. No one answered. I opened the door and walked in. The door was unlocked. I found Patton's body. He had been stabbed. I found a blackjack lying in a corner of the living-room. I started out and heard a police officer coming down the corridor. I didn't want to be seen leaving the apartment, and I didn't want to be seen standing there by the open door. I had a skeleton key in my pocket, and I locked the door and pounded on the panel. I told the officer I had just arrived and was knocking to try and effect my entrance."

Perry Mason stopped talking. There was a silence in the office which enabled those present to hear the scratching of Della Street's pen on the shorthand notebook, to hear the sobbing intake of her breath.

"You're a hell of a lawyer," said Riker scornfully. "That confession, and Bradbury's corroboration, will put you in jail for the rest of your life."

"On the table," said Perry Mason, without noticing the comment, "in Patton's apartment, were two telephone messages. One of them was to tell Thelma that Marjorie would be late for her appointment. The other one was to call Margy at Harcourt 63891. I saw those two telephone messages. I remembered the telephone number of Thelma Bell. As I mentioned, I have a photographic memory for such things. I surmised at once that Marjorie Clune could be found at Thelma Bell's apartment. I telephoned Bradbury and asked him for instructions. He told me to protect Marjorie Clune regardless of what I had to do, or what means I had to employ."

"That's a lie," Bradbury said. "I employed you as a lawyer. I didn't expect you to do anything illegal. I'm not a party to it."

"Let it pass," said Johnson, "go ahead, Mason."

"I went out to Thelma Bell's apartment," Mason said. "I found Marjorie Clune there. I found her taking a bath. Thelma Bell had just had a bath. Thelma Bell told me that she had an appointment with Frank Patton but hadn't kept it. That she had been out with a boy friend. I telephoned the boy friend for verification. He verified her statement.

"I told Marjorie Clune to go to a hotel; to register under her name, to call my office and let me know where she was, and not to leave the hotel. She promised me that she would. She subsequently telephoned my office that she was at the Bostwick Hotel, in room 408. The telephone number was Exeter 93821. I returned to Bradbury. I told him what had happened, except that I did not tell him about entering Patton's apartment, or locking the door. Bradbury told me I was to represent Dr. Doray as well as Marjorie Clune. I agreed to such representation.

"I met Bradbury at his hotel because he didn't want to remain at the office. He had returned to the office with the newspapers he had been sent to get from the Mapleton Hotel. His return was just about the time that I telephoned. I believe he had just entered the office when I telephoned him from the drug store near Patton's apartment."

"There was also a brief case," Bradbury said.

"Yes," Mason said, "you telephoned Della Street and asked her if you should bring the brief case. She told you it might be a good plan to bring it as well."

"I telephoned from my room in the hotel," Bradbury explained to the officers.

"Subsequently," Mason said, "I telephoned Marjorie Clune. She had left the hotel. Detectives got in touch with Della Street and accused her of telephoning Dr. Doray to get out of the country. As a matter of fact, Della Street did not telephone to him."

"That's what you say," Bradbury commented.

"Shut up, Bradbury," Riker said.

"I learned," Mason went on, "that Marjorie Clune had intended to take the midnight plane. I chartered a plane and followed the schedule of the midnight mail plane. At its first stop in Summerville, I found that Dr. Doray had disembarked. I went to the Riverview Hotel and found Dr. Doray registered in the bridal suite. At first he disclaimed all knowledge of Marjorie Clune, but while we were talking, Marjorie Clune entered the room. She had missed the plane, and had taken the train. Officers showed up at about that time to arrest them. I spirited Marjorie Clune out of the hotel, and brought her back to this city."

"You did," said Riker.

"I did," Mason said.

"And the damn fool admits it," Johnson commented.

Perry Mason stared at them with cold, scornful eyes.

"If you gentlemen are interested in my confession," he said, "and will keep your mouths shut, I will finish it."

"Cut out the wisecracks and go ahead," Johnson told him.

Perry Mason stared at Johnson steadily; then turned so that he faced Della Street.

Bradbury spoke up.

"If you two men will use your heads," he said, "you'll understand that the question of that locked door is going to be of vital importance in the case. If the door was unlocked, it's almost a certainty that Robert Doray killed Frank Patton. If the door was locked, it means that Frank Patton was killed by -"

"You can keep all that stuff to yourself," Johnson said. "You're going to get a chance to talk before we get done with this thing. You've played button, button, who's got the button, with the law yourself. It seems to me you've been trying to blackmail Perry Mason with the information that you have. Don't think you can pull that kind of stuff and get away with it."