The Case of the Lucky Legs (8 page)

"I think I can spot it all right," she said. "What am I supposed to do then?"

"As soon as you see the men head for this apartment building," Perry Mason said, "you'll come walking across the street as though you had just returned from an errand somewhere. You can say you've been to the drug store for some aspirin, or any other kind of a stall that you want to make. Walk right into the arms of the police. They'll start asking you questions. Don't tell them that you've got an alibi too soon. Pretend that you're all confused. Answer the questions in a way that'll arouse their suspicions. Get angry with them and tell them that you don't have to tell anybody where you were and what you were doing.

"If the officer on the beat saw anything particularly suspicious about the way Margy acted, he'll have turned in her description. The probabilities are it'll be a description not so much of the girl as of the clothes. She saw his uniform and that threw her into a panic. She stopped and turned her back to him, looking in the display windows. It probably registered with him at the time, but he was going on another job with this woman who had pulled him in to see what was happening in the apartment, and he didn't pay too much attention to her. But after he got in Patton's apartment and found those telephone messages in there, with Margy's name and Thelma Bell's name, he's going to start thinking back, trying to see if he remembers seeing any woman who acted as though she'd been mixed up in a murder. He's pretty likely to remember the coat and the hat.

"Now, that's going to put you right square on the spot. It isn't going to be pleasant. It's going to mean notoriety, and it's going to mean a lot of things. The question is, Can you do it?"

"I can," she said, "and I will."

Perry Mason turned to Marjorie.

"Go through this apartment," he said. "Pick out anything in here that belongs to you. Put it in a suitcase. Beat it out of here just as quick as you can. Go to a hotel somewhere. Register under your own name, but do it in a way that won't make you too easy to find – what's your middle name?"

"Frances," she said.

"All right," he said, "register as M. Frances Clune, also remember not to give your address as Cloverdale. You're here in the city now. Figure that you're a resident of the city, and put that as your address. Here's one of my business cards. The telephone number is on there, Broadway 39251. Call up my office, ask for Miss Street – she's my secretary – she'll know who you are. Don't mention any names over the telephone, simply say that you talked with me earlier in the day, and that I asked you to leave your address. Tell her the hotel that you're registered at. Then lock yourself in your room. Don't go out at all; don't get away from the telephone. Be where I can reach you at any hour of the day or night. Have your meals sent into your room. Don't try to communicate with me unless something happens. If the police should find you, put on your best expression of baby faced innocence and don't answer a single question, except as to whether you've got an attorney. Tell them that I'm your attorney. Demand that you be allowed to communicate with me."

She nodded slowly, her eyes fastened steadily upon him.

"You understand all that?"

"I think so."

"Get started then," said Perry Mason. "And remember that no matter what happens, you aren't to make any statement to any one until you have talked with me. You aren't even to answer questions. You won't even tell them who you are or where you came from. The minute any one puts you under arrest, you demand to be placed in communication with your attorney. Show them the card. Demand that you be allowed to telephone me. If they let you telephone me, I'll talk with you over the telephone and tell you not to say anything. If they don't let you telephone me, get sulky. Tell them that if they won't do what you want them to do, you won't do what they want you to do; that if they won't let you telephone me, you won't answer the questions they ask. And every time they ask you a question and you refuse to answer, use that same formula, that you won't answer questions unless they let you call me. You understand?"

"I understand," she said.

Perry Mason strode to the door. As he passed Thelma Bell, he patted her on the shoulder.

"Good kid," he said.

He stepped out into the corridor and heard the door close behind him and the bolt click into position.

Bradbury looked cool, capable, and efficient, in a suit of gray tweeds which matched the gray of his eyes. He wore a gray shirt, a gray tie flecked with red, gray woolen socks and black and white sport shoes. He was puffing meditatively at a cigar, when his quick eyes lit on Perry Mason's figure.

Bradbury got to his feet and pushed his way toward Mason.

"Tell me about it," he said quickly and eagerly, "how did it happen? Have you found Marjorie? What can you do for her? What -?"

"Take it easy," said Perry Mason. "Let's go where we can talk. How about your room?"

Bradbury nodded, turned toward the elevator, then paused suddenly.

"There's a swell little speakeasy around the corner," he said, "we can get something to eat there, and we can get a drink. I need it; I haven't got anything in my room."

"You lead the way," Perry Mason said.

Bradbury pushed his way through the swinging doors of the lobby, waited a moment for Mason on the sidewalk, caught the lawyer's arm with his hand and said, "Are there any clews that don't point toward Marjorie?"

"Shut up," Perry Mason said. "Let's wait until we can get where we can talk, and if we can't get privacy in this speakeasy, we aren't going to talk there."

"Don't worry," Bradbury said, "we can get a quiet booth. It's very exclusive, I got a card from the bell captain of the hotel."

He rounded the corner, paused before a door, and pushed a button. A panel slid back, a pair of beady black eyes surveyed Bradbury, then the face vanished. There was a sound of a bolt clicking back, and the door opened.

"Right on upstairs," said Bradbury.

Perry Mason led the way up the carpeted stairs. A head waiter bowed a welcome.

"We want a booth," Mason said.

"Just the two of you?" the waiter inquired.

Mason nodded.

The waiter hesitated for a moment. Then at the steady insistence of Perry Mason's eyes, turned and led the way across a small dining-room in which tables had been crowded, across a small square of waxed dance floor, and down a carpeted corridor. He pulled back a curtain and Perry Mason went in and sat down at a table. Bradbury sat opposite him.

"I want some good red wine and some hot French bread with lots of butter," Perry Mason said, "and that's all."

"I'll have a rye highball," Bradbury told the waiter. "In fact, you'd better bring a pint of rye, some ice, and a couple of bottles of ginger ale. Mr. Mason will probably have a highball when he finishes his wine."

"Not me," said Perry Mason, "wine and French bread, that's all."

"Make it one bottle of ginger ale then," Bradbury told the waiter.

As the curtain clicked back into place, Bradbury looked at Mason and raised his eyebrows.

Perry Mason leaned forward with his elbows on the table, and spoke in a low, confidential, yet rapid voice.

"I located Marjorie Clune. I went out there. She's mixed up in it; I don't know just how badly. There was a friend of hers there, a girl named Thelma Bell. Thelma Bell is in the clear; she's got an alibi, she's going to help Marjorie Clune out.

"I didn't get Marjorie's complete story. I got the story she told me, but it wasn't the complete story. I didn't dare to get the complete story in front of Thelma Bell and I didn't dare to take Marjorie Clune into another room to talk with her, because I was afraid Thelma would think we were planning some sort of a double-cross. Thelma is going to shoot square with Marjorie. I can't tell you all the details. It's one of those cases where the less you know the better off you'll be."

"But Margy is all right?" asked Bradbury. "You can promise that you're going to keep her in the clear?"

"I can't promise anything," Perry Mason said. "I've done the best I could, and I got to her before the police did."

"Tell me about Frank Patton," said Bradbury. "How did it happen?"

"I don't know how it happened," said Mason. "I found out where he lived and went out there."

"How did you find that out?" Bradbury asked.

"Through the detective you employed."

"When did you find it out?"

"This evening."

"Then you knew where he was living when you started out of your office tonight?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you take me along?"

"Because I didn't want you along. I wanted to try and get some sort of a confession or an admission out of Patton. I knew that you'd lose your temper and start making a lot of accusations that wouldn't get anywhere. I wanted to talk to him and lay a trap or two for him and see if he wouldn't walk into one of the traps. Then I was going to get rough with him; after I had softened him up some, I was going to get you and my secretary to come out. My secretary would have taken down the conversation in shorthand."

Bradbury nodded.

"That sounds all right," he said. "I was a little bit hurt at first."

"There's nothing to get hurt over," Mason said. "I'm handling this case for the best interests of all concerned. You've got to have confidence in me, that's all."

"Go ahead," Bradbury said, "tell me what happened."

"Well, I got out there," Mason went on, "and pounded on the door of the apartment. There was no answer. I dropped down and took a peek through the keyhole. There was a light on in the apartment. I looked through the keyhole and saw a table with a hat, a cane and some gloves on it. I feel certain they belonged to Patton. They looked the part, they fitted in with the description of Patton that we had.

"I pounded on the panel again, and went to work on the buzzer. I stopped in between times to listen, but couldn't hear a thing. I was just ready to go away when I noticed a cop standing at the corner of the corridor, he'd evidently been watching me for a little while, I don't know just how long.

"Right away, I figured that perhaps something was wrong and I'd walked into it, but there was nothing I could do then except put a bold front on it, so I walked right on toward the cop, he stopped me and wanted to know what I'd been doing, trying to get in the apartment. I told him that I was looking for Frank Patton. That I understood he lived in the apartment there and that I thought he'd be home. I told the cop who I was and gave him my business card.

"There was a woman with the cop; she said she lived in the apartment across the way. I think she's on the up and up. She looked as though she'd tumbled out of bed and dressed in a hurry. She said she'd gone to bed and hadn't been feeling well. That some woman was raising hell in the next apartment and having hysterics about lots of things, among which she was mentioning the words 'lucky legs,' I told you that part on the phone."

"Then what happened?" asked Bradbury.

"Then," said Perry Mason, "the cop went into the woman's apartment and they held a pow-wow. The cop finally managed to get the room opened. He found that Patton had been stabbed with a big bread knife, one of those triangular-bladed affairs that are big and long. I got in touch right away with you because I wanted to find out what you wanted me to do about Margy."

"How did you know Margy was mixed up in it?" Bradbury inquired.

"I saw her – that's what I called you about," Mason told him. "She was coming out of the apartment house just as I went in, and she looked so guilty that she caught my attention. It wasn't guilty as much as it was panic. There was fear in her eyes. She had on that white coat with the white hat, and the red button on the hat, but you're not supposed to know anything about that. It's in confidence. Keep it to yourself."

"Of course I'll keep it to myself," Bradbury said, "but why didn't you speak to her?"

"I didn't know her," said Perry Mason. "I didn't have any idea who she was until afterwards. She looked panic-stricken when she went by me and when I checked up what this woman told the cop about the girl having hysterics over her legs, I figured that it must have been Margy who was in the bathroom."

"What would she be doing in the bathroom?" Bradbury asked.

"You can search me," Mason said, "it looks as though the party had got a little rough. Patton had a bathrobe half on, but his outer clothes were off. There's a chance he tried to pull something and Marjorie had barricaded herself in the bathroom. That's the way I figure it."

"Then Patton followed her into the bathroom and she stabbed him?" asked Bradbury.

"No," Mason said, "the body wasn't in the bathroom. The body was in a bedroom on the other side of the bathroom. There's a chance that the girl was in the bathroom and Patton managed to get the door open. They might have had a struggle of some sort, and then she stabbed him in self-defense. There's another chance that while she was in the bathroom with the door locked, some one else entered the apartment and stabbed Patton."

"Was the door locked?" asked Bradbury.

"Sure," Mason said, "the door was locked. Didn't I tell you that the cop had to go hunt up a janitor or something to get the door open."

"Then," said Bradbury, "if the door was locked, how could any one have walked into the apartment while Margy was in the bathroom?"

"That's easy," Mason said. "Whoever did it, could have locked the door behind him when he went out."

Bradbury nodded again.

"How about the detective, Paul Drake," he said. "Was he around there?"

"Paul Drake was to have followed me out," Perry Mason said. "I told him to give me a five-minute start. I went down to meet Drake at Ninth and Olive and that took a little while. We figured out our plan of campaign and Drake was to leave Ninth and Olive five minutes after I did. Drake was driving his car. I went in a taxicab. Drake would probably make better time than I did, I haven't had a chance to talk with him. The way I figure it is, that just about the time he started toward the building, he saw the woman and the uniformed policeman going into the building. He figured right away that something was wrong, so he played foxy and jumped in the background until he found out what it was. At any rate that's the way I figure it; I haven't had a chance to talk with him."

The curtains clicked back and the waiter brought in their orders. Bradbury poured himself a stiff jolt of whiskey from the flask, dropped ice into the glass, poured in ginger ale, stirred it with a spoon, and drank half of the glass in three big gulps.

Perry Mason critically inspected the wine bottle, moved the neck of the bottle under his nostrils, poured out a glass of the red wine, broke off a piece of the French bread, took a mouthful of the hot bread and sipped the wine.

"Was there anything else?" asked the waiter.

"That's all for the present," Bradbury said. "We'll ring when we want the check. In the meantime, will you see that we're not disturbed?"

The waiter nodded.

"I've said about all I have to say," Perry Mason said.

Bradbury nodded.

"I want to do some talking," he said.

Perry Mason shot him a quick glance.

"You do?" he asked.

Bradbury nodded.

"Go ahead," said Mason.

The waiter stepped out and the curtains fell back into position.

"In the first place," said Bradbury slowly, "I want you to understand one thing, Mason. That is, that I'm going to stand back of Marjorie Clune in this thing, no matter what happens."

"Why, sure," said Mason, tearing off another piece of the French bread with his fingers. "That's the impression I've had all along."

"Furthermore," said Bradbury, "I am going to see that Marjorie Clune gets out of this, no matter who gets hurt."

"Yeah," said Perry Mason, "you haven't told me anything new yet."

Bradbury leaned forward and stared intently at Perry Mason.

"Understand me, Counselor," he said, "I don't want any misunderstandings about this. I am going to see that Marjorie Clune gets out of this, no matter who gets hurt."

There was a beating, steady insistence about his tone, and Perry Mason held the wine-glass halfway to his lips, his eyes suddenly snapped to focus upon Bradbury with a new light in them.

"Huh?" he said.

"Marjorie Clune," said Bradbury, "comes first. I love her more than I love life itself. I would do anything for her. I don't know the particulars as yet, you don't know them yourself, but I want it definitely understood that Marjorie Clune is not going to be placed in any danger. I am going to fight for her against the whole world. I don't care who I have to fight against."

"Go on," Perry Mason said, still holding the glass of wine halfway to his lips.

"I was wondering," said Bradbury, "just how long you had been knocking at the door before the officer got there."

"A minute or two," said Perry Mason. "Why?"

"Do you remember exactly what time it was when the officer arrived?"

"No," Mason said, "I didn't look at my watch."

"That," said Bradbury, "is something that can be ascertained, of course."

"Of course," Mason said, and set down his wine-glass. "Go ahead, Bradbury, I'm listening."