The Case of the Lucky Legs (12 page)

"That was what the fight was about?" asked Perry Mason.

"Yes."

"And then you went home?"

"Yes."

"Do you know anybody at the speakeasy?"

"No."

"Where is the speakeasy?"

Sanborne's eyes shifted.

"I wouldn't want to get a speakeasy into trouble," he said.

Perry Mason's laugh was mirthless.

"Don't worry about that," he said. "That's their lookout. They all pay protection. This is a murder case. Where was the speakeasy?"

"On Forty-seventh Street, right around the corner from Elm Street."

"Do you know the door man?" asked Perry Mason.

"Yes."

"Will he remember you?"

"I think so."

"Do you know the waiter?"

"I don't particularly remember the waiter."

"Had you been drinking before you went there?"

"No."

"When you first sat down what did you order?"

"We had a cocktail."

"What kind?"

"I don't know, just a cocktail."

"What kind of a cocktail? Martini? Manhattan? Hawaiian…?"

"A Martini."

"Both had a Martini?"

"Yes."

"Then what?"

"Then we had another one."

"Then what?"

"Then we had something to eat – a sandwich of some sort."

"What sort of a sandwich?"

"A ham sandwich."

"Both of you had a ham sandwich?"

"Yes."

"Then what?"

"I think we switched to highballs."

"Don't you know?"

"Yes, I know."

"Rye or Scotch or Bourbon?"

"Rye."

"Both had rye?"

"Yes."

"Ginger ale?"

"Yes."

"Both had ginger ale?"

"Yes." Perry Mason gave a sigh of disgust. He pulled himself up from the chair and made a wry face.

"I should have known better," he said.

"What do you mean?" Sanborne wanted to know.

"Evidently Thelma Bell had you primed before I telephoned this evening," Mason said. "When I said that I was at the Emergency Hospital you answered that test all right. Now you talk like a school kid."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, this business of both having the same thing. Both had Martinis. Both had ham sandwiches. Both had rye highballs with ginger ale. What a sweet witness you'd make to fix up an alibi in a murder case!"

"But I'm telling you the truth," Sanborne said.

Mason's laugh was mirthless.

"Do you know what Thelma Bell told the officers?" he asked.

Sanborne shook his head.

"They asked her all about the drinks," he said. "She said that you went to a speakeasy; that you had a Manhattan and she had an old-fashioned cocktail; that you'd had dinner before you went there, both of you; that you didn't eat a thing while you were there; that you got a bottle of wine, with two glasses, and had some of that, and that then you had your fight and went home."

Sanborne ran his fingers through his matted hair.

"I didn't know," he said, "they were going to ask us all about those drinks."

Perry Mason walked toward the door.

"Don't use your telephone," he said, "until morning. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I understand, but shouldn't I call -"

"You heard what I said," Mason told him. "Don't use your telephone until morning."

He jerked open the door, slammed it shut behind him and walked down the narrow corridor toward the elevator. His shoulders were slightly slumped forward in an attitude of dejection. His face, however, remained virtually without expression. His eyes were weary.

The cage rattled upward, came to a stop. Perry Mason climbed in.

"Find your party?" asked the elevator boy.

"Yes."

"If there's anything you want," began the boy, "I can -"

"No, you can't," Perry Mason said almost savagely, and then added, after a moment, with grim humor, "I wish to God you could."

The elevator operator brought the cage to the lobby and stood staring curiously at Perry Mason as Mason barged purposefully across the lobby.

"St. James Apartments – 962 East Faulkner Street," said Perry Mason with a touch of weariness in his voice as he jerked open the door of the taxicab.

The lawyer walked quietly past the desk, past the elevator, to the stairs. He climbed the stairs with slow, heavy tread, taking the three flights at a uniform pace, and without pausing to rest. He tapped with his knuckles on the door of Thelma Bell's apartment. At the third knock he heard the sound of the bed springs.

"Open up, Thelma," he said.

He heard her move to the door, then the bolt came back and she was staring at him with wide, startled eyes.

"What is it?" she asked. "What's gone wrong?"

"Nothing," he told her. "I'm just checking up. What happened with the cops?"

"They didn't notice the coat and hat at all," she said. "They came out here to ask me about an appointment I had with Frank Patton. They didn't let on that he was dead and I didn't let on that I knew it. I told them that I had an appointment with him for nine o'clock in the morning tomorrow morning, and that my friend, Marjorie Clune, had an appointment at the same time; that I hadn't seen Marjorie for some little time; that I didn't know where she was staying and didn't know how to get in touch with her."

"Then what?" he asked.

"I kept moving around so they could see the white coat and hat," she said, "but no one seemed to pay any attention to it."

Perry Mason squinted his eyes thoughtfully.

"I'll tell you what happened," he said. "They came out here because they saw that message on the table in Patton's apartment. They wanted to check up on you. They hadn't talked things over very much with the officer on the beat. They'll do that later, and then some one will remember about that white coat and hat and they'll be back."

"You think so?" she asked.

He nodded moodily and stood staring at her steadily.

"You're not worried about your alibi?" he said.

"Oh, no," she told him, "that alibi is all right. I tell you I wasn't there. I wouldn't lie about it."

"How well did you know Margy?" he asked.

"Not particularly well. That is, I've only known her a couple of weeks. I've sympathized with her a lot, and tried to do what I could for her."

"You wouldn't try to save her from a murder rap by putting yourself in danger?"

Thelma Bell shook her head.

"Not murder," she said, "not me."

"There was a message at Patton's apartment to call Margy at Hartcourt 63891," he said. "That's this number. I'm wondering how the detectives -"

"Oh, I explained that," she said. "I told them that I was out around six o'clock, but that Marjorie evidently had dropped in for a visit; that I found a note from her under the door."

"Did they want to see the note?"

"Oh, yes."

"What did you tell them?"

"I told them that I'd slipped it into my purse; that I didn't intend to save it; that I'd torn it up and couldn't remember just where I was when I'd torn it up, but I was in a speakeasy some place with my boy friend."

"They accepted that explanation all right?"

"Yes, they didn't seem interested in me at all; they were interested in Margy and they were interested in finding out about Margy's legs. They wanted to know if I'd ever heard her called 'The Girl with the Lucky Legs.'"

"What did you tell them?"

"I told them yes, of course."

"They didn't know that you'd won a contest at Parker City?"

"No, they didn't know very much about me. They wanted to know how well I knew Frank Patton and I said not at all well; that I'd met him through Margy and that I was to go there for an appointment with Margy; that Patton had some work for us. I told them I wouldn't go if there was any reason why I shouldn't. They stalled along for a while and then finally told me that the reason I shouldn't go there was because Patton was dead. They looked at me to see how I took it."

"How did you take it?" he asked.

"I told them that it wasn't any surprise to me; that I'd heard he had a weak heart and he lived a pretty fast pace. They told me that he'd been murdered, and I stared at them and said, 'My God!' and sat down on the bed. I let my eyes get big and said, 'To think that I had an appointment with him tomorrow morning! My God! What would have happened if I hadn't known about it and had gone on up to his apartment!'"

"Did they say anything then?"

"No, they looked around and went out."

"And you were wearing the coat and the hat?"

"Yes."

Perry Mason hooked his thumbs in the armholes of his vest and started pacing up and down the carpeted floor of the apartment. Thelma Bell was attired in a nightgown and kimono. She looked down at her bare toes and wiggled them.

"My feet are getting cold," she said. "I'm going to cover up."

He shook his head at her.

"You're going to dress," he said.

"Why?" she inquired.

"I think," he said, "that you'd better go places."

"Why?"

"On account of the police."

"I don't want to," she told him.

"I think you'd better."

"But that would make it look bad for me."

"You've got an alibi, haven't you?"

"Yes," she said slowly and with some hesitation.

"Well," he said, "that's going to be okay then."

"But if I've got an alibi why should I go away?"

"I think it would be better, everything considered."

"Do you mean that it's going to be better for Marjorie?"

"Perhaps."

"If it's going to be better for Marjorie," she said with quick determination, "I'll do it. I'll do anything for her."

She switched on a reading light by the head of the bed, grabbed her kimono more tightly around her waist, stared at Perry Mason and then said, "When am I going?"

"Right away," he said, "as soon as you get dressed."

"Where am I going?"

"Places," he told her.

"Does it make any difference?"

"I think so."

"You mean that you're going to pick out the place I'm going to go?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I want to be able to put my finger on you."

"Have you talked with Margy?" she asked, her eyes, wide and innocent, fastened upon him with warm candor.

"Have you?" asked Perry Mason.

"Why, no," she said in a tone of rising surprise. "Certainly not."

Perry Mason abruptly stopped in his pacing. His feet were planted far apart, his jaw thrust belligerently forward. He shook off the fatigue which had sagged his shoulder muscles and stared at her with a somber light in his steady eyes.

"Don't lie to me," he said savagely. "You talked with Marjorie Clune since she left here."

Thelma Bell let her eyes grow wide and hurt.

"Why, Mr. Mason!" she exclaimed reproachfully.

"Forget that stuff," he said. "You talked with Marjorie Clune since I talked with her."

She shook her head in mute negation.

"You talked with her," Perry Mason said savagely, "and told her that you'd been talking with me; that I said for her to get out of town, or you told her something to that effect. You told her that she was to get out of town. You told her something that made her go."

"I did not!" she blazed. "I didn't tell her anything of the sort. She was the one that told me."

"Ah," said Perry Mason, "she's the one that told you what?"

Thelma Bell lowered her eyes. After a moment she said in a low voice, "That she was going out of town."

"Did she say where she was going?"

"No."

"Did she say when she was going?"

"She was leaving at midnight," Thelma said.

Perry Mason looked at his watch.

"About three quarters of an hour ago," he said.

"Yes, I guess so."

"What time did you have the conversation?"

"Around eleven o'clock, I guess."

"Did she tell you where she was staying?"

"No, she said that she had to leave."

"What else did she tell you?"

"She just thanked me."

"Thanked you for what?"

"For wearing her clothes and giving her a break."

"Did she say anything about a message for me?" asked Perry Mason.

"No. She said that you had told her to stay here in the city, to be in her room at the hotel, but that circumstances had arisen which made it absolutely impossible for her to do as you wished."

"Did she say what the circumstances were?"

"No."

"Give any hints?"

"No."

"You," said Perry Mason, "are lying."

"No, I'm not," she said, but her eyes did not meet his.

Perry Mason stood staring moodily down at the young woman.

"How did you know my secretary's name was Della Street?" he inquired.

"I didn't know."

"Oh, yes, you did," he said. "You rang up Dr. Doray and impersonated Della Street. You told him you were Della Street, the secretary to Perry Mason, and that he should get out of town."

"I didn't tell him any such thing!"

"You called him."

"I did not!"

"Do you know where he's staying?"

"I've heard Margy mention his name. It seems to me there's a hotel – the Midwick Hotel, I think it is."

"Yes," Mason told her, "you seem to have a pretty good memory."

"You can't accuse me of things like that!" she flared suddenly, staring at him with indignation in her eyes. "I didn't call Dr. Doray."

"Did he call you?"

"No."

"Did you hear from him?"

"No."

"Did Marjorie say anything about him?"

Her eyes lowered.

"No," she said.

"Dr. Doray was in love with Marjorie?" Perry Mason asked.

"I guess so."

"Is she in love with him?"

"I don't know."

"Is she in love with Bradbury?"

"I don't know."

"Did she talk over her affairs with you?"

"What sort of affairs?"

"Affairs of the heart – tell you who she loved?"

"No, we were never very intimate. She talked mostly about Cloverdale and about the predicament she was in on account of Frank Patton. She said that she was afraid to go back to Cloverdale; that she was ashamed; that she couldn't face them there."

Perry Mason nodded toward the dressing room.

"Get dressed," he said.

"Can't I wait until morning?"

"No," he told her, "there's a chance the police may come tonight."

"But I thought you wanted me to talk with the police. I thought you wanted me to let them think I was the girl in the white coat that the officer had seen coming from the apartment."

"I've changed my mind," Mason said. "Get dressed."

She got to her feet, took two steps toward the dressing-closet, then suddenly turned to face him.

"You understand one thing, Perry Mason," she said in a tone that was vibrant, "I know that I can trust you. I know that you stand back of your clients. There's only one reason that I'm doing this, and that's for Marjorie. I want that kid to get a square deal."

Mason nodded grimly.

"Never mind that," he said, "get dressed."

Perry Mason resumed his pacing of the floor while Thelma Bell was dressing. When she emerged, fully clothed, including a small suitcase which she carried in her hand, Perry Mason looked at his watch.

"Do you suppose," he said, "you could go a bite of breakfast?"

"I'll tell the world I could go some coffee," she said.

Mason took her arm and transferred the light suitcase to his hand.

"Let's go," he said.

They left the apartment. The negro in the lobby was awake as they went out. He stared at them with round-eyed curiosity, but there was a dazed, sleep-sodden look about his face which made his stare seem uncomprehending.

Mason signaled his taxicab.

"Drive down the street," he said, "and stop at the first restaurant that's open, then wait."

The cab driver found a restaurant within two blocks. Perry Mason escorted Thelma Bell into the restaurant and ordered ham and eggs for himself, and, at her nod, doubled the order. A waiter slid a thick glass filled with water across the counter, pushed knives and forks into position.

Perry Mason suddenly gave a guilty start.

"My wallet!" he said.

"What about it?"