The Case of the Lucky Legs (14 page)

"To hell with Bradbury," Perry Mason said. "I didn't call up Doray, and, what's more, my office didn't call up."

"Well," Paul Drake remarked cheerfully, "if you say that you didn't, and Della Street says she didn't there's not much the police can do about it; not unless they should pick up Doray and he should tell them something different."

"That wouldn't change the situation any," Mason said. "Doray certainly doesn't know the voice of my secretary well enough to have recognized it, or to swear that he did. All that he knows is that some woman said she was Della Street. It's easy enough to do that. I could ring up Bradbury and tell him that I was Paul Drake, and tell him he'd better get out of the country."

Paul Drake laughed. He seemed in a very good humor, indeed.

"Well," he said, "I should waste my time telling you law points. But here's something you do want to be careful of."

"What's that?"

"Marjorie Clune."

"What about her?"

"The police have established in some way that Marjorie Clune and Dr. Doray drove together to the vicinity of Patton's apartment. They've located some one who had a little confectionery store in front of the fire plug where Doray parked his car. He remembers when the car drove up, and remembers that a man and a woman got out of it. The description of the man is that of Dr. Doray and the description of the woman tallies with Marjorie Clune. The confectionery dealer is one of those birds who get a great delight out of other persons' misfortunes. He's seen lots of people park their cars in front of that fire plug and get tagged. He likes to look at their facial expressions when they come back and find the tag dangling on the steering wheel, so he happened to notice Doray and Marjorie Clune pretty closely."

"Have the police explained anything about that blackjack yet?" Perry Mason asked.

"No, that probably isn't going to enter into the case particularly."

"Why not?"

"Because the crime wasn't committed with it. It hasn't anything more to do with the crime than the cane that was lying on the table – not as much, because the cane can be identified as having belonged to Patton, whereas no one knows who that blackjack belongs to."

"In other words," Mason said, "the police figure the case is closed, is that it?"

"That's just about it."

"And you think that I'm going to get in over my necktie?"

"I'm just warning you," Drake said. "I know that you've been working on that Marjorie Clune angle of the case. I just don't want you to get in a jam for compounding a felony, or becoming an accessory after the fact."

"While you're on the line," Perry Mason said, "I'll tell you a little law, Paul: You can't compound a felony if a felony hasn't been committed. On the other hand, you can't become an accessory by aiding a person who isn't guilty of anything. If your principal isn't guilty, you aren't guilty, no matter what you do."

"You figure that Marjorie Clune is innocent?" Drake asked.

"Marjorie Clune," said Perry Mason with grave dignity, "is my client. Is it fair to ask what you're waiting for, Paul?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're waiting in your office. You're sitting right there at the telephone. You're waiting for something. Is it fair to ask what it is?"

The detective's tone was hurt.

"Now listen, Perry," he said, "I told you that I wouldn't accept any employment that was adverse to your interests. I've had that understanding with Bradbury, and I thought I had that understanding with you. The employment that this young woman gave me didn't conflict in any way with the employment you folks gave me. In fact, I figured that it checked right in. She claims that Marjorie Clune is innocent, but that Doray is the murderer; that Marjorie Clune may try to protect Doray, and -"

"I know all that stuff," Perry Mason said. "But that still doesn't tell me what you're waiting for."

"Well," Paul Drake told him, "I was coming to that. I've got a tip from police headquarters that the police interviewed Thelma Bell earlier in the evening. They didn't figure at the time that she was connected with the case sufficiently to warrant them in taking any steps. I think that they feel differently about it now. They think that she's got some important information that she concealed or that she could give. I understand they're going out to pick her up, and I was waiting to hear what she said. Have you any objections to that?"

"None whatever, my dear boy," said Perry Mason. "You wait right there until the police pick her up."

Smiling gently, Perry Mason slipped the receiver back on the hook.

From a telephone booth in the Turkish bath, he called the Drake Detective Bureau. The desk operator answered him.

"Paul Drake there?" he asked.

"No," she said, "Mr. Drake went out about half an hour ago."

"Do you know where he went?"

"Yes, he went home to get some sleep."

"This is Mason talking," the lawyer said. "Can you tell me how long he was there last night?"

"Oh, he stayed right up until half an hour ago," the girl said. "He was waiting for a telephone call. He expected to get some important information."

"And he didn't get it?"

"No, he waited all night, and then decided he'd get some sleep. He left word for me to call him if there were any new developments in that Patton case. He's working on that for you, isn't he?"

"And others," Mason said, with a smile.

"Do you want to call him at his apartment? I'll give you the number."

"No," Mason said, "I know the number. I just wanted to find out if he was still there. I didn't have anything important."

He hung up the telephone, his face wearing a broad smile, and went to the room where he had left his clothes; dressed, secured his valuables at the desk, and looked at his watch. It was eight thirty-five.

He returned to the telephone booth and dialed the number of his own office. Della Street's, "Good morning, this is Perry Mason's office," sounded crisp, fresh, and businesslike.

"Don't mention any names," Perry Mason said, "but this is the Mayor of Podunk. I want to see about floating a bond issue for -"

"Oh," she said, "I'm so glad you called," and there was relief in her tone.

"What's new?" he asked.

"Lots of things."

"Can you talk?"

"Yes, there's no one here right now except Mr. Bradbury, and I put him in the law library."

"What are the things you've got to tell me?" Mason asked. "Be careful how you mention them over the telephone."

"They all have to do with Bradbury," she told him.

"What about him?"

"He wants to see you, and he wants to see you right away."

"I don't want to see him," Mason said.

"I'm not certain about that," she said, "there's been something of a change come over him. I remember what you said about him, and I think you're right. He's a man who has to be reckoned with, and he's determined to see you. He says that if he doesn't see you within the next hour, it may make a great deal of difference to you, that if you should telephone and get in touch with me, I am to tell you that. That I am also to tell you he is not willing to allow a locked door to stand between the woman he loves and her freedom."

There was a moment of silence, while Perry Mason scowled thoughtfully.

"Do you get what he means by that?" she asked.

"I get it," Mason said, "and I might as well have a showdown with that bird now as later. He's not going to browbeat me."

"I think," she told him, "there are detectives watching the office."

"Yes," he said, "there would be. They want to pick me up. I tell you, Della, what you do. I'm about eight blocks from the office, at the Turkish bath that's right up the avenue. You get Bradbury and get in a taxicab. Drive up to the Turkish bath. I'll be standing in the doorway. You can pick me up."

"Do you think it's safe for me to leave with him? You don't think the detectives will suspect anything?"

"No, I don't think so," he told her, "and I want a witness along. You'd better put a pencil in your handbag, and have a notebook that you can use if it becomes necessary. I'm going to reach an understanding with Bradbury, and reach it right now."

"Okay chief," she told him, "we'll be there in about ten minutes, and please, chief, be careful."

Perry Mason was scowling thoughtfully as he dropped the receiver into place. He left the Turkish bath, climbed a flight of stairs, and emerged into the warm morning sunshine. He stood back in the recess which opened from the sidewalk, and watched the hurrying pedestrians pounding the pavement on their way to the office buildings in the downtown business section.

His eyes scrutinized the passing faces with the keen, quick interest of a man who has learned to judge character at a glance, and who is sufficiently interested in human nature to read the stories written on the faces of the throngs who jostle about the city streets.

Now and again some young, attractive woman, feeling the impact of his gaze, would glance either furtively or frankly into his keenly searching eyes. Occasionally some man, catching Mason's stare, would frown with resentment, or turn to regard Mason with a stare which said plainly enough that the man thought he had surprised a detective at work.

Mason had stood motionless for perhaps five minutes when a blonde young woman came hurrying along the street. She intuitively felt his eyes upon her, and raised her own eyes. Suddenly she smiled. Perry Mason raised his hat.

It was the young woman who ran the cigar counter in the lobby of his office building.

She abruptly turned toward him.

"Why so pensive, Mr. Mason?" she asked.

"Just trying to think of the answer to a question, Mamie. What are you hurrying so about?"

"Just the old grind."

"Do me a favor, will you, Mamie?"

"Sure."

"Forget you saw me here if any one should ask you."

"Dodging clients," she asked, "or the police?"

"Both," he told her, and grinned.

"I don't blame you for dodging your new client," she said.

He stared at her.

"Which one?"

"The one who always wears the brown suit, with the brown tie, the brown shirt, and the socks that go with his tie."

"You mean Bradbury?"

"Yes, the one who bought the cigars that you didn't smoke. Thanks for the business, Mr. Mason. I knew you didn't smoke cigars."

He laughed.

"We can't let any out-of-town money get away from us, Mamie. What's the trouble between you and Bradbury?"

"Oh, nothing," she said, "except that I think he's a small-town sport."

"What gives you that impression?"

"Oh, the way he acts. He stops to visit with me every time he comes in the building, and he keeps getting intimate."

"You mean with things he says?"

"Oh, no. He doesn't say so much; it's his tone and his eyes that get intimate. A girl can tell when a man's taking a personal interest."

Perry Mason looked over her trim figure with an approving eye.

"You can't blame him for that," he said.

She smiled frankly at him, and said, "Don't get me wrong, Mr. Mason. I like to have them look me over. It tickles my vanity, and it brings me business. But what I don't like are these counter loungers who think they can date you up, leave a big package for you to keep, and then expect the profit on a five-cent magazine to pay the traffic."

A taxicab pulled in close to the curb.

"Remember what I said, Mamie," said Perry Mason, as he raised his hat and walked across the sidewalk.

"M'Gawd," she said, "he's got on a new outfit this morning. He's busted into gray… and look at the smirk on his face. Damn him. He thinks we're just getting in from a party."

Perry Mason paid no attention to the comment. His eyes held Bradbury as he walked to the door of the taxicab, jerked it open and climbed in.

"Drive straight up this street, buddy, until you come to a good-looking side street without much traffic. Turn down it and park when you find a place."

He smiled at Della Street; then met Bradbury's gaze.

"You're an insistent cuss, Bradbury," he said.

Bradbury's eyes met his steadily.

"I'm a fighter, Mason," he remarked gently.

Mason studied the cold gray eyes, the determined angle of the jaw, and nodded his head. He pulled a package of cigarettes from his pocket, offered Della Street one, saw Bradbury shake his head in refusal and reach for a cigar; then, as Mason took one of the cigarettes, Bradbury scraped a match along the sole of his shoe. Mason also lit a match. Della Street thanked Bradbury with her eyes and accepted Mason's match. Bradbury frowningly diverted his match to his cigar. Perry Mason lit his cigarette after Della had her light, and said to Bradbury, "Well, what's the rumpus? I understand you were going to do things if you didn't see me."

"I have got to do certain things," said Bradbury slowly. "I feel that I am entitled to a conference with an attorney when I have hired him on a basis of fair remuneration."

"Let's not argue about that," Mason said. "You've got your conference now. What do you want?"

"I want you," Bradbury said, "to defend Dr. Robert Doray on the charge of murdering Frank Patton."

"I thought you wanted me to defend Marjorie Clune."

"I do. I also want you to defend Dr. Doray."

"You think they're both going to be indicted?"

"They both have been formally charged with murder," Bradbury said. "I got the news this morning. A formal charge has been lodged against them, and a warrant issued."

"Precisely what," asked Perry Mason, "do you want me to do?"

"I want you to defend Dr. Robert Doray," said Bradbury in close-clipped sentences, "and see that he is acquitted."

"It may not be easy to do either," Perry Mason said slowly, staring speculatively at the smoke which spiraled up from his cigarette. "If they are jointly charged with murder, it may be that for ethical reasons, I cannot represent both. In other words, it is possible that Doray might try to throw the blame on Marjorie Clune, and Marjorie Clune might try to throw it on Doray."

"Don't be technical, Counselor," Bradbury said. "The situation is critical. Something has to be done, and done immediately. I want Dr. Doray acquitted. You know as well as I do that there will be no question of a conflict of interest. If there is any chance of any conflict developing, it will be when each tries to take the blame in order to shield the other. That is one thing that I have to guard against. I want you to represent both of them to see that that doesn't happen."

"Well," Mason said slowly, "we'll argue about some of those ethical points when the proper time comes. As I understand it, neither of them has been arrested yet."

"That's right."

"Do you know all of the case that the police have?"

"They've got a pretty strong case," Bradbury said. "A very strong case against Dr. Doray. I doubt if they have a strong case against Marjorie Clune."

"And you want me to get Doray acquitted. Is that right?"

"You have simply got to get Doray acquitted."

"Suppose it should become necessary to have separate attorneys representing the defendants?" Perry Mason said, his eyes puckered and staring at Bradbury with such keen concentration that their depths seemed to hold a steely glitter. "Which one do you want me to take?"

"It's not going to be necessary," Bradbury said, "and I don't want to discuss the point. I am going to insist that you represent both, Counselor, and that as a part of your representation, you clear up the question of the door."

Perry Mason's eyes narrowed until the lids were level.

"What question about what door?" he asked.

"The question about the locked door into Patton's apartment," Bradbury said. "There are some things I don't need to go over, Mr. Mason. I am not particularly a fool. I appreciate what you have done. I recognize that what you have done was done for the best interests of all concerned, as you understood those interests at the time. However, I think the police are going to be able to prove that Marjorie Clune was at the apartment about the time of the murder. If the door of the apartment was unlocked, Marjorie Clune could have walked in, could have discovered the body, and could have walked away in a panic. And guilty of no crime other than failing to notify the officers of what she had found. If the door of the apartment was locked, it would mean that Marjorie Clune must have a key. It would mean that she must have been in sufficient control of her mental faculties to pause and lock the door behind her when she left the apartment. That won't look good for Marjorie. It won't look good for her case, and it won't look good for her character."

"But," said Perry Mason slowly, "suppose Marjorie Clune had been in the bathroom; suppose she had been having hysterics. Suppose some one had heard her cries, and had rushed in and killed Frank Patton?"

"Then," said Bradbury, without hesitation and in a tone of voice which showed that he had carefully thought over that phase of the situation, "Marjorie Clune would still have been the last one to have left the apartment, unless she had emerged while the murderer was there. To have found a body, and given no alarm, is perhaps a violation of some technical law. To have found a murderer engaged red-handed in the commission of his crime, and to have aided in his escape, would be to make herself an accessory. I don't want her to be an accessory. All in all, Counselor, the question of that locked door becomes more and more important."