The Case of the Lucky Legs пм-61

by Эрл Стенли Гарднер

  "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 setup. 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 twentydollar 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 righthand 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 twentyfivecent 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?"

  "You don't need to be there," Paul Drake told him. "And you can't do any good by being present. I've got all the information that you have, I think."

  "You should have," Bradbury told him, and laughed lightly. "You've asked enough questions."

  He reached up with his left hand and took the lapel of Perry Mason's coat, pulling him gently away from the cigar counter and lowering his voice confidentially. "There's one thing," he said, "that I want to make certain about."

  "What is it?" Mason asked.

  "I've learned," said Bradbury, "that Bob Doray is in the city. I want you to understand that the employment you have taken from me precludes you from accepting any employment from him, except with my consent."

  "Who's Bob Doray?" asked Perry Mason.

  "He's from Cloverdale. He's a young dentist—rather impecunious. I don't like him."

  "And what's he doing in the city?"

  "He's here because Margy is here."

  "A friend of hers?" asked Mason.

  "He would like to be."

  "And you think he'll offer me employment?"

  "Hardly," said Bradbury. "I happen to know that he borrowed two hundred and fifty dollars at his bank just before he came to the city. He had some trouble getting the money."

  "But you said," Mason pointed out, "that you didn't want me to accept any employment from him."

  "I mean," Bradbury said, "that I want you to under stand the situation. That if he should approach you, I want you to remember that you are employed by me. He might offer you a note, or something."

  "I see," Perry Mason said. "In other words, I'm to remember that you're the one who arranged that Miss Clune should have the benefit of my services, and that the credit goes to you exclusively. Is that it?"

  A frown of annoyance came to Bradbury's face, which was speedily dissipated by a smile.

  "Well," he said, "that's putting it rather directly, but I guess you have the idea."

  Mason nodded.

  "Anything else?" he asked.

  "That's all. I've given Mr. Drake all of the details, a complete mass of details."

  Paul Drake nodded to Perry Mason.

  "Let's go," he said.

  "You can reach me at any time," Bradbury said, "at the Mapleton Hotel. I'm in room 693. Your secretary has a note of the address and the telephone number, Mr. Mason; and Drake also has the information."

  Drake nodded.

  "Come on, Perry," he said.

  The two men turned toward the elevator. Bradbury watched them for a moment, half turned toward the cigar counter, ran his eye over the file of magazines on display; then strode briskly out to the sidewalk.

  "I owe you one on that," said Paul Drake to Perry Mason in the elevator.

  "Got a good fee?" asked Mason as the cage stopped at his floor.

  "Pretty fair. He's rather tight on money matters, but I've worked out a good arrangement with him. The case is a cinch."

  "You think so?" Mason asked.

  "I know it," said Drake as Mason pushed open the door of his office.

  "This man Patton has put on the same kind of a racket other places. It's too well thought out and too smooth to have been tried out just once. I won't bother about the Cloverdale angle. I'll pick out some of the other places… Hello, Miss Street. How are you today?"

  Della Street smiled at him.

  "I presume," she said, "you came in to look at the photograph."

  "What photograph?" asked Paul Drake, trying to look innocent.

  She laughed.

  "Oh, well," Drake said, "I may as well look at it while I'm here."

  "It's in on Mr. Mason's desk," she told him.

  Perry Mason led the way to his private office, dropped into the swivel chair and picked up the legal jacket which was on the desk. He passed it over to the detective. The detective looked at the photograph and whistled.

  "Plenty of class," he said.

  "Yes," Mason said, "that's one thing about Patton, he's a good picker. What was it you wanted to see me about, Paul?"

  "I want to know what's going to happen in this case," the detective said.

  "Nothing in particular," Mason remarked. "You're going to find Patton; you're going to find Marjorie Clune. We're going to interview them. We're going to get a confession out of him, and the district attorney here is going to prosecute, and the district attorney in Cloverdale is going to prosecute."

  "When you say it fast," Paul Drake said, blinking his expressionless eyes, "it sounds easy."

  "I believe in working fast," Mason told him.

  "I think I can find Frank Patton," Drake said. "I've got a good description of him. He's tall, heavy set, dignified, fiftytwo years of age, has gray hair and a closeclipped gray mustache. There's a mole on his right cheek. Bradbury has a file of the Cloverdale Independent in his rooms at the hotel. There are ads in there that will be evidence, and a photograph we can use.

  "My theory is that this racket is too well thought out to have been used in one town. I can find where it's been used in other towns and through some of those other towns I can get a line on Patton."

  "All right," Perry Mason said, lighting a cigarette, "go ahead."

  "But," the detective inquired, "then what's going to happen?

  "How do you mean?"

  "Just how far can we go?"

  Mason grinned and said, "That's what I've been down to the district attorney's office for. The sky's the limit."

  "Should we tell Bradbury that?" asked Paul Drake.

  "We should not," Mason told him, speaking with swift emphasis. "We'll tell him nothing of the sort. When we locate Patton, we keep that location to ourselves. We interview him. After we've interviewed him, we tell Bradbury what we have done; we don't tell him what we are going to do, at any stage of the game."

  "I'm supposed to make reports to my client," Drake said uneasily.

  "That's easy," Mason said. "I'm your client's attorney. You make the reports to me, and I'll take the responsibility."

  The detective watched Perry Mason with meditative speculation.

  "Can we get away with that?" he asked.

  "I can," Mason said.

  "And the district attorney doesn't care how we get a confession?"

  "Not a bit," Mason said. "You understand, the district attorney's office can't use improper methods; we can use almost any method."

  "You mean violence?"

  "Not necessarily; there are better ways. We can put him in a spot where he'll have to start talking. Then we'll crowd him into a position where he'll think we're working on a charge of using the mails to defraud in connection with the picture show contract, and get him to make some admissions about the picture business."

  "Why didn't the district attorney of Cloverdale go ahead with this?" Drake asked.

  "In the first place," Mason said, "he didn't have a case. In the second place, all the big business men in Cloverdale were the suckers. The more moves the district attorney made to clear up the situation, the more he showed the credulity of the small town business man. Naturally, he passed the buck."

  "And you're not going to let Bradbury know what we're doing?"

  "Not until after it's done."


  "In other words," Drake said, "you intend to get rough with him?"

  Mason's tone was quietly emphatic.

  "You're damn right I intend to get rough with him," he said.

  Chapter 3

  Afternoon sun was slanting in through the windows of Perry Mason's office and casting reflections on the glass doors of the sectional bookcases as Perry Mason pushed through the office door and tossed a brief case to a table.

  "I got a plea in that knife case," he said. "They reduced it from assault with a deadly weapon with intent to commit murder, to simple assault, and I grabbed at the chance."

  "Get any fee?" she asked.

  He shook his head.

  "That was a charity case," he said. "After all, you couldn't blame the woman; she'd been goaded beyond human endurance. She didn't have any money and she didn't have any friends."

  Della Street stared at him in smiling appraisal, her eyes warm.

  "You would," she said.

  "Anything new?" he asked.

  "Paul Drake has been trying to get you on the telephone. He wants you to call just as soon us you come in."

  "All right," Perry Mason said, "get him on the line. Anything else?"

  "Just a lot of routine," she said, "I've made a memo on your desk. The Drake call is the only one that's important. Bradbury has called a couple of times, but I think he's just trying to find out how the case is going."

  "Be sure," Perry Mason said, "that he doesn't get me on the line until after I've talked with Paul Drake."

  He walked through to the inner office and had no sooner seated himself at the desk than the telephone rang. He scooped the receiver to his ear and heard Paul Drake's voice:

  "I've got the dope on Frank Patton, Perry," said the detective. "That is, I'm going to have it by eight o'clock tonight; perhaps a little before. Can I run in and tell you about it?"

  "Okay," Mason said. "Just stay on the line a moment."

  He clicked the receiver rest with his finger until he heard Della Street 's voice.

  "You on the line, Della?" he asked.

  "Yes."

  "Paul Drake's on the line," he said. "He's going to run in to tell me about this Bradbury matter. He thinks he's got the information that we want. It's important that no one disturbs me until I've finished with Drake. That means, particularly, that I don't want to talk with Bradbury."