Perry Mason raised his knuckles and pounded upon the panel, keeping his face toward the door.
From the corner of his eye, he saw the officer hold out his left hand and restrain a rather fleshy woman of middle age who had rounded the corner in the corridor just back of the officer.
Perry Mason banged on the panels of the door; then pressed his thumb against the button on the buzzer.
After a moment, he turned away with an air of dejection, raised his eyes and then, apparently for the first time, saw the officer and the woman.
He stared at them.
"Just a minute, buddy," said the officer, moving forward. "I want to talk with you."
Perry Mason stood still.
The officer turned to the woman.
"That the apartment?" he asked.
The woman nodded.
Perry Mason turned to face the woman. She wore a rather wrinkled dress, shoes, and no stockings. Her hair was badly disarranged. There was no makeup on her face.
"Who were you looking for, buddy?" asked the officer.
Perry Mason jerked his head toward the door of apartment 302.
"I wanted to see the man who lives in there," he said.
"Who's the man who lives there?" asked the officer.
"His name is Frank Patton," Perry Mason said, " — that is, I have reason to believe that's his name."
"What did you want to see him about?"
"About a matter of business."
The officer turned to the woman.
"Do you know this man?" he asked.
"No," she said, "I've never seen him before."
Perry Mason frowned irritably.
"You don't need to wonder about who I am," he said.
He pulled a leather card case from his pocket, took out one of his business cards, and handed it to the officer.
The officer read it, and there was a note of respect in his voice as he looked up and said, "Oh, you're Perry Mason, the big lawyer, eh? I've seen you in court. I remember you now."
Mason nodded, smiled affably.
"How long you been trying to get in the apartment?" asked the officer.
"Oh, perhaps a minute, perhaps a little longer," Mason said.
"There's no one home?" the officer inquired.
"I couldn't hear a sound," Mason said, "and it's strange, because I had every reason to believe that Patton was in. I pushed the button on the buzzer, and I could hear the buzzer sounding in the apartment. Then I pounded on the door, but I didn't get any answer. I thought perhaps he was in another room, or changing his clothes or something, so I waited a little while and then started all over again. I was just giving up in disgust when you came around the bend in the corridor."
"This woman," said the officer, "heard a girl having hysterics in there and then she heard something bang, as though some one had fallen to the floor. You didn't hear anything, did you?"
"Not me," Mason said. "How long ago was it?" he asked the woman.
"Not very long ago," she said. "I was in bed. I hadn't been feeling well and I went to bed early. I jumped up and pulled on a dress and put on some shoes and went out to find the officer. I brought him up here just as soon as I found him."
"Did you try the door?" the officer inquired.
"I rattled the knob," Perry Mason said. "I think the door's locked. But I didn't really turn the knob and press against it to find out. I just rattled it. I don't mind telling you, Officer, that I'm very much interested. I'm anxious to see Frank Patton. If he's in there, I'd like very much to see him."
The officer regarded the woman with frowning contemplation; then moved over to the door of apartment 302 and banged with his knuckles on the panel. When there was no answer, he took out his night stick and rapped sharply with the end of that. Then, he tried the knob of the door.
"Locked," he said.
He turned away from the door and said to the woman, "You've got the apartment across the hall?"
She nodded.
"Let's go in there," he said. "I want to locate the manager and see if he's got a passkey, and will let us in."
Perry Mason looked impatiently at his wristwatch, then faced the woman.
"Would you say that it was as much as ten minutes ago that you heard the noise in there?" he asked.
"Just about, I guess," she said.
"Just what did you hear?"
"I heard a girl sobbing. She kept saying something about lucky legs, or about her legs being lucky."
"Was she talking in a loud tone?" Mason asked.
"Yes, you know the way a woman does when she's having hysterics. She was sobbing and crying out words."
"You couldn't hear all the words?"
"No."
"Then what did you hear next?"
"Then I heard something bang to the floor."
"You didn't hear any one go in the apartment?"
"No."
"Didn't hear any one go out?"
"No. I don't know as I would have heard that. You see, the way the apartment is arranged, I can hear sounds that come through the bathroom window, but I can't hear things that go on in the apartment."
"But you heard the sound of the jarring fall?"
"Yes, that even jarred the pictures on the wall."
"And you heard this girl sobbing about her lucky legs?"
"Yes."
"She must have been in the bathroom."
"I think she was."
Perry Mason looked over toward the officer.
"Well," he said, "I guess there's nothing more I can do. If there was a woman in there, it doesn't look as though she's there now, and, anyway, I wanted to see a man. I've got to go back to my office."
"I can reach you there any time?" asked the officer. "You may be wanted as a witness. I don't know what's in there. Maybe nothing, but I don't like this business about the jar that shook the pictures on the wall."
Perry Mason nodded, extended his hand with a five dollar bill folded between the fingers, holding it in such a position that the officer could see the bill but the woman could not.
"Yes, Officer," he said, "I can be reached at my office any time. There's nothing that I know. There was no commotion when I got up here. The apartment was silent just the way it is now."
The officer slipped the five dollar bill from between Perry Mason's fingers.
"Very good, Counselor, we'll reach you if we should want you for anything. I'm going to get a passkey and see what's in the apartment anyway."
The woman took a key from her purse and opened the door of the apartment opposite 302. The officer stood aside for her to enter; then followed her in and closed the door. Perry Mason moved swiftly down the corridor and didn't bother to wait for the elevator, but found the stairs and took them two at a time. He slowed to a leisurely walk as he went through the lobby of the apartment house. There was, however, no one at the desk.
Perry Mason walked rapidly down the street and picked up his taxicab.
"Run straight down the street. Keep your eye open for a place where I can telephone, after you've gone about a dozen blocks, but I don't want to telephone from any place in the neighborhood."
The driver nodded.
"She's all warmed up ready to go," he said, and slammed the door as the lawyer settled into the cushions, and jerked the cab into almost immediate motion. He ran for eight or ten blocks; then slowed.
"The drug store over there on the corner," he said.
"That'll be fine," Mason said.
The cab pulled in by a fire plug.
"I'll keep the motor running," the driver said.
"It may be a little while to wait," Mason told him, and entered the drug store. He found a telephone booth, dropped a coin and dialed the number of his office.
Della Street's voice answered.
"Is Bradbury there, Della?" asked Perry Mason.
"Not right now," she said, "he's due any minute. He called up from the Mapleton Hotel about fifteen minutes ago; said that he had the newspapers and that
he had some other stuff, some communications that had been written to the Chamber of Commerce, some contracts that were used by the merchants, and some samples of the scrip, and a lot of that stuff. He asked if I thought you'd want that as well as the newspapers. He said he had it all in a brief case."
"What'd you tell him?" asked Mason.
She laughed.
"I didn't know whether you wanted it or not," she said, "but I figured it would keep him out of mischief, so I told him sure to bring it along. He should be in—here he comes now."
"Put him on the phone," Perry Mason said, "I want him."
Mason could hear the sound of her voice, coming faintly over the line.
"Mr. Mason is on the line, Mr. Bradbury," she said, "and he wants to talk with you. You can take the call from that phone over there on the table."
There was a click in the connection; then Bradbury's eager voice.
"Yes?" he asked. "Yes, what is it?"
Perry Mason's voice was low and impressive.
"Now listen, Bradbury," he said, "I'm going to tell you something, and I don't want a fuss made over it."
"A fuss," Bradbury asked, "what sort of a fuss?"
"Shut up," Mason told him, "and keep quiet until I can tell you just what the situation is. Just answer yes or no. I don't want my secretary to know what's going on. Do you understand?"
"Yes," said Bradbury.
"You've been to your hotel?"
"Yes."
"Did you get the papers?"
"Yes."
"You have them there with you?"
"Yes."
"And there was a brief case with some other stuff in it that you brought?"
"Yes."
"The one you telephoned my secretary about?"
"Yes."
"All right," Mason said, "Now we located Frank Patton a little while ago."
"You did," exclaimed Bradbury. "That's great. Have you talked with him yet?"
"He's dead," Mason said.
"What?" yelled Bradbury, his voice shrill with excitement. "What's that? You mean to say you found him —"
"Shut up," barked Perry Mason into the telephone. "Use your head. I told you to sit tight and listen. Don't make a lot of exclamations."
There was a moment of silence. Then, Bradbury's voice, lower in tone, said, "Yes, Mr. Mason. Go ahead. I couldn't hear you very well."
"Now get this," Perry Mason said, "and get it straight, and don't make a commotion about it. We located Frank Patton. He's living at the Holliday Apartments and he has apartment 302. Those apartments are out on Maple Avenue. I went out to see him. I wanted to try and get a confession out of him before you entered the picture. I figured your presence might simply lead to argument, and not do any one any good.
"Frank Patton had been killed about ten minutes before I got there. Some one had stuck a bread knife into his chest. He was lying in his apartment, stone dead."
"Good God," said Bradbury, and then added, almost immediately, "Yes, Mr. Mason. I was just thinking of something. Go ahead and tell me some more."
"Just as I was about to go into the apartment house," Mason went on, "I saw a girl coming out. She was around twentyone or twentytwo. She had snaky hips and wore a white coat, with a fox collar. She had on white shoes, and a little white hat with a red button on it. Her eyes were very blue, and she looked as though she might be running away from something.
"Now, I want to know if that was Marjorie Clune."
Perry Mason could hear the gasping intake of Bradbury's breath over the line.
"Yes, yes," he said, "that description fits. I know the coat and hat."
"All right," Perry Mason said, "figure it out."
"What do you mean?"
"She may be in a jam."
"I don't understand."
"She was leaving the apartment house just as I went up. There was a woman in an adjoining apartment who had heard quite a racket in Patton's apartment and had gone out to get a cop. She showed up with the cop about five minutes after I got there. There's a pretty good chance the cop may have seen Marjorie Clune. There's also a chance that they may find out she was in the apartment. There was some girl in the bathroom having hysterics and screaming about her lucky legs. That would seem to tie in with Marjorie Clune. Now, what do you want me to do about it?"
Bradbury's excitement burst the bounds of selfcontrol.
"Do about it?" he screamed. "You know what I want you to do about it. Go ahead and represent her. Go ahead and see that nothing happens to her. To hell with Frank Patton. I don't care anything about him, but Margy means everything in the world to me. If she's in a jam, you go ahead and get her out of it. I don't care what it costs. You send the bill to me and I'll foot it."
"Wait a minute," Perry Mason told him. "Keep your shirt on. Don't throw a fit. And, after you hang up the telephone, if Della Street starts asking you questions, don't tell her anything. Tell her that I told you I thought I was going to have some news for you in about an hour, or something of that sort. Stall her along and tell her to wait there. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Bradbury said, but his voice was still highpitched with excitement.
"You wait right there," Perry Mason said.
"Not here," Bradbury told him, "I'll go to my hotel. You can call me there at my room. You know the number, room 693. Be sure and ask for my room number. I'll be there."
"You'd better wait there in the office."
"No, no, I want to be where I can talk. I've got a lot to tell you, and I want to find out all about what's happening. Will you call me at my room in fifteen minutes, and tell me exactly what's happened?"
"Snap out of it," Perry Mason told him. "I told you not to spill all this information. I'm busy, and I haven't got time to argue with you."
He slammed the receiver savagely on the hook, and strode out of the drug store.
"Go to the St. James Apartments," he told the cab driver. "That's at 962 East Faulkner Street, and drive like the devil."
Chapter 6
Perry Mason tapped on the door of apartment 301 at the St. James Apartments.
Almost instantly he heard the quick rustle of motion from the interior of the apartment, then footsteps on the floor, then silence as the person on the other side of the door stood motionless, listening with an ear against the door.
Perry Mason knocked again.
He thought he could hear the sound of quick feminine whispers. Then, after a moment of silence, a voice said, "Who is it?"
Perry Mason said gruffly, "Telegram."
"Who for?" asked the feminine voice, louder and more confident this time.
"Thelma Bell," said Perry Mason.
There was the sound of a bolt clicking back. The door opened a crack and a bare arm thrust out through a loose sleeve that appeared in the crack in the door.
"I'll take it," said the voice.
Perry Mason pushed the door open and entered the apartment.
He heard the swirl of motion, the patter of footsteps. A door slammed shut before he could turn his head in the direction of the noise. There was water running in the bathroom, and Perry Mason could hear the steady churning of the water in the tub.
A woman wearing a kimono which had apparently been thrown hastily about her stood staring at Perry Mason with warm brown eyes which now held a trace of angry defiance as well as a trace of panic.
She was, perhaps, twentyfive years of age, well formed, and poised.
Perry Mason stared at her.
"Are you Thelma Bell?" he asked.
"Who are you?"
Perry Mason let his eyes drift over her, noticing the dampness of the fine hairs of her temples, the bare feet, hurriedly thrust into slippers, the pink coloring of the skin at the ankles.
"Are you Thelma Bell?" he again inquired.
"Yes," she said.
"I want to see Marjorie Clune."
"Who are you?"
"Is Marjorie here?" he asked.
She shook her head.
> "I haven't seen Margy in ages," she said.
"Who's in there taking a bath?" Mason asked.
"There's no one in there," she said.
Perry Mason stood quietly, staring at the woman. The water in the bathroom had been turned off, and there could plainly be heard the sounds of hurried splashings as some one performed a quick, vigorous scrubbing. Then there was the sound of bare feet thudding to the floor.
Perry Mason let his smiling eyes contradict the girl's statement by calling her attention to the physical proof of her falsehood.
"Who are you?" she demanded again.
"Are you Thelma Bell?" he asked.
She nodded.
"I am Perry Mason, an attorney," he told her. "It's imperative that I get in touch with Marjorie Clune right away."
"Why?" she asked.
"I'll explain that to Miss Clune."
"How did you know she was here?"
"That is something I don't want to tell you right now," Perry Mason said.
"I don't think Miss Clune would wish to see you. I don't think she wants to see any one."
"Listen," Perry Mason said, "I'm all attorney. I'm here to represent Miss Clune. She's in trouble; I'm going to help her out."
"She isn't in any trouble," Thelma Bell said.
"She's going to be," Perry Mason retorted grimly.
Thelma Bell wrapped the kimono more tightly about her, moved to the bathroom door, tapped on the panels.
"Margy," she said.
There was a moment of silence, then a voice said, "What is it, Thelma?"
"There's a lawyer out here," she said, "who wants to see you."
"Not me," said the voice from the other side of the bathroom door. "I don't want any lawyer."
"You come on out," Thelma Bell said.
She turned back to Perry Mason.
"She'll be out in a minute.
"I wish you'd tell me how you knew Margy was here," Thelma Bell said. "There was no one who knew she was here. She came in this afternoon."
Mason frowned, crossed to a chair, dropped into it and lit a cigarette.
"Let's come down to earth," he said. "I know you; you're the young woman who won the leg contest Frank Patton held in Parker City. Patton gave you a fake motion picture contract and brought you here. You were too proud to go back. You've been getting by the best way you could. You met Marjorie Clune through Frank Patton. She was in the same kind of a jam that you were. You wanted to help her out.
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