The Case of the Lucky Legs

Chapter 11

Perry Mason pushed through the swinging door of the St. James Apartment house lobby. A colored boy was seated back of the desk, his feet up, his chair tilted back, his mouth open. He was making snoring noises.

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 dressingcloset, 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 roundeyed curiosity, but there was a dazed, sleepsodden 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?"

"It's gone," he told her. "I must have left it in your apartment."

"I don't think so," she said, "you didn't take it out, did you?"

"Yes," Mason said, "I was looking for an address. It's got my cards in it. I don't want the officers to know I was there.

"Give me your keys. I'll take a run up and get it."

"I can go," she said.

"No," he told her, "you wait here. I don't want you to get around that apartment any more. The officers may be there any minute."

"What will happen if they find you there?"

"I'll tell them that I am looking for you."

"But what about the key?"

"I won't go in unless the coast is clear."

She gave him the key to the apartment. Perry Mason caught the eye of the waiter.

"Put on one of those orders of ham and eggs," he said, "and lots of coffee. Save the other one until I get back."

He strode rapidly out of the restaurant to the taxicab, and told the driver, "Get back to the St. James Apartments as quick as you can. Step on it."

The cab driver spun the cab about in a complete turn and pushed the motor into speed. Within a short time he had traversed the empty street and pulled up in front of the apartment house. Perry Mason ran through the lobby. This time the colored boy was staring at him with eyes that were filled with interest. Mason took the elevator to the third floor, opened the door of the apartment, switched on the light, closed the door behind him, turned the bolt into position so that the door could not be opened from the outside, and then started a swift search of the apartment. He did not look in the drawers of the builtin dresser, nor in the likely places, but prowled around in the dark corners of the closet. It took him but a matter of seconds to find a leather hat box thrust back into a corner of a closet shelf, with clothes piled in front of it so that the hat box was concealed.

Mason pulled out the hat box, snapped back the catch and pulled open the lid.

There was a woman's skirt, a pair of stockings and some white shoes in the hat box. They had been washed and were still damp. The moisture had soaked into the hat box, and it gave forth a steamy smell as the lid was pulled up.

The stockings showed no trace of stain, but there were one or two spots on the skirt which had not been removed, and the shoes showed unmistakable spots of brownish stain.

Perry Mason snapped the lid back on the hat box and left the apartment.

"Does you all live here?" the colored boy at the desk asked.

Perry Mason flipped a round silver dollar across the desk.

"No," he said, "I'm just taking a friend's apartment for the day."

"What's the number of it?" asked the colored boy.

"509," Perry Mason said, and pushed through the outer door of the lobby before there could be any further questions. He gave the hat box to the taxi driver.

"Take me back to the restaurant," he said. "Then go down to the Union Depot, buy a ticket to College City, check this hat box on the ticket, bring me back the ticket and the check, hand them to me where the young lady doesn't see them. Do you get that straight?"

The cab driver nodded.

Perry Mason passed him a twenty dollar bill.

"Step on it," he said.

Mason reentered the restaurant. Thelma Bell looked up from her plate of ham and eggs.

"Did you find it?" she asked.

He nodded.

"Fell out of my pocket," he said, "when I was sitting in the chair. It's a good thing I found it; it was lying right in plain sight. The officers would have picked it up and might have made some trouble because I'd have told them that I hadn't been to your apartment."

The waiter thrust his head through an arched hole in the partition which led to the kitchen and bellowed, "Put on those eggs and finish the ham."

Perry Mason sat down at the counter and stirred the coffee which the waiter placed in front of him.

"Was any one there?" she asked.

"No," he told her, "but they may be at any time."

"You seem to be pretty positive about that."

"I am."

"You know," she said, pausing with a piece of ham half way to her mouth, "no matter what happens, we have got to protect Margy."

Perry Mason said bluntly, "That's what I'm being paid for."

There was an interval of silence. The waiter brought Mason his ham and eggs. He wolfed them down and was finished by the time Thelma Bell was finished.

"All right, sister," he said, "we're going places."

"Can you tell me where?"

"Some place not too far away."

"I've got a couple of appointments tomorrow and the next day to do some modeling work."

"Ditch them."

"I haven't any money."

"You will have," he told her.

He finished the last of his coffee, wiped his lips with a napkin, looked across at her.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Ready," she said.

He took her arm and piloted her to the door of the restaurant. The cab drove up just as they emerged to the sidewalk.

"Here you are, boss," said the driver, holding out his hand palm down.

Perry Mason took the ticket and the check.

"What's that?" asked Thelma Bell suspiciously.

"An errand I had the cab driver do," he told her.

"Have you got enough change to cover the amount of the meter?" Mason asked the cab driver.

"I sure have, and then some," said the cab driver, and added audaciously, "enough to make a mighty nice little tip for me."

Mason stared intently at Thelma Bell.

"Can I trust you?" he asked.

"As long as it's for Margy, yes."

Mason pulled the railroad ticket the cab driver had given him from his vest pocket and handed it to her.

"Here's a oneway ticket to College City," he said. "Go there and register at a hotel. Register under your own name. You're going there to do some modeling work, if any one should start checking up on you tell them that and no more. If it gets serious, get in touch with me and don't say anything until I have given you instructions."

"You mean if the law should come?"

"Yes," he said, "if the law should come."

"Will there be trains running at this time of night?"

He looked at his watch.

"There's one leaves in twenty minutes," he said. "You can make it."

He handed the cab driver the suitcase and assisted Thelma Bell into the cab.

"Good night," he said, "and good luck. Ring up my office or send me a telegram. Leave word the name of the hotel where you're staying, and don't take a powder."

"A powder?" she asked.

"A runout powder," he told her. "I want you where I can put my hand on you."

She extended her hand and smiled at him.

"I'd do anything," she said, "for Margy."

Perry Mason took her hand. The fingertips were cold as ice. The cab driver climbed to the front seat.

"And you don't want me to tell any one about where I was? That is, about George Sanborne?"

Perry Mason shook his head with a fatherly smile.

"No," he said, "we'll save that as a surprise—a big surprise."

The cab motor roared into life. Perry Mason slammed the door, stood on the curb and watched the cab until the pale light rounded the corner. Then he went back to the restaurant.

"Telephone," he said.

The waiter indicated a pay telephone in a corner at the far end of the restaurant.

Perry Mason strode to it, dropped a coin and dialed the number of the Cooperative Investigating Bureau, and when he heard the voice of the operator, said, "Mason talking. Put on Mr. Samuels, if he's still there."

A moment later he heard the voice of Samuels booming with cordiality.

"Mason? We've done just what you wanted. We picked up that party, and she hasn't been out of our sight for a minute."

"Where is she now?" asked Mason.

"Ten minutes ago my men reported by telephone. She left Paul Drake's office about half an hour after you telephoned. She went to the Monmarte Hotel, where she has a room as Vera Cutter, of Detroit, Michigan, but she didn't give any street address when she registered. She took a room in the hotel early last evening. That is, around ninethirty some time, and here's something funny: her baggage is fairly new and has the initials E.L. on it. She's got a rather ornate handbag, with hammered silver in a monogram, and the monogram is E.L. Does that mean anything to you?"

"Not yet it doesn't," Perry Mason said, "but keep her shadowed."

"And you'll ring up for reports?"

"Yes. Be sure that you know who it is before you give out any information. Talk with me for a minute whenever I call, so that you know it isn't some one else using my name, and keep her shadowed every minute. I want to know everything about her. Better put on a couple of extra men, and if any one comes to the hotel to call on her, try and shadow them and find out all about them. Now, how about telephone calls? Can you arrange with the telephone operator at the Monmarte Hotel to let you listen in?"

"One of our men is working on that right now," Samuels said. "It is, of course, going to be rather difficult, but —"

"Hang the difficulties," Perry Mason said. "The world is full of difficulties. I've got plenty of my own. Listen in on her telephone conversations; I want to know what they are."

"Very well, Mr. Mason," said Samuels, "we'll do the best we can."

Perry Mason pulled down the receiver with the middle finger of his left hand, fumbled in his pocket for another coin, dropped it and called the Drake Detective Bureau.

Drake himself answered the telephone.

"Sitting there waiting for calls, Paul?" asked the lawyer.

Drake laughed. "You pretty near called the turn at that," he said.

"Anything to report?" asked Perry Mason.

"I've got lots to report," Paul Drake told him. "I think you can go home now and go to bed, Perry."

"Why?"

"The murder mystery is all solved."

"What do you mean?"

"The police have traced the knife."

"You mean the knife that did the stabbing?"

"Yes."

"Where have they traced it to?"

"To the man that bought it."

"Have they identified the man that bought it?"

"Virtually, yes. They have a description that tallies on every essential point."

"Who bought it?" asked Perry Mason.

"Your friend, Dr. Robert Doray of Cloverdale," Paul Drake retorted with something of a verbal flourish.

"Go on," said Perry Mason, "tell me the rest of it."

"That's about all of it," Paul Drake said. "The police tried to check the knife. They've been working on that ever since they discovered the body, and the price mark that was on the blade of the knife. You see, there was a cost price, as well as a sales price, on the knife. There's been an advance in prices on that stuff, and from the cost price they knew that the knife was part of a new stock that had been purchased at the increased price, since there was no other and older cost mark on it, and no sign of one having been on it and having been erased."

"Go on," Mason said.

"They figured first that the knife came from a hardware store. The wrapping paper was a little bit heavier than is ordinarily used in the ten, fifteen and twentyfive cent stores. They got the heads of the hardware jobbers out of bed, got them to get in touch with their salesmen by telephone and try and find a retailer who used that particular cost code. It looked like a wildgoose chase, but they were lucky. Almost at once they got in touch with a hardware salesman who was familiar with a retail hardware store on Belmont Street that used that cost code, and the hardware salesman remembered this dealer had purchased a dozen of those knives not less than ten days ago. The police got in touch with the dealer. The dealer remembered the sale of the knife and gave a pretty fair description of the man. The description was that of Dr. Doray. The police got in touch with the newspaper offices, found one that had a file of the Cloverdale papers, prowled through the Cloverdale papers until they found a picture of Dr. Doray. He'd been an official in the Community Chest drive, and his picture had been in the paper. It was a newspaper photograph, but had enough to it to furnish the basis for an identification. The hardware dealer has made an absolute identification. There's no question in his mind but what Dr. Doray was the man who purchased the knife.

"The police feel they've pulled a nice piece of work, and they're throwing out a drag net for Doray. Apparently he's skipped out, and, incidentally, that puts you in a funny light."

"Why?" asked Perry Mason.

"On account of that telephone message which apparently came from your office, and which tipped Doray off to what was happening. The police are pretty much worked up about it. I don't mind telling you in confidence that you're going to have some trouble over it, and, incidentally, I don't think Bradbury likes it very well."

"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.