"Marjorie Clune was at Frank Patton's apartment tonight. I've got to talk with her about what happened there, and I've got to talk with her before the police do."
"The police?" said Thelma Bell, her eyes widening.
"The police," Perry Mason repeated.
The door of the bathroom opened. A young woman with very blue eyes clasped a flannel bathrobe about her, stared at Perry Mason and then gave a quick little gasp.
"Oh, you recognize me, then," Perry Mason said.
Marjorie Clune said nothing.
"I saw you coming out of the Holliday Apartments," Perry Mason told her.
Thelma Bell's voice was quick and positive.
"You didn't see her coming out of the Holliday Apartments," she said. "She's been with me all the evening, haven't you, Margy?"
Marjorie Clune continued to stare at Perry Mason, her big blue eyes showing a hint of panic. She said nothing.
"The idea," Thelma Bell went on in a louder voice, "of you making such a statement as that! What would she be doing in Frank Patton's apartment? Anyway, she was with me all evening."
Perry Mason stared steadily at Marjorie Clune.
"Listen, Marjorie," he said in a kindly tone, "I'm here to represent you. You're in a jam. If you don't know it now, you will know it pretty soon. I'm a lawyer. I'm retained to represent your interests. I want to do what's best for you. I want to talk with you. Do I talk now, or do you want to wait until you can talk with me alone?"
"No," she said, "I want to talk now."
"Go ahead," Perry Mason told her, "and get some clothes on."
He turned to Thelma Bell.
"You, too," he said.
There was a small dressingroom which opened on one side of a swinging mirror, on the back of which was a wall bed. The girls exchanged glances, then moved swiftly toward the dressingroom.
"Don't take too much time comparing notes," Perry Mason said. "It won't do you any good. We've got to get down to brass tacks. The police may be here any minute. Make it snappy."
The door of the little dressing room slammed.
Perry Mason got up from the chair in which he had been seated. He looked around the apartment. He went to the bathroom and opened the door. Water was draining from the tub. There was a bath mat on the floor with wet stains on it. A wet towel lay in a heap near the bath mat. Perry Mason looked around. There were no clothes in the bathroom. He walked back to the apartment, saw a closet door, walked to the closet and opened the door. There was a long white coat with a fox fur collar hanging close to the door. Perry Mason picked up the bottom of the coat and ran it carefully through his fingers.
There was a puzzled frown on his face as he finished with his examination and let the coat drop back into position on the hanger. He noticed a shelf of shoes, and took down the shoes one at a time. There were no white shoes on the shelf.
He stood for a moment with his legs spread apart, standing with his weight slightly forward, his eyes squinted in thought, staring meditatively at the white coat with the fox fur collar. He was still standing in that position when the door of the dressingroom opened and Marjorie Clune entered the room, tugging her dress into position. A moment later, and Thelma Bell followed.
"Do you want to talk in front of her?" asked Perry Mason, jerking his head toward Thelma Bell.
"Yes," she said. "I haven't any secrets from Thelma Bell."
"Do you want to talk frankly and tell me everything?"
"Yes."
"I'll tell you first about me," Perry Mason told her. "I'm a lawyer. I've handled some pretty big cases here and I've been fairly successful. J.R. Bradbury is in this city. He's looking for you. He wanted to build up a case against Patton. He wanted to put Patton in jail if he could. He went up to see the district attorney; they told him nothing doing, that they didn't have enough evidence. Then he came to me. I think he wanted me to try and get a confession of some sort out of Patton. I think the district attorney had told him that he'd have to have something like that before we could do anything.
"Anyhow, I got a detective and we started locating Patton. We finally located Thelma Bell. She gave us a lead on Patton."
Perry Mason turned to Thelma Bell.
"You talked with some one from the detective agency tonight," he said.
She nodded.
"I didn't know he was a detective," she said. "I didn't know what he wanted. He wanted some information. I gave it to him. I didn't know what he wanted to use it for."
"Well," Perry Mason said, "that's the story. I was retained to represent you. I was retained to try and bring Patton to justice. I went out to Patton's apartment, when I found out his address from the detective who had been talking with Thelma Bell. I saw you, Marjorie, leaving the apartment."
The two young women exchanged swift glances.
Marjorie Clune took a deep breath, turned to stare steadily at Perry Mason.
"What," she asked, "did you find in Frank Patton's apartment, Mr. Mason?"
"What," asked Perry Mason, "did you leave there, Marjorie?"
"I couldn't get in," she said.
Perry Mason shook his head wordlessly in chiding negation.
"I couldn't!" she flared. "I went up to his apartment and pressed the buzzer. There wasn't any answer. I came back down."
"Did you try the door?" asked Perry Mason.
"No," she said.
"When you left the apartment," he said, "there was —"
"I tell you I wasn't in the apartment!"
"We'll let it go at that," he told her. "When you left the apartment house there was a woman bringing an officer to the apartment. She'd heard quite a bit of commotion in the apartment. She'd heard a girl screaming something about her legs being lucky, and having hysterics. Then she'd heard the sound of something falling, a heavy fall that had jarred the pictures on the wall."
Perry Mason stopped and stared steadily at Marjorie Clune.
"Well?" she asked, and her voice contained just the right amount of polite disinterest.
"Well," said Perry Mason, "what I want to know is whether you met that cop as you walked along."
"Why?"
"Because," he said, "you looked guilty. When you looked at me and saw I was looking at you, you turned your head the other way and acted as though you were afraid I was going to nab you and charge you with the theft of a thousand dollars."
Perry Mason watched her with his eyes slitted in shrewd contemplation.
The girl bit her lip.
"Yes," she said slowly, "I saw the officer."
"How far from the Holliday Apartments?"
"Quite a way; perhaps two or three blocks."
"You were walking?"
"Yes, I was walking. I wanted to…"
She broke off.
"Wanted to what?" asked Perry Mason.
"Wanted to walk," she said.
"Go ahead," he told her.
"That's all there was to it."
"You saw the officer. What happened?"
"Nothing."
"Did he look at you?"
"Yes."
"What did you do? Did you walk rapidly?"
"No," she said.
"Think again," Perry Mason told her. "You were almost running when I saw you. You were walking as though you were trying to win a walking race. Now, are you sure you didn't do that when the officer saw you?"
"Yes."
"What makes you so sure?"
"I wasn't walking at all."
"Oh, you stopped then?"
"Yes."
Perry Mason stared steadily at her and then said slowly and not unkindly, "You mean that when you suddenly saw the officer you turned faint. You stopped, perhaps put your hand to your throat, or something of that sort. Then you turned to look into a store window. Is that it?"
She nodded her head.
Thelma Bell slipped an arm around Marjorie Clune's shoulder.
"Lay off the kid," she said.
"What I'm doing," Perry Mason told Thelma
Bell, "is for her own good. You understand that, Marjorie. You must understand that. I'm your friend. I'm here to represent you. There's a possibility that the officers may come here even before I've finished talking with you. Therefore, it's important to know just exactly what happened, and to have you tell me the truth."
"I am telling you the truth."
"You're telling the truth about not getting into that apartment?"
"Of course. I went to the apartment and couldn't get in."
"Did you hear any one moving around in there? Did you hear any one screaming? Any one having hysterics? Any one making reference to lucky legs?"
"No," she said.
"Then you came back down the elevator and out to the sidewalk?"
"Yes."
"And you're positive you didn't get in that apartment?"
"Positive."
Perry Mason sighed and turned to Thelma Bell.
"How about you, Thelma?" he said.
She raised her eyebrows.
"Me?" she asked in a tone of polite surprise.
"Sure, you," Perry Mason said, with a savage drive to his voice.
"Well," Thelma Bell said, "I'll bite. What about me?"
"You know what I mean," Perry Mason said. "Were you at the apartment tonight?"
"You mean Frank Patton's apartment?"
"Yes."
"Certainly not."
Perry Mason regarded her with calm appraisal, as though considering just what sort of an impression she would make on the witness stand.
"Tell me some more, Thelma," he said.
"I was out with a boy friend," she told him.
Perry Mason raised his eyebrows.
"Good girl," he said.
"What do you mean?"
"For coming home so early."
"That's my business," she told him.
Perry Mason regarded the toes of his shoes with casual interest.
"Yes," he said, "it's your business."
There was a period of silence. Perry Mason suddenly faced Marjorie Clune.
"Did you girls have an appointment with Frank Patton tonight?" he asked.
They looked at each other and raised their eyebrows.
"An appointment with Frank Patton?" said Marjorie Clune, as though it was a physical impossibility for her to believe her ears.
Perry Mason nodded.
The young women exchanged glances, then laughed in highpitched, patronizing amusement.
"Don't be silly," said Marjorie Clune.
Perry Mason settled back in the chair. His features were utterly without expression. His eyes were calm and tranquil.
"All right," he said, "I was trying to give you a break. If you don't want to take it, there's nothing I can do except sit here with you and wait for the police."
He lapsed into a calm, meditative silence.
"Why should the police come here?" asked Thelma Bell.
"Because they will know Margy is here."
"How will they know?"
"They'll find out the same way I did."
"How did you find out?"
He yawned, stifled the yawn with four fingers gently patting his lips, and, as he yawned, shook his head, but made no audible comment.
Marjorie Clune's glance toward Thelma Bell was distinctly uneasy.
"What will the police do?" said Marjorie Clune.
"Plenty," said Perry Mason grimly.
"Look here," said Thelma Bell suddenly, "you can't put this kid in a spot like that."
"What kind of a spot?" Perry Mason asked.
"Get her involved in a murder and stand by and not do anything to protect her."
The mask of patient tranquillity dropped from Perry Mason. He flexed his muscles. His eyes became hard, like the eyes of a cat slumbering in the sun who suddenly sees a bird hop unwarily to an overhanging branch.
"How did you know it was a murder, Thelma?" he asked, straightening in the chair and swinging about so that his hard eyes bored steadily into hers.
She gasped, recoiled slightly, and said with quivering lips, "Why, why you acted that way. From something you said, I guess."
He laughed grimly.
"Now listen," he said, "you can either take this from me or you can take it from the police. You girls had an appointment with Frank Patton tonight. Marjorie called up and left her telephone number. It was this number. The police will trace the number and come out here. Also, Margy telephoned a message Patton got just before he arrived at the Holliday Apartments, telling him to tell Thelma that she would be about twenty minutes late.
"Both of you girls have won contests that Frank Patton put on; both of you have been chosen as having the most beautiful legs in a small town. One of you, at any rate, has been referred to in the newspapers as having lucky legs—probably both of you. It's a line of publicity that Patton hands out to the local press.
"Now, there was a girl in the bathroom at Frank Patton's apartment who was having hysterics about her legs. She kept using the word 'lucky legs.
"I saw Marjorie Clune leaving Frank Patton's apartment house. She says she didn't see him. That's what she says. Perhaps she did and perhaps she didn't. The police are going to be very interested in finding out. Their methods of finding out are going to be quite direct and not very pleasant.
"I'm the only friend you kids have got in the whole world so far as this business is concerned. I'm trying to help you. I've had the experience and I have the knowledge. You won't accept my help. You sit there and arch your eyebrows at each other and exclaim, 'What? Us go to see Frank Patton? Ha, ha, ha! Don't be silly.
"Then I come up to the apartment and find both of you girls in a lather of cleanliness. You've got bathtub hysteria. You can't get into the bathtub quick enough. You've drawn two baths, and one of you has hardly jumped out of the bathtub before the other jumps in."
"What's wrong with that?" demanded Marjorie Clune aggressively. "I guess we can take baths if we want them."
"Oh, certainly," Mason remarked. "Except that the police will see the evidences of those baths this early in the evening and wonder if you didn't have some reason for taking them."
"What reason could we possibly have for taking a bath that the police would be interested in?" Marjorie Clune demanded in that same haughty tone she had used previously.
Perry Mason turned on her savagely.
"All right," he said, "if I've got to hand it to you, I'll hand it to you. The police would say that you were washing off blood stains; washing blood off your stockings; washing off blood that had spattered on your legs when you stood over Frank Patton."
The girl recoiled as though he had struck her a physical blow.
Perry Mason pulled his big boned frame from the chair, stood towering over the two young women.
"My God!" he said, "have I got to pick on two women in order to get the truth from them? Why weren't there any clothes in the bathroom? What did you do with the clothes you took off? And you, Marjorie Clune, what did you do with the pair of white shoes that you were wearing when you came from the apartment house?"
Marjorie Clune stared at him with eyes that were wide and frightened. Her lips quivered.
"Do… do the police know that?"
"They'll know plenty," he told her. "Now, let's come down to earth. I don't know how much time we've got, but we might just as well face the issue frankly."
Thelma Bell spoke in even, expressionless tones.
"Suppose we were there? What difference does it make? We certainly wouldn't have killed him."
"No?" asked Perry Mason. "You wouldn't have any motive, I suppose?"
He turned back to Marjorie Clune.
"How long had you been here before I arrived?" he asked.
"Just a mmmmminute," she quavered. "I didn't take a ccccab. I came on the street car."
"You were in Frank Patton's apartment, in the bathroom, having hysterics, talking about your lucky legs?"
She shook her head mutely.
"Look here," said Thelma
Bell quickly, "will the police know anything about Marjorie being there if the officer who saw her on the street doesn't connect her in some way with the crime?"
"Perhaps not," Perry Mason said. "Why?"
"Because," said Thelma Bell, "I can wear that white coat with the fox fur collar. I can wear the little cap with the red button on it. I'll swear they belong to me."
"That will just put you on the spot," Perry Mason said. "The officer probably didn't remember the face as much as he did the clothes. He'll see the clothes and figure that you were the one he saw. He'll identify you as being the one."
"That's what I want him to do," said Thelma Bell slowly.
"Why?" asked Perry Mason.
"Because," she said, "I wasn't anywhere near the place."
"Can you prove it?" Mason inquired.
"Of course I can prove it," she said savagely. "You don't think I'd put myself in a spot like that unless I could prove it, do you? I want to give Marjorie a break, but I'm not foolish enough to get myself mixed up in a murder rap in order to do it. I'll wear those clothes. The officers can identify me all they want to. The officer on the beat can swear I'm the one he saw coming from the apartment. Then I'll prove to them that I wasn't there."
"Where were you?" Perry Mason asked.
"With a boy friend."
"Why did you go home so early?"
"Because we had a fight."
"What about?"
"Is it any of your business?"
"Yes."
"About Frank Patton."
"What about Frank Patton?"
"He didn't like Frank Patton."
"Why? Was he jealous?"
"No, he knew the way I felt toward Patton. He thought Patton was dragging me down hill."
"In what way?"
"The contacts he was making for me."
"What, for instance?"
"Modeling," she said. "Artists, illustrators, and such stuff."
"Your boy friend didn't like it?"
"No."
"What's his name?" Perry Mason wanted to know.
"George Sanborne is his name."
"Where does he live?"
"In the Gilroy Hotel—room 925."
"Listen," said Perry Mason, "you wouldn't try to kid me?"
"Try to kid my lawyer? Don't be silly."
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