Perry Mason pushed open the door of his office and stood to one side for Marjorie Clune to enter.
Della Street, who had been seated at the secretarial desk by the switchboard, jumped to her feet and stared from Perry Mason to the blue eyes of Marjorie Clune.
"Della," said Perry Mason, "this is Marjorie Clune, the girl with the lucky legs. Margy, this is Della Street, my secretary."
Della Street made no effort to acknowledge the introduction. She stared at Marjorie Clune, then shifted her eyes back to Perry Mason's face.
"You brought her here?" she said. "You?"
Perry Mason nodded.
"But there have been detectives in," Della Street said. "They'll be coming back. They've got the building watched. You got in, but you can't get out, and Marjorie Clune is wanted for murder. It will simply cinch the case against you as an accessory."
Marjorie Clune clung to Perry Mason's arm.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," she said. Then, facing Della Street, added, "I wouldn't have done it for the world if I'd known."
Della Street crossed rapidly to Marjorie Clune, put an arm around her shoulders.
"There, there, dear," she said, "don't you care. It isn't your fault. He's always doing things like that; always taking chances."
"And," said Perry Mason, smiling, "always getting away with them. Why don't you tell her that, Della?"
"Because," Della Street said, "some day you're not going to be able to get away with them."
Perry Mason glanced meaningly at Della Street.
"Take her in my private office, Della," he said, "and wait there."
Della Street opened the door of the private office.
"You poor kid," she said maternally, "it's been frightful, hasn't it? But don't worry. It's going to come out all right now."
Marjorie Clune paused in the doorway.
"Please," she said to Perry Mason, "please don't let me get you into trouble."
Della Street exerted a gentle pressure with her arm and piloted Marjorie Clune to the inner office and sat her in the big leather chair which flanked Perry Mason's desk.
"Wait there and try and get some rest," she said. "You can lay your head right back against the cushions and curl your feet up in the seat."
Marjorie Clune smiled at her gratefully.
Della Street rejoined Perry Mason in the outer office.
Mason walked to the door of the outer office, opened it and pushed the catch into place which put on the night latch.
"I don't want to be disturbed for a few minutes," he said. "Where's Bradbury? In the law library?"
Della Street nodded her head, then glanced toward the door of Perry Mason's private office.
"Where did you find her?" she asked.
"You can take a lot of guesses," Perry Mason said, "and then you'll miss it."
"Where was she, chief?"
"In Summerville."
"How did she get down there?"
"By train. But I got there before she did."
"You did?"
"Yes. I was following some one else."
"Who?"
"Dr. Doray. He went down on the midnight plane."
"And they were there?" she asked.
Perry Mason nodded.
"Together, chief?"
Perry Mason pulled out his package of cigarettes, regarded them ruefully.
"Two left," he said.
"I've got a package here," Della Street told him.
Perry Mason lit a cigarette, and sucked in a huge drag of smoke.
"Were they together?" asked Della Street.
"In the bridal suite," Perry Mason told her.
"She's married then?"
"No, she wasn't married."
"Were they going to get married?"
"No, she was going to marry Bradbury."
"Then," said Della Street, "you mean… that… that…"
"Exactly," he told her. "She was going to marry Bradbury because Bradbury had jockeyed her into such a position that she had no other alternative. But, before she did that, she was going to give a week of her life to Bob Doray."
Della Street motioned toward the book which stood by the telephone.
Mason nodded.
"Yes," he said, "I got the signal as soon as I came in. That was particularly important. It was something I had to know, but I was afraid there might be some detectives in here and I didn't want you to tell me in front of them."
"Well," she said, "there's the signal that you told me to arrange. Marjorie Clune got a telephone call just about five minutes before she left Thelma Bell's apartment."
"Did Thelma Bell know who was on the other end of the wire?"
"No, she said that Marjorie stood and talked a few minutes and then said, 'I'll call you back within an hour, or words to that effect; that Marjorie didn't seem at all glad to have the telephone call. She was frowning when she hung up the receiver."
Perry Mason studied the curling smoke from the end of his cigarette with thoughtful eyes.
"How about Bradbury?" she asked. "Are you going to follow his instructions?"
"To hell with him," Perry Mason said. "I'm running this show."
The door of the law library swung noiselessly open. J.R. Bradbury strode into the office, his face white and drawn, his eyes cold and determined.
"You may think you're running this show," he said, "but I've got the whip hand. So, the little doublecrossing cheap tart had to twotime me, did she? She went to the bridal suite with Doray, did she? Damn them. I'll show them both!"
Mason regarded Bradbury with sober speculation.
"Were you listening at the keyhole," he asked, "or did you bring a chair up to the transom?"
"Just in case you're interested," Bradbury said in cold fury, "I was listening at the transom, which I'd previously opened so that I could hear."
Della Street turned from Bradbury to Perry Mason, her eyes indignant. She sucked in a rapid breath as though to speak; then, catching Mason's glance, remained silent.
Perry Mason lounged upon the corner of her desk easily, swinging his foot lazily back and forth.
"Looks as though we're going to have a showdown, Bradbury," he said.
Bradbury nodded. "Don't misunderstand me, Mason," he said. "You're a fighter; I've got a great deal of respect for you, but I'm a fighter, myself, and I don't think you have the proper respect for me." His voice was harsh, fiat and strained.
Perry Mason's eyes were steady, calm and patient.
"No, Bradbury," he said, "you're not a fighter; you're the type who takes advantage of another person's mistakes. You've got the banking type of mind. You sit on the sideline, watch, wait and pounce, when you think the time is ripe. I don't fight that way. I go barging out, making my own breaks and taking chances. You don't take any chances; you sit in a position of safety. You never risk your own skin."
There was a swift change of expression in Bradbury's eyes.
"Don't you ever think I don't risk my own skin," he said. "I take plenty of risks, but I'm smooth enough to always cover them."
Perry Mason's eyes were patient and contemplative.
"You're partially right at that, Bradbury," he said. "Perhaps I should amend my original statement."
"All this isn't getting us anywhere, Mason," Bradbury told him. "I thought you and I understood each other perfectly. I'm accustomed to my own way. I get it by hook or by crook, but I get it. A lot of people hate me; a lot of them think I use unfair tactics, but every one has to admit that when I say I'm going to do a thing I do it."
Della Street glanced from one man to the other.
Perry Mason smoked in silence.
"I told you," Bradbury said, "that I wanted Bob Doray to plead guilty."
"That isn't what you told me originally," Mason said.
"I've changed my mind, and, incidentally, my plans. It's what I'm telling you now," Bradbury said.
Mason pursed his lips thoughtfully, glanced at Della Street, then back to Bradbury.
"I would never have accepted the employment if I had known that was to have been one of the conditions, Bradbury," he said. "You remember that you forced me to represent Dr. Doray. I told you that if I represented him, I would represent him to the best of my ability; that I would put up a fight for him, and that his interests and the interests of Marjorie Clune would be the only things I would consider."
"I don't care what you told me," Bradbury said impatiently. "Time is getting short here. We've got to have some action, and…"
There was the sound of a man's weight lunging against the door of the outer office. The frosted glass showed the shadows of two men silhouetted against it. The knob rattled once more and then imperative knuckles pounded on the door.
Perry Mason nodded to Della Street.
"Open the door, Della," he told her.
Bradbury spoke swiftly.
"Let's not misunderstand each other Mason. I'm absolutely determined about this thing. You're working for me; you're going to follow my orders."
"I'm working," Perry Mason said, "for the best interests of my clients. I accepted the employment on the understanding that I was going to secure a complete vindication, and…"
He broke off as Della Street swung the door open.
Riker and Johnson pushed their way past her into the room.
"Well," said Riker, "we've got you at last."
"You boys looking for me?" asked Perry Mason.
Johnson laughed.
"Oh, no," he said with heavy sarcasm, "we weren't looking for you at all; we just wanted to see you about a little legal advice."
Riker motioned toward Bradbury.
"Who's this man?" he asked.
"A client," Perry Mason said.
"What's his business?"
"Why don't you ask him?" the lawyer replied. "It's confidential as far as I'm concerned."
Bradbury faced the two men and said nothing.
"They want you at headquarters for some questioning," Johnson remarked.
"It happens," Perry Mason observed, "that I've been out of the office for some little time and I've got quite a bit of business to attend to. I'm afraid I can't go to headquarters right now."
"We told you," Riker said, "that you were wanted at headquarters for questioning."
"Got a warrant?" Perry Mason asked.
"No," said Riker grimly, "but we can get one and it won't take very long."
"That's nice," Mason observed. "Go ahead and get one."
"Look here, Mason," Johnson said, "there's no use acting like a damn fool. You know we can take you down to headquarters. If you insist on a warrant, we'll get a warrant. If we get a warrant, there's going to be a prosecution. You're mixed up in this thing so that it looks as though you've laid yourself wide open on a felony rap. The chief is going to give you a break; he's going to let you explain before he presents the evidence to the Grand Jury. It's a break for you. If you can talk your way out of it, it suits us. We don't care one way or another. We were just sent here to bring you down."
"You boys said you wanted some legal advice," Perry Mason told them. "I guess, perhaps, you were right. Apparently you do. You can take me down to police headquarters when you've got a warrant for my arrest. You can't take me there before that."
"We can take you there right now as far as that's concerned," Johnson told him.
Perry Mason looked them over with a speculative and belligerent eye.
"Well," he said, "perhaps you can, and, again, perhaps you can't."
"Oh hell," Riker said, "go to the telephone and call police headquarters."
Perry Mason looked at the two detectives and laughed sarcastically.
"Come on, boys," he said, "let's cut the comedy. You're not talking with a dumb hick who doesn't know his rights; you're talking to a lawyer. If you folks had enough evidence to get out a warrant for my arrest, you'd have the warrant with you right now. You haven't got a warrant and you're not going to get one; not right away, anyhow. Perhaps the Grand Jury will mill the thing around and return an indictment, or you may find some one foolish enough to sign a complaint, but what you're trying to do is to get me on the defensive so you can inquire into a lot of my private affairs. I'm telling you you can't do it. There's the telephone. Go ahead and call police headquarters."
He turned to Della Street.
"Call their bluff, Della," he said. "Go ahead and get them police headquarters."
Della Street picked up the telephone and snapped in the plug with a vicious click.
"Police headquarters," she said.
Perry Mason grinned at the detectives.
"When I get ready to come to police headquarters," he said. "I'll come. When you fellows want to arrest me, go ahead and arrest me, but be damn sure that you do it in a legal manner."
"Now listen," Johnson said, "we've got a lot of stuff on you, Mason, a lot of stuff that's got to be explained. You're mixed into this case all the way through it. You started in messing around, getting Marjorie Clune out of the way."
"Do you know I got her out of the way?" asked Perry Mason.
"You had a taxicab running around to her apartment, and she left right after you were there."
"Indeed?" said Perry Mason, and then added, "how fortunate."
"Here's police headquarters on the line," said Della Street.
Johnson looked at Riker.
"Oh, hell," Johnson said, "let 'em go."
"Hang up, Della," Perry Mason said.
Della Street clicked the key as she cut off the connection.
"Just the same," Johnson said to Perry Mason, "I'll bet you five bucks we're here with a warrant before another fortyeight hours."
"I'll bet you five bucks you're not," Mason said. "Put up your money."
"Come on, Johnson," Riker said.
The men turned toward the door.
Bradbury stared steadily at Perry Mason.
"Just a moment, Mason," he said, "are you going to follow my instructions in the matter?"
Mason took two steps toward Bradbury, stood staring at him with ominous steadiness. Riker, his hand on the doorknob, paused. Johnson turned to stare.
"Get this," Perry Mason said to Bradbury slowly, "and get it straight, because I don't want to have to repeat myself. As far as this case is concerned, you're just Santa Claus, that's all. You're the man who put up the money. Aside from that you haven't got a thing to do with it; not one single… God… damned… thing."
Bradbury turned to the detectives.
"Gentlemen," he said, "if you will open the door of that private office, you'll find concealed in there Marjorie Clune, who is at present a fugitive from justice."
Perry Mason swung toward the detectives.
"You open that door without a search warrant," he said, "and I'll break your jaw."
The detectives exchanged glances, looked at Bradbury.
"I tell you I know what I'm talking about," Bradbury said. "She's in there, and if you don't make it snappy she'll get out through the door in the corridor."
Both men made a lunge for the door of the private office. Perry Mason swung about with the lithe grace of a pugilist. Bradbury jumped on him from behind, wrapping his legs about Mason's waist, pinning his arms. Thrown off balance, Mason staggered slightly. Riker charged into him and sent Mason and Bradbury sprawling to the carpet. Della Street screamed. Johnson banged open the door to the private office.
Marjorie Clune was fumbling with the catch on the exit door which led to the hall.
"Stop where you are," yelled Johnson, "or I'll shoot!"
Marjorie Clune turned to stare at him. She stood motionless, her face white, her eyes wide, blue and startled, staring at the two detectives.
"By God!" Johnson said in an undertone, "it sure is! It's Marjorie Clune!"
Perry Mason scrambled to his feet. Bradbury was care fully dusting the knees of his tweed trousers. Riker tugged handcuffs from his pocket.
"Is your name Marjorie Clune?" asked Riker.
Marjorie Clune's eyes stared at him with an unfaltering scrutiny.
"If you have any questions to ask," she said, "you may ask them of my attorney, Perry Mason."
Perry Mason nodded to Della Street.
"Get police headquarters, Della," he said.