Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Lucky Legs

"I'd made up my mind to that long ago," she told him.

Perry Mason said nothing, continued to stare at the traffic. The cab driver worked his way toward the righthand curb.

"Go right up to the hotel entrance?" he asked.

"Yes," Mason said, "that's as far as we're going."

He paid off the cab, took Marjorie Clune's arm, escorted her to the elevator of the hotel.

"Fifth floor," he told the operator.

As they left the elevator on the fifth floor, Perry Mason bent forward so that his lips were close to Marjorie Clune's ear.

"I'm going in the room," he said. "I'm going to get that woman in an argument of some sort. I'll try and get her to raise her voice. You keep your ear close to the door and see if you can recognize her voice. If you can recognize it, okay. If you can't, knock on the door, and I'll open it."

"If it's Eva Lamont she'll recognize me," said Marjorie Clune.

"That's all right," he told her, "that's one of the things we've got to figure on. But I've got to know whether that's Eva Lamont."

He piloted Marjorie Clune around the bend in the corridor.

"Here's the place," he said. "You'd better stand against the wall there. I'll try and get her to talk while the door's open. I'm afraid you aren't going to be able to hear through the door."

Perry Mason knocked at the door.

The door was opened from the inside just a bare crack.

"Who is it?" asked a woman's low voice.

"A man from the Drake Detective Bureau," Mason said.

There was not another word. The door swung wide open. A woman attired in street costume smiled invitingly at him.

Perry Mason entered the room.

"Well," he said, "it looks as though you were getting ready to leave us."

The woman stared at Perry Mason, then followed his gaze to the wardrobe trunk which stood by the side of the bed partially filled with clothes, to the open suitcase on the bed, and the closed suitcase on the chair.

She looked back at the open door, then wordlessly crossed to the door, closed it and locked it.

"What was it," she asked, "that you wanted?"

"I wanted to find out," Perry Mason said, "why it was that you registered under the name of Vera Cutter, and yet your baggage has the initials E.L. on it."

"That's simple," she said. "My sister's name is Edith Loring."

"And you're from Cloverdale?" asked Perry Mason.

"I'm from Detroit."

Perry Mason walked over to the wardrobe trunk. He picked up a skirt which hung on a wooden hanger and turned the wooden hanger so that it showed the imprint:

CLOVERDALE

Cleaning and Dyeing Works

The dark eyes regarded him with glittering malevolence.

"My sister," she said, "lives in Cloverdale."

"But you're from Detroit?" he asked.

"Say, who are you?" she asked in a voice that was suddenly hard. "You aren't from the Drake Detective Bureau."

Perry Mason smiled.

"That," he said, "was just an excuse to get in and talk with you. What I really wanted to ask you was…"

She recoiled from him and stood staring, with her face white, her eyes glittering and cautious, one hand gripping the post on the foot of the brass bedstead.

"What I wanted particularly to know," said Perry Mason, "is where you were when Frank Patton was killed."

For more than ten seconds she stared at him without making any motion or saying any word. Perry Mason met her eyes accusingly.

"Are you an officer?" she asked at length in a low, throaty voice.

"Suppose you answer the question first," Perry Mason told her, "and then I'll answer your questions."

"I'm going to refer you," she said, "to my attorney."

"Oh, then you have an attorney?"

"Certainly I have an attorney," she said. "Don't think that I'd let any cheap heel come in here and start browbeating me about a thing like that. I don't know anything at all about the murder of Frank Patton, except what I've read in the newspapers. But if you think you're going to come in here and pull a fast one on me, you're going to get fooled."

"And you can't tell me where you were when Frank Patton was killed?"

"I won't tell you where I was."

"Suppose," Perry Mason said, "I should take you down to police headquarters, then what would you do?"

By way of answer she crossed to the telephone, took down the receiver and called the number of Perry Mason's office. There was a moment's silence, then the receiver made a squawking noise and the woman said in a cold, haughty voice, "Is Mr. Mason in? I would like to speak with Mr. Perry Mason. You may tell him this is Vera Cutter."

The receiver made more noise.

Perry Mason, studying the expression on the woman's face, was unable to detect any slightest change in it. After a moment she said cooingly, "Oh, good afternoon, Mr. Mason. This is Miss Vera Cutter again. You told me to get in touch with you if any one questioned me concerning my reason for being here in the city. There's a man in the hotel who claims to be an officer, and… what's that?"

The receiver made more noise.

Vera Cutter's face broke into a smile.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Mason. You say that if he is an officer he is to come to your office, and if he is not, I am to notify police headquarters and have him arrested for impersonating an officer? Thank you so much, Mr. Mason, I was sorry to have bothered you again, but those were your instructions—to call you if any one questioned me. Oh, thank you so much."

She hung up the telephone and turned to Perry Mason with triumphant countenance.

"I guess you know my lawyer," she said, "Perry Mason, just about the biggest lawyer in the city. He's representing my interests while I'm here, and he says that if you're not an officer, he's going to see that you're arrested for the crime of impersonating an officer. If you are an officer, you may go to his office and talk with him personally."

"Were you talking with Perry Mason personally?" asked the lawyer.

"Of course I was talking with Perry Mason personally. With the size of the retainer that I paid him, I wouldn't waste my time talking with any law clerks."

"That's funny," Mason said. "I want to see Perry Mason, myself. I called him less than ten minutes ago. They told me he wouldn't be in any more today."

Her smile was patronizing.

"It always makes a difference," she said, "who's calling when you're trying to get Perry Mason on the line. He's a very busy man and he doesn't bother with cheap detectives or peddlers."

"And you're not going to tell me why you were getting ready to leave town?" asked Perry Mason, indicating the baggage.

She laughed mockingly.

"Listen, brother," she said, "I'm not going to tell you anything except to scram. Get out of here! Beat it! If you're an officer, you can see Perry Mason; if you're not, you can get the hell out of here."

There was a knock at the door. Perry Mason turned toward it.

Vera Cutter blazed at him, "Don't you dare to open that door!"

She rushed past him, twisted the knob and flung open the door.

Marjorie Clune stood on the threshold.

"How do you do, Eva Lamont?" said Marjorie Clune.

Eva Lamont stared at her for two or three seconds.

"So," said Perry Mason, "your name is Eva Lamont?"

Eva Lamont pointed a rigid index finger at Perry Mason.

"Are you with him?" she screamed.

Marjorie Clune looked inquiringly at Perry Mason.

Before Mason had a chance to give her a signal, Eva Lamont suddenly whirled and raced toward the telephone.

"Just a minute, dearie," she called over her shoulder. "I know a man who wants to ask you all about your nice moving picture contract."

She grabbed the receiver from its hook.

"Police headquarters!" she screamed. "Police headquarters! Get me police headquarters at once!"

Perry Mason grabbed Marjorie Clune's arm and swung her about. Together they raced down the corridor. Behind them, they could hear Eva Lamont's voice screaming, "Police headquarters! Police headquarters!.. Is this police headquarters?"