Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Lucky Legs

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.

Perry Mason caught Johnson by the shoulder as Johnson slipped handcuffs on Marjorie Clune's wrists.

"You don't need to do that, you big heel," he said.

Johnson whirled, his eyes glittering with hatred.

"Just because you're a lawyer," he said, "you think you can do anything you damn please. You said we couldn't arrest you before and, by God, you were right. We knew we couldn't. We didn't have enough on you. But the situation has changed since then. We can arrest you now all right."

"Will you listen to me for a moment?" Perry Mason said.

"Oh, you want to talk now, do you?" Riker commented. "The situation is a little bit different now. You're anxious to talk, huh?"

Della Street entered Perry Mason's private office, waited until she caught his eye.

"Police headquarters," she said.

"Tell Detective Sergeant O'Malley that if he can get to my office inside of ten minutes, I'll give him some inside dope on the Patton murder case," Mason said.

Della Street nodded.

"He won't be here ten minutes from now," Johnson said. "You tell O'Malley to wait at headquarters."

Della Street paid no attention to him, but returned to the outer office.

J.R. Bradbury, his face wearing a smile of cold triumph pulled a cigar from his pocket, clipped off the end, and lit it.

"This man," Perry Mason said, indicating Bradbury, "is the one who retained me to represent Marjorie Clune. He is the one who told me to beat it out ahead of the police and get her out of trouble."

"I did nothing of the sort," Bradbury said.

"He is the one who told me to represent Dr. Robert Doray."

"I did nothing of the sort," Bradbury repeated.

"What the hell do we care what either one of you did?" Riker said. "We've got you, and we've got this broad. She's wanted for murder. You knew she was wanted for murder. It's been in the newspapers. You had her in your office, and you were concealing her. That makes you an accessory after the fact. It's a felony, and we don't need any warrant to arrest you. We've got the proof on you. It's a felony that was actually committed in our presence, as far as that's concerned, although in a felony case it doesn't make any difference."

"If you'll listen to me," Perry Mason said, "I'll explain the entire situation to you."

"You can tell it to the judge," Johnson said. "I've chased around after you just as long as I'm going to, Perry Mason. You've been giving us the merry ha, ha and the runaround for a long time. Now you're going with us. Put the bracelets on him, Riker."

Perry Mason stared steadily at the two detectives.

"I want to talk," he said.

"I don't give a damn what you want to do," Johnson told him.

"When we get to police headquarters," Perry Mason said, "they will ask me what I have to say. I will tell them that I was on the verge of making a complete confession; that you two dumb dicks wouldn't let me talk; that now the prosecution can go to hell and try to prove me guilty."

Johnson turned to Riker.

"Lock that door," he said. "If the man wants to confess that's different.

"You want to confess?" he asked.

"Yes," said Mason.

"To what?"

"To things that I shall outline in my confession."

Riker opened the door to Perry Mason's outer office.

"You," he said to Della Street, "come in here and take down what this guy says in shorthand."

"It's his own stenographer," Johnson objected.

"That's all right. She'll take it down if he tells her to," Riker said. "And, if he doesn't tell her to take it down, he won't do any talking."

Mason laughed.

"Don't think you boys are going to bluff me," he said, "but as it happens, I want it taken down. Della, you will please take down every word that is said in this room. I want a complete transcript of what is said, and who says it."

"Go on," Johnson remarked, his lip curling slightly. "Start your speech."

"When I first came into contact with this case," Mason said, "I was employed by J.R. Bradbury, the gentleman standing there. He had been to the district attorney's office. They couldn't help him. He wanted me to find Frank Patton and to prosecute him. At my suggestion, he employed Paul Drake, and Drake's Detective Bureau to find Patton."