The Case of the Lucky Legs by Erle Stanley Gardner Page A
Authors: Erle Stanley Gardner
Tags: Fiction, General, LEGAL, Mystery & Detective, Large Type Books, Mason; Perry (Fictitious character)
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picture. I figured your presence might simply lead to argument, and not do any one any good.
"Frank Patton had been killed about ten minutes before I got there. Some one had stuck a bread knife into his chest. He was lying in his apartment, stone dead."
"Good God," said Bradbury, and then added, almost immediately, "Yes, Mr. Mason. I was just thinking of something. Go ahead and tell me some more."
"Just as I was about to go into the apartment house," Mason went on, "I saw a girl coming out. She was around twenty-one or twenty-two. She had snaky hips and wore a white coat, with a fox collar. She had on white shoes, and a little white hat with a red button on it. Her eyes were very blue, and she looked as though she might be running away from something.
"Now, I want to know if that was Marjorie Clune."
Perry Mason could hear the gasping intake of Bradbury's breath over the line.
"Yes, yes," he said, "that description fits. I know the coat and hat."
"All right," Perry Mason said, "figure it out."
"What do you mean?"
"She may be in a jam."
"I don't understand."
"She was leaving the apartment house just as I went up. There was a woman in an adjoining apartment who had heard quite a racket in Patton's apartment and had gone out to get a cop. She showed up with the cop about five minutes after I got there. There's a pretty good chance the cop may have seen Marjorie Clune. There's also a chance that they may find out she was in the apartment. There was some girl in the bathroom having hysterics and screaming about her lucky legs. That would seem to tie in with Marjorie Clune. Now, what do you want me to do about it?"
Bradbury's excitement burst the bounds of self-control.
"Do about it?" he screamed. "You know what I want you to do about it. Go ahead and represent her. Go ahead and see that nothing happens to her. To hell with Frank Patton. I don't care anything about him, but Margy means everything in the world to me. If she's in a jam, you go ahead and get her out of it. I don't care what it costs. You send the bill to me and I'll foot it."
"Wait a minute," Perry Mason told him. "Keep your shirt on. Don't throw a fit. And, after you hang up the telephone, if Della Street starts asking you questions, don't tell her anything. Tell her that I told you I thought I was going to have some news for you in about an hour, or something of that sort. Stall her along and tell her to wait there. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Bradbury said, but his voice was still high-pitched with excitement.
"You wait right there," Perry Mason said.
"Not here," Bradbury told him, "I'll go to my hotel. You can call me there at my room. You know the number, room 693. Be sure and ask for my room number. I'll be there."
"You'd better wait there in the office."
"No, no, I want to be where I can talk. I've got a lot to tell you, and I want to find out all about what's happening. Will you call me at my room in fifteen minutes, and tell me exactly what's happened?"
"Snap out of it," Perry Mason told him. "I told you not to spill all this information. I'm busy, and I haven't got time to argue with you."
He slammed the receiver savagely on the hook, and strode out of the drug store.
"Go to the St. James Apartments," he told the cab driver. "That's at 962 East Faulkner Street, and drive like the devil."
CHAPTER VI
PERRY MASON tapped on the door of apartment 301 at the St. James Apartments.
Almost instantly he heard the quick rustle of motion from the interior of the apartment, then footsteps on the floor, then silence as the person on the other side of the door stood motionless, listening with an ear against the door.
Perry Mason knocked again.
He thought he could hear the sound of quick feminine whispers. Then, after a moment of silence, a voice said, "Who is it?"
Perry Mason said gruffly, "Telegram."
"Who for?" asked the feminine voice, louder and more confident this time.
"Thelma Bell," said Perry Mason.
There was the sound of a bolt
"Frank Patton had been killed about ten minutes before I got there. Some one had stuck a bread knife into his chest. He was lying in his apartment, stone dead."
"Good God," said Bradbury, and then added, almost immediately, "Yes, Mr. Mason. I was just thinking of something. Go ahead and tell me some more."
"Just as I was about to go into the apartment house," Mason went on, "I saw a girl coming out. She was around twenty-one or twenty-two. She had snaky hips and wore a white coat, with a fox collar. She had on white shoes, and a little white hat with a red button on it. Her eyes were very blue, and she looked as though she might be running away from something.
"Now, I want to know if that was Marjorie Clune."
Perry Mason could hear the gasping intake of Bradbury's breath over the line.
"Yes, yes," he said, "that description fits. I know the coat and hat."
"All right," Perry Mason said, "figure it out."
"What do you mean?"
"She may be in a jam."
"I don't understand."
"She was leaving the apartment house just as I went up. There was a woman in an adjoining apartment who had heard quite a racket in Patton's apartment and had gone out to get a cop. She showed up with the cop about five minutes after I got there. There's a pretty good chance the cop may have seen Marjorie Clune. There's also a chance that they may find out she was in the apartment. There was some girl in the bathroom having hysterics and screaming about her lucky legs. That would seem to tie in with Marjorie Clune. Now, what do you want me to do about it?"
Bradbury's excitement burst the bounds of self-control.
"Do about it?" he screamed. "You know what I want you to do about it. Go ahead and represent her. Go ahead and see that nothing happens to her. To hell with Frank Patton. I don't care anything about him, but Margy means everything in the world to me. If she's in a jam, you go ahead and get her out of it. I don't care what it costs. You send the bill to me and I'll foot it."
"Wait a minute," Perry Mason told him. "Keep your shirt on. Don't throw a fit. And, after you hang up the telephone, if Della Street starts asking you questions, don't tell her anything. Tell her that I told you I thought I was going to have some news for you in about an hour, or something of that sort. Stall her along and tell her to wait there. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Bradbury said, but his voice was still high-pitched with excitement.
"You wait right there," Perry Mason said.
"Not here," Bradbury told him, "I'll go to my hotel. You can call me there at my room. You know the number, room 693. Be sure and ask for my room number. I'll be there."
"You'd better wait there in the office."
"No, no, I want to be where I can talk. I've got a lot to tell you, and I want to find out all about what's happening. Will you call me at my room in fifteen minutes, and tell me exactly what's happened?"
"Snap out of it," Perry Mason told him. "I told you not to spill all this information. I'm busy, and I haven't got time to argue with you."
He slammed the receiver savagely on the hook, and strode out of the drug store.
"Go to the St. James Apartments," he told the cab driver. "That's at 962 East Faulkner Street, and drive like the devil."
CHAPTER VI
PERRY MASON tapped on the door of apartment 301 at the St. James Apartments.
Almost instantly he heard the quick rustle of motion from the interior of the apartment, then footsteps on the floor, then silence as the person on the other side of the door stood motionless, listening with an ear against the door.
Perry Mason knocked again.
He thought he could hear the sound of quick feminine whispers. Then, after a moment of silence, a voice said, "Who is it?"
Perry Mason said gruffly, "Telegram."
"Who for?" asked the feminine voice, louder and more confident this time.
"Thelma Bell," said Perry Mason.
There was the sound of a bolt
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