"What was the one thing?" the lawyer inquired.
"Your friend, Dr. Doray," the detective said. "His car was parked out in front of the place at the time of the murder. That is, it was parked within half a block of the place."
"How do the police know?"
"It was parked in front of a fire plug. The traffic officer tagged the car. He noticed that it came from Cloverdale. When the report of the murder went in to the homicide squad, they got in touch with the district attorney's office, and some bright boy in the district attorney's office remembered that Carl Manchester had been working on a case involving a man named Patton. They got hold of Manchester, found out it was the same chap, found out that you were interested in it, that Bradbury was interested in it, and that a Dr. Doray was interested in it."
"Why didn't they go after Bradbury?" Mason asked.
"Because they got such a live lead on Doray. They happened to check up with the officer who had tagged Doray's car."
Perry Mason squinted his eyes thoughtfully.
"Anything else?" he asked.
"Now," said Paul Drake, "I'm coming to the thing that makes your story look a little funny."
"What is it?"
"The Holliday Apartments," the detective said, "tries to encourage its tenants to turn their keys in at the desk when they go out. For that reason, they have a great big tag that's chained to the key. It has a lot of stuff printed on it about dropping the whole thing into the mail box, with a stamp on it, when it is inadvertently carried away."
"Yes, I know the type," Mason said.
"The police found the key to Frank Patton's apartment in the side pocket of his coat," Drake went on. "Patton had evidently opened the door, then dropped the key into the side pocket of his coat. Perhaps he'd locked the door from the inside; perhaps he hadn't. The theory of the police is that he hadn't. They reason that if he'd locked the door from the inside, he'd have left the key in the lock. They think that he had an appointment with some woman. Perhaps with two women. That he left the door open because he wanted the women to walk in."
"Then," Mason said, "who do the police figure locked the door?"
Paul Drake's glassy eyes regarded Mason without expression; his face remained twisted into that frozen expression of droll humor which was so characteristic of the man.
"The police figure," he said, "that the murderer locked the door when he went out."
"The murderer," said Perry Mason, "might have climbed in by the fire escape and gone out the same way."
"Then who locked the door?" asked Drake.
"Frank Patton," Mason said.
"Then, why didn't he leave the key hanging in the door from the inside?"
"Because he mechanically put it in his pocket."
Paul Drake shrugged his shoulders.
"Sure, that's reasonable," Perry Mason said. "A man frequently locks the door from the inside and drops the key in his pocket."
"You don't need to argue with me," the detective told him. "You can save the argument for a jury. I'm just telling you, that's all."
"How long after the sound of the body falling on the floor before the officer arrived?" Mason asked.
"Perhaps ten minutes," the detective told him. "The woman got up, put on some clothes, went down in the elevator, found the officer, told him her story, convinced him it was something he should look into, and brought him back to the apartment. Then there was the little while that they were talking with you, and then the officer got a key. Make it perhaps fifteen minutes in all; say ten minutes up to the time you first saw the officer in the corridor."
"A person can do a lot in ten minutes," Mason said.
"Not much in the line of cleaning up blood stains. It would mean a pretty hurried job," Paul Drake commented.
"Do the police," asked Perry Mason, "know Bradbury's address?"
"I don't think the police are going to figure Bradbury very heavy one way or another," Drake said. "They don't know where he's staying, but of course they can find out easily enough by making a check of the hotels. Carl Manchester simply knows that he can be reached through you."
"And," Perry Mason said, "I managed to hold him in the background until Doray's name had come in first. I want the newspapers to get the young love angle rather than the sugar daddy viewpoint."
The detective nodded.
The telephone on Perry Mason's desk rang steadily Mason frowned at it.
"Any one know you're here?" he asked, looking at Paul Drake.
The detective shook his head.
Perry Mason reached for the receiver, paused for a moment with his hand held an inch or two from it; then suddenly scooped his hand down, pulled the receiver up to his ear, and said, "Yes, hello. Perry Mason speaking."
A woman's voice said, "I have a telegram for Mr. Perry Mason. Do you wish me to read it over the telephone?"
"Yes," said Perry Mason.
"The telegram," she said, "is filed from this city. It says: CHECK HER ALIBI BEFORE YOU LET HER DO ANY THING. The message," went on the purring voice of the operator, "is signed with a single initial 'M', as in mush."
"Thanks," said Perry Mason.
"Do you want me to send a copy over to your office?"
"In the morning," he told the operator, and continued to hold the receiver in his hand. He severed the connection by pressing the hook with his forefinger.
"That," he said slowly, "is one hell of a funny thing. Why should she send me a telegram, and why should it be that kind of a telegram?"
He moved his hand which held the receiver and dialed rapidly the number of the Bostwick Hotel, Exeter 93821.
The detective watched him with a speculation which seemed almost indolent in its careless scrutiny.
Perry Mason heard a voice saying, "Bostwick Hotel."
"Will you please," he said, "ring room 408."
The voice of the operator said instantly. "The occupant of room 408 checked out just a few minutes ago."
"You're certain?" asked Perry Mason.
"Absolutely certain."
"She was," said Perry Mason, "expecting a call from me. Would you mind ringing the room?"
"I'll ring it," said the operator, "but there's no one there. I tell you she checked out."
Perry Mason waited for a few moments, then heard the voice over the wire confirming the previous statement that no one answered.
He once more pushed down the catch which cut off the contact and stood staring at the telephone. He was still staring at it when the bell exploded into life.
"Looks like your busy night on the telephone," Paul Drake commented.
Perry Mason released the pressure of his fingers, and said, "Hello." He spoke with quick, nervous harshness.
The voice of Della Street came to his ears.
"Thank God I caught you, chief. Are you there alone?"
"Except for Paul Drake, yes. What's on your mind?"
"Get this," she said, "because you're going to figure in it. Two detectives just left me. They tried to give me a shakedown. They got pretty rough."
"What for, Della?"
"They claim that I rang up Dr. Doray and tipped him off that the police were looking for him, and told him to get out."
"What gives them that idea?" inquired Perry Mason.
"Listen," she said, "and get this straight, because I think they're on their way to give you a going over. They say that somebody rang up Dr. Doray at the Midwick Hotel sometime between nine fifteen and nine thirty this evening, and told him that Patton had been murdered; that Doray was going to be picked up as a suspect, and that there were some things in the evidence that looked bad for him and Marjorie Clune; that Marjorie was getting under cover and was going to keep under cover. In other words, that she was skipping out, and that it would be the worst thing on earth for her if Bob Doray should be picked up by the police. He was instructed to get out of town and keep from being questioned by the police."