Mason pulled the railroad ticket the cab driver had given him from his vest pocket and handed it to her.
"Here's a oneway ticket to College City," he said. "Go there and register at a hotel. Register under your own name. You're going there to do some modeling work, if any one should start checking up on you tell them that and no more. If it gets serious, get in touch with me and don't say anything until I have given you instructions."
"You mean if the law should come?"
"Yes," he said, "if the law should come."
"Will there be trains running at this time of night?"
He looked at his watch.
"There's one leaves in twenty minutes," he said. "You can make it."
He handed the cab driver the suitcase and assisted Thelma Bell into the cab.
"Good night," he said, "and good luck. Ring up my office or send me a telegram. Leave word the name of the hotel where you're staying, and don't take a powder."
"A powder?" she asked.
"A runout powder," he told her. "I want you where I can put my hand on you."
She extended her hand and smiled at him.
"I'd do anything," she said, "for Margy."
Perry Mason took her hand. The fingertips were cold as ice. The cab driver climbed to the front seat.
"And you don't want me to tell any one about where I was? That is, about George Sanborne?"
Perry Mason shook his head with a fatherly smile.
"No," he said, "we'll save that as a surprise—a big surprise."
The cab motor roared into life. Perry Mason slammed the door, stood on the curb and watched the cab until the pale light rounded the corner. Then he went back to the restaurant.
"Telephone," he said.
The waiter indicated a pay telephone in a corner at the far end of the restaurant.
Perry Mason strode to it, dropped a coin and dialed the number of the Cooperative Investigating Bureau, and when he heard the voice of the operator, said, "Mason talking. Put on Mr. Samuels, if he's still there."
A moment later he heard the voice of Samuels booming with cordiality.
"Mason? We've done just what you wanted. We picked up that party, and she hasn't been out of our sight for a minute."
"Where is she now?" asked Mason.
"Ten minutes ago my men reported by telephone. She left Paul Drake's office about half an hour after you telephoned. She went to the Monmarte Hotel, where she has a room as Vera Cutter, of Detroit, Michigan, but she didn't give any street address when she registered. She took a room in the hotel early last evening. That is, around ninethirty some time, and here's something funny: her baggage is fairly new and has the initials E.L. on it. She's got a rather ornate handbag, with hammered silver in a monogram, and the monogram is E.L. Does that mean anything to you?"
"Not yet it doesn't," Perry Mason said, "but keep her shadowed."
"And you'll ring up for reports?"
"Yes. Be sure that you know who it is before you give out any information. Talk with me for a minute whenever I call, so that you know it isn't some one else using my name, and keep her shadowed every minute. I want to know everything about her. Better put on a couple of extra men, and if any one comes to the hotel to call on her, try and shadow them and find out all about them. Now, how about telephone calls? Can you arrange with the telephone operator at the Monmarte Hotel to let you listen in?"
"One of our men is working on that right now," Samuels said. "It is, of course, going to be rather difficult, but —"
"Hang the difficulties," Perry Mason said. "The world is full of difficulties. I've got plenty of my own. Listen in on her telephone conversations; I want to know what they are."
"Very well, Mr. Mason," said Samuels, "we'll do the best we can."
Perry Mason pulled down the receiver with the middle finger of his left hand, fumbled in his pocket for another coin, dropped it and called the Drake Detective Bureau.
Drake himself answered the telephone.
"Sitting there waiting for calls, Paul?" asked the lawyer.
Drake laughed. "You pretty near called the turn at that," he said.
"Anything to report?" asked Perry Mason.
"I've got lots to report," Paul Drake told him. "I think you can go home now and go to bed, Perry."
"Why?"
"The murder mystery is all solved."
"What do you mean?"
"The police have traced the knife."
"You mean the knife that did the stabbing?"
"Yes."
"Where have they traced it to?"
"To the man that bought it."
"Have they identified the man that bought it?"
"Virtually, yes. They have a description that tallies on every essential point."
"Who bought it?" asked Perry Mason.
"Your friend, Dr. Robert Doray of Cloverdale," Paul Drake retorted with something of a verbal flourish.
"Go on," said Perry Mason, "tell me the rest of it."
"That's about all of it," Paul Drake said. "The police tried to check the knife. They've been working on that ever since they discovered the body, and the price mark that was on the blade of the knife. You see, there was a cost price, as well as a sales price, on the knife. There's been an advance in prices on that stuff, and from the cost price they knew that the knife was part of a new stock that had been purchased at the increased price, since there was no other and older cost mark on it, and no sign of one having been on it and having been erased."
"Go on," Mason said.
"They figured first that the knife came from a hardware store. The wrapping paper was a little bit heavier than is ordinarily used in the ten, fifteen and twentyfive cent stores. They got the heads of the hardware jobbers out of bed, got them to get in touch with their salesmen by telephone and try and find a retailer who used that particular cost code. It looked like a wildgoose chase, but they were lucky. Almost at once they got in touch with a hardware salesman who was familiar with a retail hardware store on Belmont Street that used that cost code, and the hardware salesman remembered this dealer had purchased a dozen of those knives not less than ten days ago. The police got in touch with the dealer. The dealer remembered the sale of the knife and gave a pretty fair description of the man. The description was that of Dr. Doray. The police got in touch with the newspaper offices, found one that had a file of the Cloverdale papers, prowled through the Cloverdale papers until they found a picture of Dr. Doray. He'd been an official in the Community Chest drive, and his picture had been in the paper. It was a newspaper photograph, but had enough to it to furnish the basis for an identification. The hardware dealer has made an absolute identification. There's no question in his mind but what Dr. Doray was the man who purchased the knife.
"The police feel they've pulled a nice piece of work, and they're throwing out a drag net for Doray. Apparently he's skipped out, and, incidentally, that puts you in a funny light."
"Why?" asked Perry Mason.
"On account of that telephone message which apparently came from your office, and which tipped Doray off to what was happening. The police are pretty much worked up about it. I don't mind telling you in confidence that you're going to have some trouble over it, and, incidentally, I don't think Bradbury likes it very well."
"To hell with Bradbury," Perry Mason said. "I didn't call up Doray, and, what's more, my office didn't call up."
"Well," Paul Drake remarked cheerfully, "if you say that you didn't, and Della Street says she didn't there's not much the police can do about it; not unless they should pick up Doray and he should tell them something different."
"That wouldn't change the situation any," Mason said. "Doray certainly doesn't know the voice of my secretary well enough to have recognized it, or to swear that he did. All that he knows is that some woman said she was Della Street. It's easy enough to do that. I could ring up Bradbury and tell him that I was Paul Drake, and tell him he'd better get out of the country."