"Okay chief," she told him, "we'll be there in about ten minutes, and please, chief, be careful."
Perry Mason was scowling thoughtfully as he dropped the receiver into place. He left the Turkish bath, climbed a flight of stairs, and emerged into the warm morning sunshine. He stood back in the recess which opened from the sidewalk, and watched the hurrying pedestrians pounding the pavement on their way to the office buildings in the downtown business section.
His eyes scrutinized the passing faces with the keen, quick interest of a man who has learned to judge character at a glance, and who is sufficiently interested in human nature to read the stories written on the faces of the throngs who jostle about the city streets.
Now and again some young, attractive woman, feeling the impact of his gaze, would glance either furtively or frankly into his keenly searching eyes. Occasionally some man, catching Mason's stare, would frown with resentment, or turn to regard Mason with a stare which said plainly enough that the man thought he had surprised a detective at work.
Mason had stood motionless for perhaps five minutes when a blonde young woman came hurrying along the street. She intuitively felt his eyes upon her, and raised her own eyes. Suddenly she smiled. Perry Mason raised his hat.
It was the young woman who ran the cigar counter in the lobby of his office building.
She abruptly turned toward him.
"Why so pensive, Mr. Mason?" she asked.
"Just trying to think of the answer to a question, Mamie. What are you hurrying so about?"
"Just the old grind."
"Do me a favor, will you, Mamie?"
"Sure."
"Forget you saw me here if any one should ask you."
"Dodging clients," she asked, "or the police?"
"Both," he told her, and grinned.
"I don't blame you for dodging your new client," she said.
He stared at her.
"Which one?"
"The one who always wears the brown suit, with the brown tie, the brown shirt, and the socks that go with his tie."
"You mean Bradbury?"
"Yes, the one who bought the cigars that you didn't smoke. Thanks for the business, Mr. Mason. I knew you didn't smoke cigars."
He laughed.
"We can't let any outoftown money get away from us, Mamie. What's the trouble between you and Bradbury?"
"Oh, nothing," she said, "except that I think he's a smalltown sport."
"What gives you that impression?"
"Oh, the way he acts. He stops to visit with me every time he comes in the building, and he keeps getting intimate."
"You mean with things he says?"
"Oh, no. He doesn't say so much; it's his tone and his eyes that get intimate. A girl can tell when a man's taking a personal interest."
Perry Mason looked over her trim figure with an approving eye.
"You can't blame him for that," he said.
She smiled frankly at him, and said, "Don't get me wrong, Mr. Mason. I like to have them look me over. It tickles my vanity, and it brings me business. But what I don't like are these counter loungers who think they can date you up, leave a big package for you to keep, and then expect the profit on a fivecent magazine to pay the traffic."
A taxicab pulled in close to the curb.
"Remember what I said, Mamie," said Perry Mason, as he raised his hat and walked across the sidewalk.
"M'Gawd," she said, "he's got on a new outfit this morning. He's busted into gray… and look at the smirk on his face. Damn him. He thinks we're just getting in from a party."
Perry Mason paid no attention to the comment. His eyes held Bradbury as he walked to the door of the taxicab, jerked it open and climbed in.
"Drive straight up this street, buddy, until you come to a goodlooking side street without much traffic. Turn down it and park when you find a place."
He smiled at Della Street; then met Bradbury's gaze.
"You're an insistent cuss, Bradbury," he said.
Bradbury's eyes met his steadily.
"I'm a fighter, Mason," he remarked gently.
Mason studied the cold gray eyes, the determined angle of the jaw, and nodded his head. He pulled a package of cigarettes from his pocket, offered Della Street one, saw Bradbury shake his head in refusal and reach for a cigar; then, as Mason took one of the cigarettes, Bradbury scraped a match along the sole of his shoe. Mason also lit a match. Della Street thanked Bradbury with her eyes and accepted Mason's match. Bradbury frowningly diverted his match to his cigar. Perry Mason lit his cigarette after Della had her light, and said to Bradbury, "Well, what's the rumpus? I understand you were going to do things if you didn't see me."
"I have got to do certain things," said Bradbury slowly. "I feel that I am entitled to a conference with an attorney when I have hired him on a basis of fair remuneration."
"Let's not argue about that," Mason said. "You've got your conference now. What do you want?"
"I want you," Bradbury said, "to defend Dr. Robert Doray on the charge of murdering Frank Patton."
"I thought you wanted me to defend Marjorie Clune."
"I do. I also want you to defend Dr. Doray."
"You think they're both going to be indicted?"
"They both have been formally charged with murder," Bradbury said. "I got the news this morning. A formal charge has been lodged against them, and a warrant issued."
"Precisely what," asked Perry Mason, "do you want me to do?"
"I want you to defend Dr. Robert Doray," said Bradbury in closeclipped sentences, "and see that he is acquitted."
"It may not be easy to do either," Perry Mason said slowly, staring speculatively at the smoke which spiraled up from his cigarette. "If they are jointly charged with murder, it may be that for ethical reasons, I cannot represent both. In other words, it is possible that Doray might try to throw the blame on Marjorie Clune, and Marjorie Clune might try to throw it on Doray."
"Don't be technical, Counselor," Bradbury said. "The situation is critical. Something has to be done, and done immediately. I want Dr. Doray acquitted. You know as well as I do that there will be no question of a conflict of interest. If there is any chance of any conflict developing, it will be when each tries to take the blame in order to shield the other. That is one thing that I have to guard against. I want you to represent both of them to see that that doesn't happen."
"Well," Mason said slowly, "we'll argue about some of those ethical points when the proper time comes. As I understand it, neither of them has been arrested yet."
"That's right."
"Do you know all of the case that the police have?"
"They've got a pretty strong case," Bradbury said. "A very strong case against Dr. Doray. I doubt if they have a strong case against Marjorie Clune."
"And you want me to get Doray acquitted. Is that right?"
"You have simply got to get Doray acquitted."
"Suppose it should become necessary to have separate attorneys representing the defendants?" Perry Mason said, his eyes puckered and staring at Bradbury with such keen concentration that their depths seemed to hold a steely glitter. "Which one do you want me to take?"
"It's not going to be necessary," Bradbury said, "and I don't want to discuss the point. I am going to insist that you represent both, Counselor, and that as a part of your representation, you clear up the question of the door."
Perry Mason's eyes narrowed until the lids were level.
"What question about what door?" he asked.
"The question about the locked door into Patton's apartment," Bradbury said. "There are some things I don't need to go over, Mr. Mason. I am not particularly a fool. I appreciate what you have done. I recognize that what you have done was done for the best interests of all concerned, as you understood those interests at the time. However, I think the police are going to be able to prove that Marjorie Clune was at the apartment about the time of the murder. If the door of the apartment was unlocked, Marjorie Clune could have walked in, could have discovered the body, and could have walked away in a panic. And guilty of no crime other than failing to notify the officers of what she had found. If the door of the apartment was locked, it would mean that Marjorie Clune must have a key. It would mean that she must have been in sufficient control of her mental faculties to pause and lock the door behind her when she left the apartment. That won't look good for Marjorie. It won't look good for her case, and it won't look good for her character."