The Case of the Lucky Legs
Frank Patton."
    "What about Frank Patton?"
    "He didn't like Frank Patton."
    "Why? Was he jealous?"
    "No, he knew the way I felt toward Patton. He thought Patton was dragging me down hill."
    "In what way?"
    "The contacts he was making for me."
    "What, for instance?"
    "Modeling," she said. "Artists, illustrators, and such stuff."
    "Your boy friend didn't like it?"
    "No."
    "What's his name?" Perry Mason wanted to know.
    "George Sanborne is his name."
    "Where does he live?"
    "In the Gilroy Hotel – room 925."
    "Listen," said Perry Mason, "you wouldn't try to kid me?"
    "Try to kid my lawyer? Don't be silly."
    "I'm not your lawyer," he said. "I'm Marjorie Clune's lawyer. But I want to give you a fair break."
    She waved a hand toward the telephone.
    "There's the telephone," she said. "Go ring up George Sanborne. The number is Prospect 83945."
    Perry Mason strode to the telephone, jerked the receiver from the hook.
    "Get me Prospect 83945," he said when the exchange operator in the lobby asked for his number. And, as he spoke, he was aware of swift feminine whispers behind him.
    Perry Mason did not turn. He held the receiver against his ear, stood with his feet planted far apart and his chin thrust forward. There was the buzzing of the line, the click of a connection, and a feminine voice said, "Gilroy Hotel."
    "Give me Mr. Sanborne in 925," said Perry Mason.
    A moment later a masculine voice said, "Hello."
    "Thelma Bell," said Perry Mason, "was hurt in an automobile accident about an hour ago. She's at the Emergency Hospital, and we find your name on a card in her purse. Do you know her?"
    "What's that again?" asked the masculine voice.
    Perry Mason repeated his statement.
    "Say, what sort of a fake is this?" the masculine voice answered. "What do you think I am?"
    "We thought here at the hospital that perhaps you were a friend who'd be interested," Mason said.
    "Hospital hell!" said the man's voice. "I was out with Thelma Bell all the evening. I left her not more than half an hour ago. She wasn't hurt in no automobile accident then."
    "Thank you," said Perry Mason, and hung up.
    He turned to face Marjorie Clune.
    "Look here, Marjorie," he said, "we're not going to do any talking now. You may think Thelma Bell is the closest friend you've got in the world, but there's only one person who's going to hear your real story – that's your lawyer. Do you understand that?"
    She nodded her head.
    "If you say so," she said.
    "I say so."
    He turned to Thelma.
    "You're a loyal friend," he said, "but you won't misunderstand me. Anything Marjorie Clune tells you can be dragged out of you in front of a grand jury or in a court room. Anything she tells me is a privileged communication, and no power on earth can unseal my lips."
    "I understand," said Thelma Bell, standing very erect and very white-faced.
    "Now, you're willing to help Marjorie out on this thing?"
    "Yes."
    "Get those things on," he said. "Let's see how you look."
    She went to the closet and took down the coat. She put it on, fitted the hat into place.
    "Good enough," he said. "Got any white shoes?"
    "No," she said.
    "He probably won't remember the shoes anyway," Perry Mason said. "What I want you to do is to get out of the apartment and walk around on the other side of the street. Some time tonight you'll see a police car drive up here. You can probably tell it by the license. If you can't, you can tell it by the kind of a car it is. It'll either be a car from the homicide squad, and, in that event, three or four broadshouldered men who look like cops in plain clothes will get out of it; or else it'll be a radio car. In that event, it'll be a light roadster or coupe, and there'll be two men in it. One of them will get out and the other one will stay in the car to keep track of the radio calls."
    "I think I can spot it all right," she said. "What am I supposed to do then?"
    "As soon as you see the men head for this apartment building," Perry Mason said, "you'll come walking across

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