Marjorie Clune paused in the doorway.
"Please," she said to Perry Mason, "please don't let me get you into trouble."
Della Street exerted a gentle pressure with her arm and piloted Marjorie Clune to the inner office and sat her in the big leather chair which flanked Perry Mason's desk.
"Wait there and try and get some rest," she said. "You can lay your head right back against the cushions and curl your feet up in the seat."
Marjorie Clune smiled at her gratefully.
Della Street rejoined Perry Mason in the outer office.
Mason walked to the door of the outer office, opened it and pushed the catch into place which put on the night latch.
"I don't want to be disturbed for a few minutes," he said. "Where's Bradbury? In the law library?"
Della Street nodded her head, then glanced toward the door of Perry Mason's private office.
"Where did you find her?" she asked.
"You can take a lot of guesses," Perry Mason said, "and then you'll miss it."
"Where was she, chief?"
"In Summerville."
"How did she get down there?"
"By train. But I got there before she did."
"You did?"
"Yes. I was following some one else."
"Who?"
"Dr. Doray. He went down on the midnight plane."
"And they were there?" she asked.
Perry Mason nodded.
"Together, chief?"
Perry Mason pulled out his package of cigarettes, regarded them ruefully.
"Two left," he said.
"I've got a package here," Della Street told him.
Perry Mason lit a cigarette, and sucked in a huge drag of smoke.
"Were they together?" asked Della Street.
"In the bridal suite," Perry Mason told her.
"She's married then?"
"No, she wasn't married."
"Were they going to get married?"
"No, she was going to marry Bradbury."
"Then," said Della Street, "you mean… that… that…"
"Exactly," he told her. "She was going to marry Bradbury because Bradbury had jockeyed her into such a position that she had no other alternative. But, before she did that, she was going to give a week of her life to Bob Doray."
Della Street motioned toward the book which stood by the telephone.
Mason nodded.
"Yes," he said, "I got the signal as soon as I came in. That was particularly important. It was something I had to know, but I was afraid there might be some detectives in here and I didn't want you to tell me in front of them."
"Well," she said, "there's the signal that you told me to arrange. Marjorie Clune got a telephone call just about five minutes before she left Thelma Bell's apartment."
"Did Thelma Bell know who was on the other end of the wire?"
"No, she said that Marjorie stood and talked a few minutes and then said, 'I'll call you back within an hour, or words to that effect; that Marjorie didn't seem at all glad to have the telephone call. She was frowning when she hung up the receiver."
Perry Mason studied the curling smoke from the end of his cigarette with thoughtful eyes.
"How about Bradbury?" she asked. "Are you going to follow his instructions?"
"To hell with him," Perry Mason said. "I'm running this show."
The door of the law library swung noiselessly open. J.R. Bradbury strode into the office, his face white and drawn, his eyes cold and determined.
"You may think you're running this show," he said, "but I've got the whip hand. So, the little doublecrossing cheap tart had to twotime me, did she? She went to the bridal suite with Doray, did she? Damn them. I'll show them both!"
Mason regarded Bradbury with sober speculation.
"Were you listening at the keyhole," he asked, "or did you bring a chair up to the transom?"
"Just in case you're interested," Bradbury said in cold fury, "I was listening at the transom, which I'd previously opened so that I could hear."
Della Street turned from Bradbury to Perry Mason, her eyes indignant. She sucked in a rapid breath as though to speak; then, catching Mason's glance, remained silent.
Perry Mason lounged upon the corner of her desk easily, swinging his foot lazily back and forth.
"Looks as though we're going to have a showdown, Bradbury," he said.
Bradbury nodded. "Don't misunderstand me, Mason," he said. "You're a fighter; I've got a great deal of respect for you, but I'm a fighter, myself, and I don't think you have the proper respect for me." His voice was harsh, fiat and strained.
Perry Mason's eyes were steady, calm and patient.
"No, Bradbury," he said, "you're not a fighter; you're the type who takes advantage of another person's mistakes. You've got the banking type of mind. You sit on the sideline, watch, wait and pounce, when you think the time is ripe. I don't fight that way. I go barging out, making my own breaks and taking chances. You don't take any chances; you sit in a position of safety. You never risk your own skin."
There was a swift change of expression in Bradbury's eyes.
"Don't you ever think I don't risk my own skin," he said. "I take plenty of risks, but I'm smooth enough to always cover them."
Perry Mason's eyes were patient and contemplative.
"You're partially right at that, Bradbury," he said. "Perhaps I should amend my original statement."
"All this isn't getting us anywhere, Mason," Bradbury told him. "I thought you and I understood each other perfectly. I'm accustomed to my own way. I get it by hook or by crook, but I get it. A lot of people hate me; a lot of them think I use unfair tactics, but every one has to admit that when I say I'm going to do a thing I do it."
Della Street glanced from one man to the other.
Perry Mason smoked in silence.
"I told you," Bradbury said, "that I wanted Bob Doray to plead guilty."
"That isn't what you told me originally," Mason said.
"I've changed my mind, and, incidentally, my plans. It's what I'm telling you now," Bradbury said.
Mason pursed his lips thoughtfully, glanced at Della Street, then back to Bradbury.
"I would never have accepted the employment if I had known that was to have been one of the conditions, Bradbury," he said. "You remember that you forced me to represent Dr. Doray. I told you that if I represented him, I would represent him to the best of my ability; that I would put up a fight for him, and that his interests and the interests of Marjorie Clune would be the only things I would consider."
"I don't care what you told me," Bradbury said impatiently. "Time is getting short here. We've got to have some action, and…"
There was the sound of a man's weight lunging against the door of the outer office. The frosted glass showed the shadows of two men silhouetted against it. The knob rattled once more and then imperative knuckles pounded on the door.
Perry Mason nodded to Della Street.
"Open the door, Della," he told her.
Bradbury spoke swiftly.
"Let's not misunderstand each other Mason. I'm absolutely determined about this thing. You're working for me; you're going to follow my orders."
"I'm working," Perry Mason said, "for the best interests of my clients. I accepted the employment on the understanding that I was going to secure a complete vindication, and…"
He broke off as Della Street swung the door open.
Riker and Johnson pushed their way past her into the room.
"Well," said Riker, "we've got you at last."
"You boys looking for me?" asked Perry Mason.
Johnson laughed.
"Oh, no," he said with heavy sarcasm, "we weren't looking for you at all; we just wanted to see you about a little legal advice."
Riker motioned toward Bradbury.
"Who's this man?" he asked.
"A client," Perry Mason said.
"What's his business?"