"Rob and I will be going," she said, "and there's no use trying to tell you how much we appreciate what you've done. We can compensate you financially, but in addition to that we want you to know…"
Her voice shook, and there were tears in her eyes.
Perry Mason gripped her hand, then nodded. "I know," he said.
When the door leading from his private office to the corridor had closed on them, he turned to Della Street.
"Here," she said, "is the telegram. If you can make sense from it, you can do more than I can."
He took the telegram and read:
Sending you special delivery air mail photograph of utmost importance in case I am about to present. Keep photograph and await me in your office without fail.
(Signed) Eva Lamont.
Perry Mason stared at the telegram curiously.
"Did the photograph come?" he asked.
"Yes," she said, "a few minutes ago." She opened a drawer in her desk and took out a photograph. It was the photograph of a young woman, generously displaying a beautiful pair of legs. Below the photograph was a typewritten caption which had been pasted to it. The caption said, simply:
The Girl with the Lucky Legs
The photograph did not show the woman's face, merely her shoulders, hips, arms, hands, which held the skirts very, very high, and the legs. They were slim, straight legs, perfectly formed, stockinged and gartered.
"Now," said Perry Mason, his curiosity aroused, "what the devil does that mean?"
"I don't know," said Della Street, "but I'm going to make a file—The Case of the Girl With the Lucky Legs."
Perry Mason looked at his watch. The weariness had dropped from his face, and his eyes were sparkling.
"I wonder," he said, "just what time Eva Lamont is due here."