Perry Mason tapped on the door of apartment 301 at the St. James Apartments.

Almost instantly he heard the quick rustle of motion from the interior of the apartment, then footsteps on the floor, then silence as the person on the other side of the door stood motionless, listening with an ear against the door.

Perry Mason knocked again.

He thought he could hear the sound of quick feminine whispers. Then, after a moment of silence, a voice said, "Who is it?"

Perry Mason said gruffly, "Telegram."

"Who for?" asked the feminine voice, louder and more confident this time.

"Thelma Bell," said Perry Mason.

There was the sound of a bolt clicking back. The door opened a crack and a bare arm thrust out through a loose sleeve that appeared in the crack in the door.

"I'll take it," said the voice.

Perry Mason pushed the door open and entered the apartment.

He heard the swirl of motion, the patter of footsteps. A door slammed shut before he could turn his head in the direction of the noise. There was water running in the bathroom, and Perry Mason could hear the steady churning of the water in the tub.

A woman wearing a kimono which had apparently been thrown hastily about her stood staring at Perry Mason with warm brown eyes which now held a trace of angry defiance as well as a trace of panic.

She was, perhaps, twentyfive years of age, well formed, and poised.

Perry Mason stared at her.

"Are you Thelma Bell?" he asked.

"Who are you?"

Perry Mason let his eyes drift over her, noticing the dampness of the fine hairs of her temples, the bare feet, hurriedly thrust into slippers, the pink coloring of the skin at the ankles.

"Are you Thelma Bell?" he again inquired.

"Yes," she said.

"I want to see Marjorie Clune."

"Who are you?"

"Is Marjorie here?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"I haven't seen Margy in ages," she said.

"Who's in there taking a bath?" Mason asked.

"There's no one in there," she said.

Perry Mason stood quietly, staring at the woman. The water in the bathroom had been turned off, and there could plainly be heard the sounds of hurried splashings as some one performed a quick, vigorous scrubbing. Then there was the sound of bare feet thudding to the floor.

Perry Mason let his smiling eyes contradict the girl's statement by calling her attention to the physical proof of her falsehood.

"Who are you?" she demanded again.

"Are you Thelma Bell?" he asked.

She nodded.

"I am Perry Mason, an attorney," he told her. "It's imperative that I get in touch with Marjorie Clune right away."

"Why?" she asked.

"I'll explain that to Miss Clune."

"How did you know she was here?"

"That is something I don't want to tell you right now," Perry Mason said.

"I don't think Miss Clune would wish to see you. I don't think she wants to see any one."

"Listen," Perry Mason said, "I'm all attorney. I'm here to represent Miss Clune. She's in trouble; I'm going to help her out."

"She isn't in any trouble," Thelma Bell said.

"She's going to be," Perry Mason retorted grimly.

Thelma Bell wrapped the kimono more tightly about her, moved to the bathroom door, tapped on the panels.

"Margy," she said.

There was a moment of silence, then a voice said, "What is it, Thelma?"

"There's a lawyer out here," she said, "who wants to see you."

"Not me," said the voice from the other side of the bathroom door. "I don't want any lawyer."

"You come on out," Thelma Bell said.

She turned back to Perry Mason.

"She'll be out in a minute.

"I wish you'd tell me how you knew Margy was here," Thelma Bell said. "There was no one who knew she was here. She came in this afternoon."

Mason frowned, crossed to a chair, dropped into it and lit a cigarette.

"Let's come down to earth," he said. "I know you; you're the young woman who won the leg contest Frank Patton held in Parker City. Patton gave you a fake motion picture contract and brought you here. You were too proud to go back. You've been getting by the best way you could. You met Marjorie Clune through Frank Patton. She was in the same kind of a jam that you were. You wanted to help her out.

"Marjorie Clune was at Frank Patton's apartment tonight. I've got to talk with her about what happened there, and I've got to talk with her before the police do."

"The police?" said Thelma Bell, her eyes widening.

"The police," Perry Mason repeated.

The door of the bathroom opened. A young woman with very blue eyes clasped a flannel bathrobe about her, stared at Perry Mason and then gave a quick little gasp.

"Oh, you recognize me, then," Perry Mason said.

Marjorie Clune said nothing.

"I saw you coming out of the Holliday Apartments," Perry Mason told her.

Thelma Bell's voice was quick and positive.

"You didn't see her coming out of the Holliday Apartments," she said. "She's been with me all the evening, haven't you, Margy?"

Marjorie Clune continued to stare at Perry Mason, her big blue eyes showing a hint of panic. She said nothing.

"The idea," Thelma Bell went on in a louder voice, "of you making such a statement as that! What would she be doing in Frank Patton's apartment? Anyway, she was with me all evening."

Perry Mason stared steadily at Marjorie Clune.

"Listen, Marjorie," he said in a kindly tone, "I'm here to represent you. You're in a jam. If you don't know it now, you will know it pretty soon. I'm a lawyer. I'm retained to represent your interests. I want to do what's best for you. I want to talk with you. Do I talk now, or do you want to wait until you can talk with me alone?"

"No," she said, "I want to talk now."

"Go ahead," Perry Mason told her, "and get some clothes on."

He turned to Thelma Bell.

"You, too," he said.

There was a small dressingroom which opened on one side of a swinging mirror, on the back of which was a wall bed. The girls exchanged glances, then moved swiftly toward the dressingroom.

"Don't take too much time comparing notes," Perry Mason said. "It won't do you any good. We've got to get down to brass tacks. The police may be here any minute. Make it snappy."

The door of the little dressing room slammed.

Perry Mason got up from the chair in which he had been seated. He looked around the apartment. He went to the bathroom and opened the door. Water was draining from the tub. There was a bath mat on the floor with wet stains on it. A wet towel lay in a heap near the bath mat. Perry Mason looked around. There were no clothes in the bathroom. He walked back to the apartment, saw a closet door, walked to the closet and opened the door. There was a long white coat with a fox fur collar hanging close to the door. Perry Mason picked up the bottom of the coat and ran it carefully through his fingers.

There was a puzzled frown on his face as he finished with his examination and let the coat drop back into position on the hanger. He noticed a shelf of shoes, and took down the shoes one at a time. There were no white shoes on the shelf.

He stood for a moment with his legs spread apart, standing with his weight slightly forward, his eyes squinted in thought, staring meditatively at the white coat with the fox fur collar. He was still standing in that position when the door of the dressingroom opened and Marjorie Clune entered the room, tugging her dress into position. A moment later, and Thelma Bell followed.

"Do you want to talk in front of her?" asked Perry Mason, jerking his head toward Thelma Bell.

"Yes," she said. "I haven't any secrets from Thelma Bell."

"Do you want to talk frankly and tell me everything?"

"Yes."

"I'll tell you first about me," Perry Mason told her. "I'm a lawyer. I've handled some pretty big cases here and I've been fairly successful. J.R. Bradbury is in this city. He's looking for you. He wanted to build up a case against Patton. He wanted to put Patton in jail if he could. He went up to see the district attorney; they told him nothing doing, that they didn't have enough evidence. Then he came to me. I think he wanted me to try and get a confession of some sort out of Patton. I think the district attorney had told him that he'd have to have something like that before we could do anything.