"How did Patton make his money out of it?" Mason asked.

"Through the Chamber of Commerce. He sold them on the idea of the advertising that would result to Cloverdale if the young woman was selected there. He sold scrip to the merchants; the merchants passed it out to customers. The scrip entitled the holder to share in the profits of the picture."

"Wait a minute," Perry Mason said, "let's get that straight. The scrip holders became partners in the production?"

"Not in the production," Bradbury said, "but in the earnings from the production. There's a vast distinction. We didn't realize it at the time. The actress was to sign a contract with Patton to act as her manager on a percentage of her earnings. The earnings were to include a share in the picture. Patton assigned that share of the earnings to the scrip holders."

"And the scrip holders," asked the lawyer, "were to assist in the selection of the actress?"

"Now," Bradbury said, "you've got the idea in a nutshell. The scrip was sold to the merchants; the merchants gave it out with purchases. The holders of the scrip cast ballots to determine who should be the actress selected. There were half a dozen candidates. They appeared in bathing suits, posed in the stores, modeled stockings in the windows, appeared in the local picture shows, allowed their legs to be photographed and the photographs placed in store windows. It stimulated business. Naturally, it exploited the young women. Patton made a bunch of money out of it."

"Then what happened?" asked Perry Mason.

"Marjorie Clune was selected as the most beautiful of the contestants, or candidates, if you want to call them that. Patton gave her a big sendoff. There was a banquet. The secretary of the Chamber of Commerce presented her with the contract. It was signed with a fountain pen which was placed in a glass case and returned to the Chamber of Commerce to be kept in the city hall. Cloverdale was to be put on the map. It was to be the home of the biggest motion picture actress in the industry; the most beautiful girl in America. Patton had engaged a drawingroom on the night train. Margy was escorted to the drawingroom by more than fifteen hundred cheering citizens. The drawingroom was banked with flowers. There was a brass band. The train pulled out."

Bradbury paused for a moment, then said dramatically. "That was the last anyone ever heard of Marjorie."

"You think she was abducted or something?" Mason asked.

"No; she was swindled and her pride wouldn't let her return. She had left Cloverdale to take her place among the big motion picture stars. She didn't have courage enough to return and admit she had been the victim of a legal fraud."

"Why do you say a legal fraud?" Perry Mason asked.

"Because it's airtight. There were no false representations made that the district attorney of Cloverdale is willing to act on. He wrote the motion picture company; they stated that they were in search of such an actress; that they had empowered Patton, in whose judgment they had the greatest confidence, to discover such an actress; that Marjorie Clune had appeared at their studios; they had employed her for two days while they started to film the picture, and then had decided to scrap it, due, in part, to the fact that Miss Clune did not screen well.

"The contract was limited to one picture?" asked Perry Mason.

"To three pictures, but they were all of them predicated on the satisfactory completion of the first."

"And the title of the first was specifically set forth so that there was nothing to prevent the motion picture company from abandoning production on that play, changing the name and employing another star for the same picture?" Perry Mason asked.

"Now," Bradbury said, "you've got the sketch."

"What do you want me to do?" Mason inquired.

"I want to put Frank Patton behind the bars," said Bradbury. "I think he's had some very shrewd legal advice; I want to get some that's just as shrewd. I want to find him. I want to find Marjorie Clune. I want to force him to make restitution to Marjorie Clune, and, incidentally, I want to make him confess to a fraudulent intent."

"Why?" Perry Mason asked.

"Because then," Bradbury said, "the district attorney here will proceed against the picture company, and the district attorney in Cloverdale will proceed against Patton; but they claim they have to prove his intent beyond a reasonable doubt. It's a mixedup case. If he claims good faith, they can't convict him. They want some sort of an admission from him."

"Why don't they get it then?" Mason asked.

"The district attorney in Cloverdale," Bradbury said, "for some reason simply won't have anything to do with the matter. The district attorney here says that he isn't going to wash Cloverdale's dirty linen; that if I want to work up a case against Patton, he'll take some action, but he won't waste county time and money trying to pull chestnuts out of the fire for Cloverdale; that it was Cloverdale money that was taken, and the representations were all made in Cloverdale."

"What else do you want me to do?" asked Perry Mason.

"I want you," Bradbury said, "to see that I don't get put in jail for blackmail."

"You mean when we find Patton?"

Bradbury nodded and pulled a wallet from his pocket.

"I am prepared to pay," he said, "a retainer of one thousand dollars."

Perry Mason turned to Bradbury.

"You'll need a good detective," he said. "Paul Drake, head of the Drake Detective Bureau, is a very good friend of mine. I'll give you a card to him."

He picked up his desk telephone.

"Della," he said to his secretary, "make a receipt to J.R. Bradbury for one thousand dollars. Get Paul Drake on the line, and then get me Maude Elton, the district attorney's secretary, on the line."

Maude Elton, the general secretary at the district attorney's office, was reputed to know more about the inside history of criminal matters than any one in the court house. Her complexion was slightly sallow; her features were hardly the kind to get motion picture producers raving over screen tests, but her face showed a quick vitality, an alert watchfulness which made her seem as restless as a canary hopping about in brighteyed scrutiny of a stranger who has approached too close to its cage.

"Hello, Mr. Mason," she said.

Perry Mason grinned at her.

"After seeing some of these dumbbells," he said, "who can't think of anything except getting their powder on smoothly, it's refreshing to look into a pair of eyes like yours."

"I presume," she told him, "that means you're going to try to pump some information out of me that you can't get from any one in the office."

"This is once," he told her, "that your environment has betrayed you."

"Why my environment?"

"Because you always see the seamy side of life. You deal with crooks and with persons who have ulterior motives. My errand today is merely that of a peaceful citizen, a taxpayer if you wish, who comes to the office of a public servant, seeking legitimate information."

She twisted her head slightly to one side as she stared at him.

"I believe you're right, at that," she said.

"I am," he told her.

"You're not kidding?"

"No. On the square."

"Well, I've seen lots of things in my time, but I never expected to see this. What is it you want?"

"I want to find out what deputy was consulted by a man named Bradbury who came here from Cloverdale to see about a racket that was pulled on the Chamber of Commerce in Cloverdale."

She frowned.

"Bradbury?" she said. "Why it was Dr. Doray who was in here about that—Dr. Robert Doray."

"No," he said, "I'm after a Bradbury—that's the name—J.R. Bradbury."

"Wait a minute," she said, "I'll take a look through the appointment book."