Perry Mason met his eyes steadily.

"That, Paul," he said, "is one of the questions the detectives are going to ask me."

Paul Drake looked nervously at his watch.

"Don't worry," Perry Mason said. "I'm not going to let the detectives find you here."

"Are you," asked Drake, "going to let them find you here?"

The lawyer's rugged face remained expressionless, seeming somehow to be firm and weatherbeaten. His patient eyes stared steadily at Paul Drake.

"Paul," he said, "I'm going to be frank with you. That's one of the things I can't afford to be questioned about right now."

He clicked back his swivel chair and pulled his hat down on his head.

Wordlessly, the men walked through the door which led to the outer corridor. Perry Mason pushed out the lights and the door clicked shut behind them.

"Where can we go?" asked Perry Mason. "In your office?"

Paul Drake fidgeted uncomfortably.

"What's the matter," asked Perry Mason, "are you getting gun shy? You and I have pulled some fast ones together. Now, you act as though I had the smallpox. Just because a couple of detectives want to ask me a question I haven't any intention of answering, is no sign I can't go to your office for an informal chat. If they found you in my office, it might not be so hot, but it certainly wouldn't bother you if they found me in your office."

"It isn't that," Paul Drake said. "I've got a confession to make. I was going to tell you when that telephone rang."

"A confession?" asked Perry Mason.

Paul Drake nodded and averted his eyes.

Perry Mason heaved a sigh.

"All right," he said, "let's go get a taxicab and ride around."

Perry Mason let the detective precede him into the taxicab.

"Drive straight down the street a couple of blocks, and then circle around the block," Perry Mason said.

The cab driver looked at them curiously for a moment, then snapped the car into gear. Perry Mason turned to Paul Drake.

"Well?" he said.

"It's a peculiar situation," said the detective. "I want you to understand one thing, Perry. I wouldn't doublecross you. I wouldn't doublecross any client, you least of all. I tried to get in touch with you and couldn't. I got in touch with Bradbury, who is my real client, and he said it was okay. There was a couple of hundred bucks in it for me, and I needed the money. Things have been rather quiet, and —"

"Never mind the hard luck story," Mason said. "Go ahead and tell me what happened, and make it snappy because I've got places to go."

"It's this way," Paul Drake said, speaking rapidly. "I came back to my office to wait for you right after I'd found out the facts on the murder case. While I was waiting a young woman walked in. She's a welldressed attractive young woman, with a peculiar look about her eyes. I can't tell just what it is. It's an expression that I don't like particularly. She said that she knew Patton had been murdered, and —"

"Wait a minute," said Perry Mason. "How the devil could she have known Patton had been murdered at that time?"

"I don't know," Drake said. "I'm telling you what she told me."

"Did you ask her?"

"Yes."

"What did she say?"

"She laughed in my face and told me I was to get information, not to ask for it."

"What's her name?" asked Perry Mason.

"The name she gives is that of Vera Cutter. She won't tell me where she lives. She says she'll get in touch with me when she wants to hear from me; that I'm not to try and get in touch with her. She says that she knows Marjorie Clune is mixed up in a murder and that she is friendly with Marjorie, and —"

"Wait a minute," said Perry Mason, "let's get this straight. Is she about twentyfour or twentyfive, with warm brown eyes, mahogany hair, a suntan complexion and —"

"No," said Paul Drake, "it isn't Thelma Bell, if that's what you're getting at. I know Thelma Bell's description. Remember, I had a man waiting for her at her apartment in order to get Patton's address. No, this woman is around twentyfour, but she's a decided brunette. She's got snapping, black eyes, long thin hands that seem very restless, a dead white skin, and —"

"How about her legs?" asked Perry Mason suddenly.

Paul Drake stared at him.

"What do you mean?"

"Has she got pretty legs, and does she like to show them?" Perry Mason asked.

Drake's eyes seemed to regard the lawyer with a contemplative scrutiny. There was a smoldering fire back of the glassy film.

"Wait a minute," Perry Mason said, "I'm serious."

"Why?" asked the detective.

"All of our contact with Patton runs to women who have been selected because of beautiful legs. They've been used for publicity purposes," Mason said. "Now, I'm wondering if this woman might not be connected with Patton instead of with Marjorie Clune."

"I see," Drake said. "Well, she's got pretty legs. She crosses them and let's you see lots of stocking."

"Go on," Mason said.

"This woman," said Paul Drake, "wanted me to accept employment to protect Marjorie Clune's interests. She seemed to know a lot of inside stuff. She won't tell me how she knows it. She says that Dr. Doray has got a devil of a temper; that Dr. Doray was jealous of Patton all the time Patton was in Cloverdale, and that Doray came to this city, not to rescue Marjorie, but to kill Patton."

Perry Mason stared steadily at Paul Drake.

"And you telephoned Bradbury?" he asked.

"Yes, I got Bradbury at his hotel. I explained the situation to him and asked him if I could take the employment. At first he said no, he wanted me to work for him exclusively, and he certainly didn't want me working with some woman and making reports to her. She heard the conversation and said that I could make all my reports to Bradbury; that she only wanted to see justice done; that she would be willing to forego any reports."

"You relayed that on to Bradbury?" asked Mason.

"Yes."

"What did he say?"

"That changed the situation so far as he was concerned. He said if I wanted to it was all right to go ahead."

"You outlined her theory of the case to him?"

"Yes."

Perry Mason made drumming motions with the tips of the fingers of his right hand against the glass window of the taxicab. Abruptly, he turned to Paul Drake.

"That explains it," he said.

"Explains what?"

"The tipoff on that Doray car."

The detective gave a sudden start of surprise, then caught himself and sat rigidly motionless.

"How did you know it was a tipoff?" he asked.

"This business about the homicide squad getting in touch with the deputy district attorney, and all that sort of stuff, sounds a little bit too fast and a little bit too efficient for the police," Perry Mason said. "You know as well as I do that most of the police efficiency, outside of regular routine stuff, is founded on tips and squeals. Now, who tipped you off that Doray's car was parked somewhere in the vicinity?"

"To tell you the truth," Paul Drake said, " — and, incidentally, Perry, this is the only thing I've held out on you—it was this woman who told me that Dr. Doray's car was near the scene of the murder at the time of the murder, that it had been parked in front of a fire plug, and that it had been tagged."

Perry Mason's eyes were glinting with excitement.

"Tell me," he said, "was this car a distinctive car?"

"Yes, I understand it was. It's a light roadster, but it has all kinds of attachments on it—a lot of trick horns and headlights. Dr. Doray thought it was good advertisement to drive a distinctive car. Cloverdale, you know, is a small city, and —"

Perry Mason tapped on the glass to catch the driver's attention.

"I'll get out here," he said.

He turned to Paul Drake.