" Rye."

"Both had rye?"

"Yes."

"Ginger ale?"

"Yes."

"Both had ginger ale?"

"Yes." Perry Mason gave a sigh of disgust. He pulled himself up from the chair and made a wry face.

"I should have known better," he said.

"What do you mean?" Sanborne wanted to know.

"Evidently Thelma Bell had you primed before I telephoned this evening," Mason said. "When I said that I was at the Emergency Hospital you answered that test all right. Now you talk like a school kid."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, this business of both having the same thing. Both had Martinis. Both had ham sandwiches. Both had rye highballs with ginger ale. What a sweet witness you'd make to fix up an alibi in a murder case!"

"But I'm telling you the truth," Sanborne said.

Mason's laugh was mirthless.

"Do you know what Thelma Bell told the officers?" he asked.

Sanborne shook his head.

"They asked her all about the drinks," he said. "She said that you went to a speakeasy; that you had a Manhattan and she had an oldfashioned cocktail; that you'd had dinner before you went there, both of you; that you didn't eat a thing while you were there; that you got a bottle of wine, with two glasses, and had some of that, and that then you had your fight and went home."

Sanborne ran his fingers through his matted hair.

"I didn't know," he said, "they were going to ask us all about those drinks."

Perry Mason walked toward the door.

"Don't use your telephone," he said, "until morning. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I understand, but shouldn't I call —"

"You heard what I said," Mason told him. "Don't use your telephone until morning."

He jerked open the door, slammed it shut behind him and walked down the narrow corridor toward the elevator. His shoulders were slightly slumped forward in an attitude of dejection. His face, however, remained virtually without expression. His eyes were weary.

The cage rattled upward, came to a stop. Perry Mason climbed in.

"Find your party?" asked the elevator boy.

"Yes."

"If there's anything you want," began the boy, "I can —"

"No, you can't," Perry Mason said almost savagely, and then added, after a moment, with grim humor, "I wish to God you could."

The elevator operator brought the cage to the lobby and stood staring curiously at Perry Mason as Mason barged purposefully across the lobby.

"St. James Apartments–962 East Faulkner Street," said Perry Mason with a touch of weariness in his voice as he jerked open the door of the taxicab.

Perry Mason pushed through the swinging door of the St. James Apartment house lobby. A colored boy was seated back of the desk, his feet up, his chair tilted back, his mouth open. He was making snoring noises.

The lawyer walked quietly past the desk, past the elevator, to the stairs. He climbed the stairs with slow, heavy tread, taking the three flights at a uniform pace, and without pausing to rest. He tapped with his knuckles on the door of Thelma Bell's apartment. At the third knock he heard the sound of the bed springs.

"Open up, Thelma," he said.

He heard her move to the door, then the bolt came back and she was staring at him with wide, startled eyes.

"What is it?" she asked. "What's gone wrong?"

"Nothing," he told her. "I'm just checking up. What happened with the cops?"

"They didn't notice the coat and hat at all," she said. "They came out here to ask me about an appointment I had with Frank Patton. They didn't let on that he was dead and I didn't let on that I knew it. I told them that I had an appointment with him for nine o'clock in the morning tomorrow morning, and that my friend, Marjorie Clune, had an appointment at the same time; that I hadn't seen Marjorie for some little time; that I didn't know where she was staying and didn't know how to get in touch with her."

"Then what?" he asked.

"I kept moving around so they could see the white coat and hat," she said, "but no one seemed to pay any attention to it."

Perry Mason squinted his eyes thoughtfully.

"I'll tell you what happened," he said. "They came out here because they saw that message on the table in Patton's apartment. They wanted to check up on you. They hadn't talked things over very much with the officer on the beat. They'll do that later, and then some one will remember about that white coat and hat and they'll be back."

"You think so?" she asked.

He nodded moodily and stood staring at her steadily.

"You're not worried about your alibi?" he said.

"Oh, no," she told him, "that alibi is all right. I tell you I wasn't there. I wouldn't lie about it."

"How well did you know Margy?" he asked.

"Not particularly well. That is, I've only known her a couple of weeks. I've sympathized with her a lot, and tried to do what I could for her."

"You wouldn't try to save her from a murder rap by putting yourself in danger?"

Thelma Bell shook her head.

"Not murder," she said, "not me."

"There was a message at Patton's apartment to call Margy at Hartcourt 63891," he said. "That's this number. I'm wondering how the detectives —"

"Oh, I explained that," she said. "I told them that I was out around six o'clock, but that Marjorie evidently had dropped in for a visit; that I found a note from her under the door."

"Did they want to see the note?"

"Oh, yes."

"What did you tell them?"

"I told them that I'd slipped it into my purse; that I didn't intend to save it; that I'd torn it up and couldn't remember just where I was when I'd torn it up, but I was in a speakeasy some place with my boy friend."

"They accepted that explanation all right?"

"Yes, they didn't seem interested in me at all; they were interested in Margy and they were interested in finding out about Margy's legs. They wanted to know if I'd ever heard her called 'The Girl with the Lucky Legs. "

"What did you tell them?"

"I told them yes, of course."

"They didn't know that you'd won a contest at Parker City?"

"No, they didn't know very much about me. They wanted to know how well I knew Frank Patton and I said not at all well; that I'd met him through Margy and that I was to go there for an appointment with Margy; that Patton had some work for us. I told them I wouldn't go if there was any reason why I shouldn't. They stalled along for a while and then finally told me that the reason I shouldn't go there was because Patton was dead. They looked at me to see how I took it."

"How did you take it?" he asked.

"I told them that it wasn't any surprise to me; that I'd heard he had a weak heart and he lived a pretty fast pace. They told me that he'd been murdered, and I stared at them and said, 'My God! and sat down on the bed. I let my eyes get big and said, 'To think that I had an appointment with him tomorrow morning! My God! What would have happened if I hadn't known about it and had gone on up to his apartment! "

"Did they say anything then?"

"No, they looked around and went out."

"And you were wearing the coat and the hat?"

"Yes."

Perry Mason hooked his thumbs in the armholes of his vest and started pacing up and down the carpeted floor of the apartment. Thelma Bell was attired in a nightgown and kimono. She looked down at her bare toes and wiggled them.

"My feet are getting cold," she said. "I'm going to cover up."

He shook his head at her.

"You're going to dress," he said.

"Why?" she inquired.

"I think," he said, "that you'd better go places."

"Why?"

"On account of the police."

"I don't want to," she told him.

"I think you'd better."

"But that would make it look bad for me."

"You've got an alibi, haven't you?"