"Yes," she said slowly and with some hesitation.

"Well," he said, "that's going to be okay then."

"But if I've got an alibi why should I go away?"

"I think it would be better, everything considered."

"Do you mean that it's going to be better for Marjorie?"

"Perhaps."

"If it's going to be better for Marjorie," she said with quick determination, "I'll do it. I'll do anything for her."

She switched on a reading light by the head of the bed, grabbed her kimono more tightly around her waist, stared at Perry Mason and then said, "When am I going?"

"Right away," he said, "as soon as you get dressed."

"Where am I going?"

"Places," he told her.

"Does it make any difference?"

"I think so."

"You mean that you're going to pick out the place I'm going to go?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I want to be able to put my finger on you."

"Have you talked with Margy?" she asked, her eyes, wide and innocent, fastened upon him with warm candor.

"Have you?" asked Perry Mason.

"Why, no," she said in a tone of rising surprise. "Certainly not."

Perry Mason abruptly stopped in his pacing. His feet were planted far apart, his jaw thrust belligerently forward. He shook off the fatigue which had sagged his shoulder muscles and stared at her with a somber light in his steady eyes.

"Don't lie to me," he said savagely. "You talked with Marjorie Clune since she left here."

Thelma Bell let her eyes grow wide and hurt.

"Why, Mr. Mason!" she exclaimed reproachfully.

"Forget that stuff," he said. "You talked with Marjorie Clune since I talked with her."

She shook her head in mute negation.

"You talked with her," Perry Mason said savagely, "and told her that you'd been talking with me; that I said for her to get out of town, or you told her something to that effect. You told her that she was to get out of town. You told her something that made her go."

"I did not!" she blazed. "I didn't tell her anything of the sort. She was the one that told me."

"Ah," said Perry Mason, "she's the one that told you what?"

Thelma Bell lowered her eyes. After a moment she said in a low voice, "That she was going out of town."

"Did she say where she was going?"

"No."

"Did she say when she was going?"

"She was leaving at midnight," Thelma said.

Perry Mason looked at his watch.

"About three quarters of an hour ago," he said.

"Yes, I guess so."

"What time did you have the conversation?"

"Around eleven o'clock, I guess."

"Did she tell you where she was staying?"

"No, she said that she had to leave."

"What else did she tell you?"

"She just thanked me."

"Thanked you for what?"

"For wearing her clothes and giving her a break."

"Did she say anything about a message for me?" asked Perry Mason.

"No. She said that you had told her to stay here in the city, to be in her room at the hotel, but that circumstances had arisen which made it absolutely impossible for her to do as you wished."

"Did she say what the circumstances were?"

"No."

"Give any hints?"

"No."

"You," said Perry Mason, "are lying."

"No, I'm not," she said, but her eyes did not meet his.

Perry Mason stood staring moodily down at the young woman.

"How did you know my secretary's name was Della Street?" he inquired.

"I didn't know."

"Oh, yes, you did," he said. "You rang up Dr. Doray and impersonated Della Street. You told him you were Della Street, the secretary to Perry Mason, and that he should get out of town."

"I didn't tell him any such thing!"

"You called him."

"I did not!"

"Do you know where he's staying?"

"I've heard Margy mention his name. It seems to me there's a hotel—the Midwick Hotel, I think it is."

"Yes," Mason told her, "you seem to have a pretty good memory."

"You can't accuse me of things like that!" she flared suddenly, staring at him with indignation in her eyes. "I didn't call Dr. Doray."

"Did he call you?"

"No."

"Did you hear from him?"

"No."

"Did Marjorie say anything about him?"

Her eyes lowered.

"No," she said.

"Dr. Doray was in love with Marjorie?" Perry Mason asked.

"I guess so."

"Is she in love with him?"

"I don't know."

"Is she in love with Bradbury?"

"I don't know."

"Did she talk over her affairs with you?"

"What sort of affairs?"

"Affairs of the heart—tell you who she loved?"

"No, we were never very intimate. She talked mostly about Cloverdale and about the predicament she was in on account of Frank Patton. She said that she was afraid to go back to Cloverdale; that she was ashamed; that she couldn't face them there."

Perry Mason nodded toward the dressing room.

"Get dressed," he said.

"Can't I wait until morning?"

"No," he told her, "there's a chance the police may come tonight."

"But I thought you wanted me to talk with the police. I thought you wanted me to let them think I was the girl in the white coat that the officer had seen coming from the apartment."

"I've changed my mind," Mason said. "Get dressed."

She got to her feet, took two steps toward the dressingcloset, then suddenly turned to face him.

"You understand one thing, Perry Mason," she said in a tone that was vibrant, "I know that I can trust you. I know that you stand back of your clients. There's only one reason that I'm doing this, and that's for Marjorie. I want that kid to get a square deal."

Mason nodded grimly.

"Never mind that," he said, "get dressed."

Perry Mason resumed his pacing of the floor while Thelma Bell was dressing. When she emerged, fully clothed, including a small suitcase which she carried in her hand, Perry Mason looked at his watch.

"Do you suppose," he said, "you could go a bite of breakfast?"

"I'll tell the world I could go some coffee," she said.

Mason took her arm and transferred the light suitcase to his hand.

"Let's go," he said.

They left the apartment. The negro in the lobby was awake as they went out. He stared at them with roundeyed curiosity, but there was a dazed, sleepsodden look about his face which made his stare seem uncomprehending.

Mason signaled his taxicab.

"Drive down the street," he said, "and stop at the first restaurant that's open, then wait."

The cab driver found a restaurant within two blocks. Perry Mason escorted Thelma Bell into the restaurant and ordered ham and eggs for himself, and, at her nod, doubled the order. A waiter slid a thick glass filled with water across the counter, pushed knives and forks into position.

Perry Mason suddenly gave a guilty start.

"My wallet!" he said.

"What about it?"

"It's gone," he told her. "I must have left it in your apartment."

"I don't think so," she said, "you didn't take it out, did you?"

"Yes," Mason said, "I was looking for an address. It's got my cards in it. I don't want the officers to know I was there.

"Give me your keys. I'll take a run up and get it."

"I can go," she said.

"No," he told her, "you wait here. I don't want you to get around that apartment any more. The officers may be there any minute."

"What will happen if they find you there?"

"I'll tell them that I am looking for you."

"But what about the key?"

"I won't go in unless the coast is clear."

She gave him the key to the apartment. Perry Mason caught the eye of the waiter.

"Put on one of those orders of ham and eggs," he said, "and lots of coffee. Save the other one until I get back."

He strode rapidly out of the restaurant to the taxicab, and told the driver, "Get back to the St. James Apartments as quick as you can. Step on it."