"Remember what I said, Mamie," said Perry Mason, as he raised his hat and walked across the sidewalk.

"M'Gawd," she said, "he's got on a new outfit this morning. He's busted into gray… and look at the smirk on his face. Damn him. He thinks we're just getting in from a party."

Perry Mason paid no attention to the comment. His eyes held Bradbury as he walked to the door of the taxicab, jerked it open and climbed in.

"Drive straight up this street, buddy, until you come to a goodlooking side street without much traffic. Turn down it and park when you find a place."

He smiled at Della Street; then met Bradbury's gaze.

"You're an insistent cuss, Bradbury," he said.

Bradbury's eyes met his steadily.

"I'm a fighter, Mason," he remarked gently.

Mason studied the cold gray eyes, the determined angle of the jaw, and nodded his head. He pulled a package of cigarettes from his pocket, offered Della Street one, saw Bradbury shake his head in refusal and reach for a cigar; then, as Mason took one of the cigarettes, Bradbury scraped a match along the sole of his shoe. Mason also lit a match. Della Street thanked Bradbury with her eyes and accepted Mason's match. Bradbury frowningly diverted his match to his cigar. Perry Mason lit his cigarette after Della had her light, and said to Bradbury, "Well, what's the rumpus? I understand you were going to do things if you didn't see me."

"I have got to do certain things," said Bradbury slowly. "I feel that I am entitled to a conference with an attorney when I have hired him on a basis of fair remuneration."

"Let's not argue about that," Mason said. "You've got your conference now. What do you want?"

"I want you," Bradbury said, "to defend Dr. Robert Doray on the charge of murdering Frank Patton."

"I thought you wanted me to defend Marjorie Clune."

"I do. I also want you to defend Dr. Doray."

"You think they're both going to be indicted?"

"They both have been formally charged with murder," Bradbury said. "I got the news this morning. A formal charge has been lodged against them, and a warrant issued."

"Precisely what," asked Perry Mason, "do you want me to do?"

"I want you to defend Dr. Robert Doray," said Bradbury in closeclipped sentences, "and see that he is acquitted."

"It may not be easy to do either," Perry Mason said slowly, staring speculatively at the smoke which spiraled up from his cigarette. "If they are jointly charged with murder, it may be that for ethical reasons, I cannot represent both. In other words, it is possible that Doray might try to throw the blame on Marjorie Clune, and Marjorie Clune might try to throw it on Doray."

"Don't be technical, Counselor," Bradbury said. "The situation is critical. Something has to be done, and done immediately. I want Dr. Doray acquitted. You know as well as I do that there will be no question of a conflict of interest. If there is any chance of any conflict developing, it will be when each tries to take the blame in order to shield the other. That is one thing that I have to guard against. I want you to represent both of them to see that that doesn't happen."

"Well," Mason said slowly, "we'll argue about some of those ethical points when the proper time comes. As I understand it, neither of them has been arrested yet."

"That's right."

"Do you know all of the case that the police have?"

"They've got a pretty strong case," Bradbury said. "A very strong case against Dr. Doray. I doubt if they have a strong case against Marjorie Clune."

"And you want me to get Doray acquitted. Is that right?"

"You have simply got to get Doray acquitted."

"Suppose it should become necessary to have separate attorneys representing the defendants?" Perry Mason said, his eyes puckered and staring at Bradbury with such keen concentration that their depths seemed to hold a steely glitter. "Which one do you want me to take?"

"It's not going to be necessary," Bradbury said, "and I don't want to discuss the point. I am going to insist that you represent both, Counselor, and that as a part of your representation, you clear up the question of the door."

Perry Mason's eyes narrowed until the lids were level.

"What question about what door?" he asked.

"The question about the locked door into Patton's apartment," Bradbury said. "There are some things I don't need to go over, Mr. Mason. I am not particularly a fool. I appreciate what you have done. I recognize that what you have done was done for the best interests of all concerned, as you understood those interests at the time. However, I think the police are going to be able to prove that Marjorie Clune was at the apartment about the time of the murder. If the door of the apartment was unlocked, Marjorie Clune could have walked in, could have discovered the body, and could have walked away in a panic. And guilty of no crime other than failing to notify the officers of what she had found. If the door of the apartment was locked, it would mean that Marjorie Clune must have a key. It would mean that she must have been in sufficient control of her mental faculties to pause and lock the door behind her when she left the apartment. That won't look good for Marjorie. It won't look good for her case, and it won't look good for her character."

"But," said Perry Mason slowly, "suppose Marjorie Clune had been in the bathroom; suppose she had been having hysterics. Suppose some one had heard her cries, and had rushed in and killed Frank Patton?"

"Then," said Bradbury, without hesitation and in a tone of voice which showed that he had carefully thought over that phase of the situation, "Marjorie Clune would still have been the last one to have left the apartment, unless she had emerged while the murderer was there. To have found a body, and given no alarm, is perhaps a violation of some technical law. To have found a murderer engaged redhanded in the commission of his crime, and to have aided in his escape, would be to make herself an accessory. I don't want her to be an accessory. All in all, Counselor, the question of that locked door becomes more and more important."

Della Street fidgeted uneasily.

The cab turned down a side street, sped along for two or three blocks; then pulled close to the curb.

"How's this?" asked the cab driver.

"That," Perry Mason said, "is fine." His voice was an even monotone, as though he had been talking in his sleep. His eyes were staring with hypnotic steadiness at Bradbury.

Slowly he said, still in that same expressionless monotone, "Let's understand each other, Bradbury. You want me to represent Marjorie Clune and Dr. Doray."

"Yes."

"I'm to be paid for that representation."

"Yes."

"And, furthermore, you insist upon an acquittal."

"Furthermore," said Bradbury, "I insist upon an acquittal. Under the circumstances, Counselor, I think I am entitled to it. If there is not an acquittal, it will be necessary for me to make a complete disclosure of certain facts, which I need not mention at the present time, but which indicate very strongly, to my mind, that the door was locked sometime after both Marjorie Clune and the murderer had left the apartment where the murder was committed."

"And that," said Perry Mason, "is an ultimatum."

"If you want to put it that way," Bradbury said, "it's an ultimatum. I don't want to be harsh, Counselor. I don't want to have you feel that I'm putting you on a spot, but, by God! I intend to get a square deal for Marjorie Clune. We've been over all that before."

"And for Bob Doray?" asked Perry Mason.

"I expect an acquittal for Dr. Robert Doray."

"Don't you realize," Mason said slowly, "that virtually every fact in the case points unerringly to the guilt of Dr. Doray?"

"Of course I realize it," Bradbury said. "What do you think I am, a fool?"