Perry Mason watched her shrewdly.

"All right," he said, "suppose I tell you. You telephoned to Dr. Doray. He talked you into coming down here with him. You were either going to be married and face the music together, or else you were going to try and hide here. Which was it?"

"No," she said in a firm, steady voice, "that isn't right, Mr. Mason. Neither of them is. I was the one who rang Dr. Doray. I suggested this trip. I rang his hotel. He had checked out. I left a message for him to call me at the Bostwick Hotel. He had checked out of his hotel, but he called in later and got the message. He called me. I asked him if he would come down here with me for a week. We were to get the bridal suite and be together. At the end of that time, I was going to surrender to the police."

"Here?" asked Perry Mason.

"No, of course not. We weren't going to let any one know where we had been. We were going to return to the city."

"And both were going to surrender to the police?" Perry Mason asked.

She nodded.

"What was the reason," asked Perry Mason, "that you broke your promise to me and came down here on this trip?"

She stared at him with frank, steady eyes.

"Because," she said, "I wanted a week with Bob."

Perry Mason regarded her unflinching eyes with speculative appraisal.

"You're not the type of girl who would do that," he said.

"You have seen Bob Doray off and on for months, and yet you haven't shown any desire to weekend with him—at least I don't think you have. Now, all of a sudden, you want to give him a week, and then you don't care what happens. You —"

She came to Perry Mason, put her hands on his shoulders; her lips were white and quivering.

"Please," she said, "don't tell him. You're going to figure it out in a minute. Please stop. You'll know if you'll only take time to think."

Perry Mason frowned at her, and then his eyes narrowed.

"By God," he said, "I believe I do know."

"Please don't tell him," Marjorie Clune pleaded.

Perry Mason turned away from her, walked to the window, and stood with his hands jammed into his pockets. He heard Dr. Doray rush to Marjorie Clune, clasp her in his arms.

"What is it, sweetheart? Please tell me."

"Don't, Bob, you're going to make me cry. Remember the bargain. I was to give you one week. You weren't to ask any questions. You promised that —"

Abruptly, Perry Mason's voice cut through the low tones of their conversation. His voice was like that of a radio announcer reporting some news event.

"There's an automobile," he said, "that's just parked across the street. A big man, wearing a black, broadbrimmed hat, is just getting out of the car. He's a typical country sheriff. There's another man getting out of the other side. He's a man in a uniform with a police cap with gold braid on it. He looks like a chief of police. The men are talking together. They're looking across here at the hotel."

The room behind Mason became suddenly silent. Mason continued, in the same impersonal tone of voice:

"They're starting to walk across the street toward the hotel. I don't think there's any question but what they have been tipped off to come here and look for at least one of you. Perhaps they trailed Marjorie. Perhaps they found out about Dr. Doray coming down on the midnight plane."

Perry Mason whirled to face the pair.

Dr. Doray was standing very erect, his face white. Marjorie Clune was at his side; her lips were unquivering, her eyes were fastened upon Perry Mason.

"All right," she said, "if we have to, we can take it right on the chin. You're going to represent Dr. Doray as well as myself, Mr. Mason. That's understood, is it not?"

"That," said Perry Mason, "is understood. And I'm going to do it in my own way."

"What's that?" she asked.

Perry Mason's eyes shifted to Dr. Doray.

"You've got to play the part of a man," he said. "I'm going to throw you to the wolves. You're going to take it and like it. You're going to promise me one thing. It's going to be the most difficult thing you ever did in your life, but you're going to do it."

"Will it help Marjorie?" Doray asked quietly.

"Yes," said Perry Mason.

"What is it?"

"You're going to keep absolutely quiet."

"What else?" asked Dr. Doray.

Perry Mason laughed grimly.

"That's going to be plenty," he said. "They're going to work every trick on you that's known to police psychology. They're going to tell you that Marjorie Clune has confessed to the murder; that she's done it because she loves you, and that she wants to save you. They'll make you believe it. They may even show you a signed statement that they claim she's given to them. They'll ask you if you're going to be a man, or if you're going to hide behind her skirts and let her take the death penalty for a crime that you committed. They'll try everything they can think of to make you talk. Perhaps it will be a bluff. Perhaps it won't. I want you to promise me that you won't try to do any thinking about whether it's a bluff or whether it isn't. I want you to promise me that you'll leave the question of Marjorie's defense absolutely and entirely up to me; that no matter what they tell you, you'll keep quiet. That you'll tell them I am your attorney and that you want to communicate with me. Will you do that?"

"Yes."

Perry Mason turned to Marjorie Clune.

"Where's your suitcase?"

"I left it at the depot. I wanted to make sure Bob was here."

"Good girl," he said. "Come with me."

Doray circled her with his arms, drew her hungrily to him. His lips sought hers.

Perry Mason jerked the door open.

"You haven't got any time for that stuff," he said. "Come on, Marjorie."

She continued to cling to Dr. Doray for a moment; then she turned and ran to Perry Mason.

"Close and lock the door, Doray," Mason said. "Don't be in a hurry about opening it."

He grabbed Marjorie Clune's arm and ran down the corridor. Near a corner of the corridor, he knocked on a door. There was the sound of motion behind the door.

"Quick," said Perry Mason, and whisked Marjorie around the corner of the corridor. He knocked on another door. There was no answer. He pulled a bunch of skeleton keys from his pocket, inserted one, unlocked the door and held it open.

"Go on in," he told Marjorie Clune.

Marjorie Clune walked across the threshold, and had just entered the room when the door of the elevator clanged open and two men, one wearing the uniform of a police officer with a goldbraided cap, the other wearing a black, broadbrimmed Stetson, stepped into the corridor, and pounded toward Perry Mason.

Perry Mason moved with calm, evenspaced tranquillity. He entered the room, standing so that his broad shoulders blocked the officers from seeing Marjorie Clune. Slowly, he groped for the door with the back of his heel, and kicked the door shut.

"There's a sign in the closet, Marjorie," he said, "a sign printed on pasteboard, PLEASE DO NOT DISTURB. Get that and bring it to me."

She opened the closet door, found the sign and handed it to him wordlessly.

Perry Mason was standing by the door, his head cocked slightly on one side, after the manner of one who is listening.

The sounds of rumbling conversation carried to them through the open transom. Then the sounds became more indistinct, and faded out entirely.

Perry Mason turned the knob, opened the door, slipped the string of the pasteboard placard over the knob, closed the door and twisted the bolt which locked it from the inside. He gave the hotel room a sweeping glance of inspection.

"It's unrented. Probably we'll be undisturbed here for some little time," he said.

"What are you going to do?" asked Marjorie Clune.

"Try to get you out of here and back to the city, where you should have been in the first place. Keep quiet. Don't say anything. Sit down in that chair."