Slowly her hand came out and the fingers closed over the bill. Tears once more softened her eyes.

"You're commencing to get me half sold that it is superstition," she said, "and that shows how good you are."

Perry Mason started to say something, but turned as he heard some one call his name.

Paul Drake, the detective, and J.R. Bradbury were just emerging from the lobby of the office building.

Paul Drake was a tall man with drooping shoulders. He carried his head thrust slightly forward. His eyes were glassy and prominent. His face was twisted into an expression of droll humor. The eyes held no expression whatever.

"Hello, Perry," he said, "were you just going out?"

Mason looked at his wristwatch.

"I was just coming in," he said. "I've been down for a chat with the D.A.'s office. I see you and Bradbury have had your heads together. What did you accomplish—anything?"

Bradbury's quick gray eyes glinted to Perry Mason's face with swift affirmation.

"I'll say," he said. "This man knows more about the case now than I ever did." His eyes shifted over to the smiling blonde back of the cigar counter.

"Hello, sister," he said, "I'm buying some cigars. Pull out that box over there in the righthand corner."

He tapped on the glass of the showcase with his finger.

Mamie brought out the box of cigars.

"Ever try these?" asked Bradbury. "They're a fine twentyfivecent cigar."

Mason nodded, picked out a cigar.

"Take a couple," said Bradbury.

Mason took two cigars.

Bradbury slid the box toward Paul Drake.

"Take a couple," he said.

Drake took two of the cigars and Bradbury took two, and clinked a couple of silver dollars on the glass showcase.

"I'd like to talk with you about this case, Perry," said the detective, as Mamie rang up the sale in the cash register, and pulled change from the compartment of the cash drawer.

"When?" asked Mason.

"Right now, if you can spare the time."

Mamie handed Bradbury the change. Bradbury's gray eyes stared directly at her. His face was twisted into a friendly grin.

"Nice day," he said.

She nodded brightly.

Perry Mason looked at his watch.

"Okay," he said, "I can run up to the office, I guess."

Bradbury turned away from the blonde.

"You folks will want me there?" he asked.

"No," Paul Drake said, "it won't be necessary. I just want to talk over some of the legal points with Mr. Mason and find out just where we stand."

"In other words," Bradbury said, "you'd prefer not to have me there?"

"You don't need to be there," Paul Drake told him. "And you can't do any good by being present. I've got all the information that you have, I think."

"You should have," Bradbury told him, and laughed lightly. "You've asked enough questions."

He reached up with his left hand and took the lapel of Perry Mason's coat, pulling him gently away from the cigar counter and lowering his voice confidentially. "There's one thing," he said, "that I want to make certain about."

"What is it?" Mason asked.

"I've learned," said Bradbury, "that Bob Doray is in the city. I want you to understand that the employment you have taken from me precludes you from accepting any employment from him, except with my consent."

"Who's Bob Doray?" asked Perry Mason.

"He's from Cloverdale. He's a young dentist—rather impecunious. I don't like him."

"And what's he doing in the city?"

"He's here because Margy is here."

"A friend of hers?" asked Mason.

"He would like to be."

"And you think he'll offer me employment?"

"Hardly," said Bradbury. "I happen to know that he borrowed two hundred and fifty dollars at his bank just before he came to the city. He had some trouble getting the money."

"But you said," Mason pointed out, "that you didn't want me to accept any employment from him."

"I mean," Bradbury said, "that I want you to under stand the situation. That if he should approach you, I want you to remember that you are employed by me. He might offer you a note, or something."

"I see," Perry Mason said. "In other words, I'm to remember that you're the one who arranged that Miss Clune should have the benefit of my services, and that the credit goes to you exclusively. Is that it?"

A frown of annoyance came to Bradbury's face, which was speedily dissipated by a smile.

"Well," he said, "that's putting it rather directly, but I guess you have the idea."

Mason nodded.

"Anything else?" he asked.

"That's all. I've given Mr. Drake all of the details, a complete mass of details."

Paul Drake nodded to Perry Mason.

"Let's go," he said.

"You can reach me at any time," Bradbury said, "at the Mapleton Hotel. I'm in room 693. Your secretary has a note of the address and the telephone number, Mr. Mason; and Drake also has the information."

Drake nodded.

"Come on, Perry," he said.

The two men turned toward the elevator. Bradbury watched them for a moment, half turned toward the cigar counter, ran his eye over the file of magazines on display; then strode briskly out to the sidewalk.

"I owe you one on that," said Paul Drake to Perry Mason in the elevator.

"Got a good fee?" asked Mason as the cage stopped at his floor.

"Pretty fair. He's rather tight on money matters, but I've worked out a good arrangement with him. The case is a cinch."

"You think so?" Mason asked.

"I know it," said Drake as Mason pushed open the door of his office.

"This man Patton has put on the same kind of a racket other places. It's too well thought out and too smooth to have been tried out just once. I won't bother about the Cloverdale angle. I'll pick out some of the other places… Hello, Miss Street. How are you today?"

Della Street smiled at him.

"I presume," she said, "you came in to look at the photograph."

"What photograph?" asked Paul Drake, trying to look innocent.

She laughed.

"Oh, well," Drake said, "I may as well look at it while I'm here."

"It's in on Mr. Mason's desk," she told him.

Perry Mason led the way to his private office, dropped into the swivel chair and picked up the legal jacket which was on the desk. He passed it over to the detective. The detective looked at the photograph and whistled.

"Plenty of class," he said.

"Yes," Mason said, "that's one thing about Patton, he's a good picker. What was it you wanted to see me about, Paul?"

"I want to know what's going to happen in this case," the detective said.

"Nothing in particular," Mason remarked. "You're going to find Patton; you're going to find Marjorie Clune. We're going to interview them. We're going to get a confession out of him, and the district attorney here is going to prosecute, and the district attorney in Cloverdale is going to prosecute."

"When you say it fast," Paul Drake said, blinking his expressionless eyes, "it sounds easy."

"I believe in working fast," Mason told him.

"I think I can find Frank Patton," Drake said. "I've got a good description of him. He's tall, heavy set, dignified, fiftytwo years of age, has gray hair and a closeclipped gray mustache. There's a mole on his right cheek. Bradbury has a file of the Cloverdale Independent in his rooms at the hotel. There are ads in there that will be evidence, and a photograph we can use.

"My theory is that this racket is too well thought out to have been used in one town. I can find where it's been used in other towns and through some of those other towns I can get a line on Patton."

"All right," Perry Mason said, lighting a cigarette, "go ahead."

"But," the detective inquired, "then what's going to happen?

"How do you mean?"

"Just how far can we go?"

Mason grinned and said, "That's what I've been down to the district attorney's office for. The sky's the limit."