She recoiled from him and stood staring, with her face white, her eyes glittering and cautious, one hand gripping the post on the foot of the brass bedstead.

"What I wanted particularly to know," said Perry Mason, "is where you were when Frank Patton was killed."

For more than ten seconds she stared at him without making any motion or saying any word. Perry Mason met her eyes accusingly.

"Are you an officer?" she asked at length in a low, throaty voice.

"Suppose you answer the question first," Perry Mason told her, "and then I'll answer your questions."

"I'm going to refer you," she said, "to my attorney."

"Oh, then you have an attorney?"

"Certainly I have an attorney," she said. "Don't think that I'd let any cheap heel come in here and start browbeating me about a thing like that. I don't know anything at all about the murder of Frank Patton, except what I've read in the newspapers. But if you think you're going to come in here and pull a fast one on me, you're going to get fooled."

"And you can't tell me where you were when Frank Patton was killed?"

"I won't tell you where I was."

"Suppose," Perry Mason said, "I should take you down to police headquarters, then what would you do?"

By way of answer she crossed to the telephone, took down the receiver and called the number of Perry Mason's office. There was a moment's silence, then the receiver made a squawking noise and the woman said in a cold, haughty voice, "Is Mr. Mason in? I would like to speak with Mr. Perry Mason. You may tell him this is Vera Cutter."

The receiver made more noise.

Perry Mason, studying the expression on the woman's face, was unable to detect any slightest change in it. After a moment she said cooingly, "Oh, good afternoon, Mr. Mason. This is Miss Vera Cutter again. You told me to get in touch with you if any one questioned me concerning my reason for being here in the city. There's a man in the hotel who claims to be an officer, and… what's that?"

The receiver made more noise.

Vera Cutter's face broke into a smile.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Mason. You say that if he is an officer he is to come to your office, and if he is not, I am to notify police headquarters and have him arrested for impersonating an officer? Thank you so much, Mr. Mason, I was sorry to have bothered you again, but those were your instructions—to call you if any one questioned me. Oh, thank you so much."

She hung up the telephone and turned to Perry Mason with triumphant countenance.

"I guess you know my lawyer," she said, "Perry Mason, just about the biggest lawyer in the city. He's representing my interests while I'm here, and he says that if you're not an officer, he's going to see that you're arrested for the crime of impersonating an officer. If you are an officer, you may go to his office and talk with him personally."

"Were you talking with Perry Mason personally?" asked the lawyer.

"Of course I was talking with Perry Mason personally. With the size of the retainer that I paid him, I wouldn't waste my time talking with any law clerks."

"That's funny," Mason said. "I want to see Perry Mason, myself. I called him less than ten minutes ago. They told me he wouldn't be in any more today."

Her smile was patronizing.

"It always makes a difference," she said, "who's calling when you're trying to get Perry Mason on the line. He's a very busy man and he doesn't bother with cheap detectives or peddlers."

"And you're not going to tell me why you were getting ready to leave town?" asked Perry Mason, indicating the baggage.

She laughed mockingly.

"Listen, brother," she said, "I'm not going to tell you anything except to scram. Get out of here! Beat it! If you're an officer, you can see Perry Mason; if you're not, you can get the hell out of here."

There was a knock at the door. Perry Mason turned toward it.

Vera Cutter blazed at him, "Don't you dare to open that door!"

She rushed past him, twisted the knob and flung open the door.

Marjorie Clune stood on the threshold.

"How do you do, Eva Lamont?" said Marjorie Clune.

Eva Lamont stared at her for two or three seconds.

"So," said Perry Mason, "your name is Eva Lamont?"

Eva Lamont pointed a rigid index finger at Perry Mason.

"Are you with him?" she screamed.

Marjorie Clune looked inquiringly at Perry Mason.

Before Mason had a chance to give her a signal, Eva Lamont suddenly whirled and raced toward the telephone.

"Just a minute, dearie," she called over her shoulder. "I know a man who wants to ask you all about your nice moving picture contract."

She grabbed the receiver from its hook.

"Police headquarters!" she screamed. "Police headquarters! Get me police headquarters at once!"

Perry Mason grabbed Marjorie Clune's arm and swung her about. Together they raced down the corridor. Behind them, they could hear Eva Lamont's voice screaming, "Police headquarters! Police headquarters!.. Is this police headquarters?"

Perry Mason took the stairs to the fourth floor, then rang for the elevator.

"Steady," he warned Marjorie Clune.

Perry Mason piloted Marjorie Clune through the lobby of the hotel, holding her back when she would have rushed into rapid flight.

"Take it easy," he cautioned in a low voice.

He signaled a cab at the sidewalk.

"Mapleton Hotel," he told the driver. As Mason seated himself in the cab, he extended a cigarette to Marjorie Clune.

"Smoke?"

She took a cigarette. Perry Mason lit it for her, then lit one for himself.

"Settle back against the cushions," he told Marjorie Clune. "Try to think about something besides the case. Relax as much as you can. Don't interrupt me, because I'm going to be thinking, and don't try to think yourself, because it's simply going to make things that much more difficult for you. Think about something else. Relax and rest. You're going to have a trying time."

"Are we going to police headquarters?" she asked.

Perry Mason's tone was grim.

"Not if I can help it," he told her.

They completed the ride in silence. Perry Mason told the cab to wait; told Marjorie Clune to stay in the cab and to keep her hand up in front of her face as much as possible. A uniformed doorman opened the cab door and Perry Mason walked with quick, purposeful strides through the revolving door of the Mapleton Hotel and directly to the desk of the cashier.

"You have a J.R. Bradbury," he said, "staying here in room 693."

The cashier raised her eyebrows inquiringly.

"Yes?" she asked.

"I'm his attorney," Perry Mason said. "There's a possibility I may have to take him out of town on a matter of important business. I want to have his bill all paid up so he can get away if he has to."

"You're checking out for him?" asked the cashier.

"No," he told her, "I'm simply paying his bill to date."

She opened a filing drawer, pulled out a sheet of paper, crossed to an adding machine, manipulated the keys, took the total and returned to Perry Mason.

"The total bill," she said, "is eightythree dollars and ninetyfive cents."

"On 693?" asked Perry Mason.

"He has 693 today," she said, "but he has been connected with 695 and has been paying the bills on both rooms."

Perry Mason pushed a one hundred dollar bill through the window. The cashier inspected it, crinkled it crisply between efficient fingers, then crossed to the cash register. She rang up the amount and handed Perry Mason the change, together with a receipted bill.

Mason studied the bill.

"These telephone calls," he said, indicating the bill with his finger, "are they local or long distance?"

"The long distance calls are marked," she said. "Those others are local."

"I think," Perry Mason told her, "that I would like to have an itemized account of those local calls. You see, I'm paying this bill for Mr. Bradbury. The other amounts are quite all right; he can't question them, but I'd like very much to have an itemized statement of the local telephone calls."