Johnson and Riker exchanged glances.

"Was that the telephone call that Perry Mason put through from the drug store?" asked Riker. "We've traced his taxicab from here to Ninth and Olive, from Ninth and Olive out to Patton's apartment, from Patton's apartment down to a drug store where he telephoned, and from the drug store out to the St. James Apartments."

"I was the one he talked to on the telephone," said J.R. Bradbury. "I want to have it definitely understood that I have made this statement before witnesses, and just as soon as I had any knowledge that the things Mason did were at all illegal. I am not going to be involved in any technical illegality."

Riker looked at Della Street.

"You got that down?" he asked.

"Yes," Della Street said.

"Go ahead," Johnson said to Bradbury.

"Let him go ahead," Bradbury remarked, nodding to Mason.

"I went to Patton's apartment," Mason said. "I knocked at the door. No one answered. I opened the door and walked in. The door was unlocked. I found Patton's body. He had been stabbed. I found a blackjack lying in a corner of the livingroom. I started out and heard a police officer coming down the corridor. I didn't want to be seen leaving the apartment, and I didn't want to be seen standing there by the open door. I had a skeleton key in my pocket, and I locked the door and pounded on the panel. I told the officer I had just arrived and was knocking to try and effect my entrance."

Perry Mason stopped talking. There was a silence in the office which enabled those present to hear the scratching of Della Street 's pen on the shorthand notebook, to hear the sobbing intake of her breath.

"You're a hell of a lawyer," said Riker scornfully. "That confession, and Bradbury's corroboration, will put you in jail for the rest of your life."

"On the table," said Perry Mason, without noticing the comment, "in Patton's apartment, were two telephone messages. One of them was to tell Thelma that Marjorie would be late for her appointment. The other one was to call Margy at Harcourt 63891. I saw those two telephone messages. I remembered the telephone number of Thelma Bell. As I mentioned, I have a photographic memory for such things. I surmised at once that Marjorie Clune could be found at Thelma Bell's apartment. I telephoned Bradbury and asked him for instructions. He told me to protect Marjorie Clune regardless of what I had to do, or what means I had to employ."

"That's a lie," Bradbury said. "I employed you as a lawyer. I didn't expect you to do anything illegal. I'm not a party to it."

"Let it pass," said Johnson, "go ahead, Mason."

"I went out to Thelma Bell's apartment," Mason said. "I found Marjorie Clune there. I found her taking a bath. Thelma Bell had just had a bath. Thelma Bell told me that she had an appointment with Frank Patton but hadn't kept it. That she had been out with a boy friend. I telephoned the boy friend for verification. He verified her statement.

"I told Marjorie Clune to go to a hotel; to register under her name, to call my office and let me know where she was, and not to leave the hotel. She promised me that she would. She subsequently telephoned my office that she was at the Bostwick Hotel, in room 408. The telephone number was Exeter 93821. I returned to Bradbury. I told him what had happened, except that I did not tell him about entering Patton's apartment, or locking the door. Bradbury told me I was to represent Dr. Doray as well as Marjorie Clune. I agreed to such representation.

"I met Bradbury at his hotel because he didn't want to remain at the office. He had returned to the office with the newspapers he had been sent to get from the Mapleton Hotel. His return was just about the time that I telephoned. I believe he had just entered the office when I telephoned him from the drug store near Patton's apartment."

"There was also a brief case," Bradbury said.

"Yes," Mason said, "you telephoned Della Street and asked her if you should bring the brief case. She told you it might be a good plan to bring it as well."

"I telephoned from my room in the hotel," Bradbury explained to the officers.

"Subsequently," Mason said, "I telephoned Marjorie Clune. She had left the hotel. Detectives got in touch with Della Street and accused her of telephoning Dr. Doray to get out of the country. As a matter of fact, Della Street did not telephone to him."

"That's what you say," Bradbury commented.

"Shut up, Bradbury," Riker said.

"I learned," Mason went on, "that Marjorie Clune had intended to take the midnight plane. I chartered a plane and followed the schedule of the midnight mail plane. At its first stop in Summerville, I found that Dr. Doray had disembarked. I went to the Riverview Hotel and found Dr. Doray registered in the bridal suite. At first he disclaimed all knowledge of Marjorie Clune, but while we were talking, Marjorie Clune entered the room. She had missed the plane, and had taken the train. Officers showed up at about that time to arrest them. I spirited Marjorie Clune out of the hotel, and brought her back to this city."

"You did," said Riker.

"I did," Mason said.

"And the damn fool admits it," Johnson commented.

Perry Mason stared at them with cold, scornful eyes.

"If you gentlemen are interested in my confession," he said, "and will keep your mouths shut, I will finish it."

"Cut out the wisecracks and go ahead," Johnson told him.

Perry Mason stared at Johnson steadily; then turned so that he faced Della Street.

Bradbury spoke up.

"If you two men will use your heads," he said, "you'll understand that the question of that locked door is going to be of vital importance in the case. If the door was unlocked, it's almost a certainty that Robert Doray killed Frank Patton. If the door was locked, it means that Frank Patton was killed by —"

"You can keep all that stuff to yourself," Johnson said. "You're going to get a chance to talk before we get done with this thing. You've played button, button, who's got the button, with the law yourself. It seems to me you've been trying to blackmail Perry Mason with the information that you have. Don't think you can pull that kind of stuff and get away with it."

"You can't talk that way to me," Bradbury said, jumping from his chair.

"Set him down, Riker," said Johnson.

Riker grabbed Bradbury by the necktie once more, and slammed him back into the chair.

"Sit down," he said, "and shut up."

There was an imperative banging on the outer door.

"That," said Perry Mason, "will be Detective Sergeant O'Malley."

Johnson fidgeted slightly, said to Riker, "Let him in, Riker."

Riker opened the door. A rather short, paunchy individual, with a round, cherubic face, light eyes that seemed utterly devoid of expression, walked with quick, springy steps through the door and across to Perry Mason's private office. He faced the little group of people.

"Hello, O'Malley," said Perry Mason.

"What you got here?" asked O'Malley.

"This woman is Marjorie Clune, who's wanted for murder," Johnson said hastily. "Perry Mason was hiding her in his office. He's spiriting her around the country."

O'Malley's eyes went swiftly to Marjorie Clune; then to Perry Mason; then to Johnson.

"When Mason does anything," he said to Johnson, "he usually knows what he's doing. Do you have to have the handcuffs on the woman?"

"It's a murder rap," said Johnson, "and Perry Mason is making a confession."

"A what?" asked O'Malley.

"A confession."

"Confessing to what?" asked O'Malley.

"Confessing to the fact that he got into Patton's apartment, found Patton dead, ducked out and locked the door before the police came, and then lied about locking the door."

O'Malley looked at Perry Mason with a puzzled frown on his forehead. Then he looked over to Della Street.