"Della," he said, "I want you to be at the office by eight fifteen tonight, perhaps a little bit before that. Have plenty of freshly sharpened pencils and a clean notebook. I may want you to take a statement."

"A confession?" she asked.

"It may amount to that," he told her, and smiled grimly as he dropped the receiver back into position.

Perry Mason latchkeyed the outer door of his office and switched on the lights. He looked at his wristwatch. The time was precisely seven fifty. He pushed off the latch of his office door, crossed the outer office, opened the door of his private office and pushed on the light. He sat on the edge of the desk and picked up the telephone receiver. A buzzing sound announced that Della Street had left the instrument plugged in on the outer line through the switchboard in the other office. Perry Mason dialed the telephone number which he had seen on Della Street 's memorandum in the file of the case of the girl with the lucky legs. His memory for telephone numbers was almost photographic, and his fingers moved swiftly and unhesitatingly.

"Mapleton Hotel," said a woman's voice.

"I want to talk with Mr. J.R. Bradbury, of Cloverdale," Perry said.

"Just a moment."

There was a moment during which the receiver made singing noises, then the click of a connection, and a woman's voice said, "Yes?"

"I wanted Mr. Bradbury," said Perry Mason.

"Ring room 693," the woman's voice said irritably, and there was the sound of a receiver slamming on the hook at the other end of the line.

At that moment, the door of the outer office opened and closed. Perry Mason looked up. The receiver was still making singing noises. A shadow formed where the ribbon of light came through the bottom of the door of Perry Mason's private office, then the door opened.

Perry Mason dropped the receiver back into place.

"Hello, Bradbury," he said, "I was just calling you."

Bradbury entered the office, smilingly suave.

"Are you going to tell me," he asked, "what you've got?"

"I haven't got anything," Mason said.

"Not yet?" asked Bradbury.

"Not yet."

"I called Paul Drake this evening," said Bradbury. "He told me that you had instructed him to give all of the information he uncovered to you and that you would be responsible to me."

Perry Mason made little drumming motions with the fingers of his right hand on the top of the desk.

"Let's get this straight once and for all, Bradbury," he said. "You hired me to represent your interests. I'm hired as an attorney, not as an employee. I occupy the same position that a surgeon would occupy. If you employed a surgeon to operate on you, you wouldn't try to tell him how to perform the operation."

"I'm not kicking," Bradbury said smilingly. "You know your business. I looked you up thoroughly before I came here. Anything that you say is okay with me."

Perry Mason heaved a sigh.

"That," he said, "simplifies matters."

He took a cigarette from the humidor, turned it toward Bradbury. Bradbury shook his head and reached for his waistcoat pocket.

"No," he said, "I'll smoke one of my cigars."

"You're early," Perry Mason said.

Bradbury indicated a copy of Liberty which he held under his left arm.

"I picked up one of the new Libertys," he said. "They're just on the stand. I don't need to bother you at all; I'll sit in the outer office and read. You go right ahead with whatever work you have in mind."

Perry Mason moved away from the desk and toward the door to the outer office.

"I was just going to suggest that," he said. "I've got some matters that I want to work on without being disturbed. I'll let you know just as soon as I'm ready for you."

Bradbury nodded, his keen gray eyes surveying Perry Mason.

"Do you think," he said, "that you're going to be able to get sufficient facts on which to base a criminal prosecution?"

"I don't think," Perry Mason told him, "until I've got something to work on. You can't build up a case without facts. I haven't got all of the facts yet."

Bradbury walked back into the outer office. The door clicked shut behind him. Perry Mason read a copy of the Advance Decisions of the Supreme Court for ten minutes then softly tiptoed to the door which led to the outer office, opened it and looked out.

J.R. Bradbury was seated in one of the chairs to the right of Della Street 's desk, immersed in the periodical he was reading. He did not even look up. Perry Mason turned the knob with his fingers as he closed the door, so that the latch slipped silently into place.

He walked back to his desk, tossed the Advance Decisions to one side and smoked in silent contemplation.

The telephone rang.

Mason scooped the receiver to his ear with a hasty motion.

"Mason talking," he said.

Paul Drake's voice came to his ears:

"Okay, Perry," he said. "I've heard from my man who was out at this woman's apartment, waiting for her to come back. He's got all the information."

"Have you located Patton?" Mason asked.

"Yes, we've located him, and we're pretty certain that he's in his apartment. We've got quite a bit of dope on the racket he runs, perhaps enough to make it look as though we could start a criminal prosecution.

"He's living at the Holliday Apartments out on Maple Avenue, 3508 is the number. He's got apartment 302.

"I've looked the place up. It's an apartment house that pretends to have a hotel service, but doesn't have very much. There's an automatic elevator and a desk in the lobby. Sometimes there's some one on duty at the desk, but not very often. I have an idea we won't have any trouble getting up there unannounced. We can give him a third degree, and we can probably get a confession out of him."

"Okay," Mason said. "Where are you now?"

"I'm telephoning from a drug store at Ninth and Olive. I'm ready to start whenever you are. I think you'd better take Della Street along. He'll probably make a statement."

"No," Perry Mason said, "I don't want to take her right now. I don't want her to hear the way we work on him. I'll have her where she can grab a taxi and come out the minute we telephone."

"You'll join me here, then?" asked Paul Drake.

"Yes, you stay there. I'll be with you in ten or fifteen minutes, perhaps less."

Perry Mason dropped the receiver into place, paused for a moment, frowning thoughtfully, then he strode across the office and opened the door which led to the outer office.

Bradbury looked up from his magazine expectantly.

"Will it be much longer before you are ready for me?"

"Not very much longer," Mason said. " Della Street hasn't come in yet, I see."

Bradbury looked over at her vacant desk.

"Was there something I could do?" he asked. "I'm willing to do anything. You know, I —"

He suddenly stared at Perry Mason with his eyes wide, a look of consternation on his face.

"What's the matter?" asked the lawyer.

"Those newspapers!" said Bradbury. "By Gosh! I came away and forgot them!"

Perry Mason nodded his head slowly.

"That's okay," he said. "I wish I had them, but a delay of an hour or so won't make any difference. How long will it take you to get them?"

Bradbury looked at his watch.

"I could get them," he said, "in perhaps thirty minutes. A taxicab would get me to the hotel in about fifteen minutes, and it would take about the same to come back. I can put my hand on them even in the dark. I remember I rolled them up and left them on the bed."

"Any wrapper around them?" asked Mason.

"No, they're just rolled and tied with a string."

Perry Mason shook his head in silent rebuke.

"Don't ever do that," he said. "Whenever you're commencing to put the screws on a crook you want to take care of every bit of evidence you've got. Those newspapers represent evidence, and if Patton should learn that you had them, he'd steal them."