Marjorie Clune sat upright in bed to stare at him with curious fascination.

Tears streamed from Perry Mason's eyes and trickled down his cheeks. He groped his way to the wash stand, splashed cold water in his eyes, dried them on a towel and regarded himself in the mirror.

His eyes were red and bloodshot.

He nodded his satisfaction, moistened his fingers in water from the tap, drew them around the inside neckband of his shirt until his collar was moist and crumpled, then he pulled his tie slightly to one side and once more surveyed the effect in the mirror.

"Okay, Marjorie," he said, "wait here until I come back, and remember to chew gum."

He walked to the door, opened it, stepped into the corridor without a single backward glance, and pulled the door shut behind him.

Chapter 15

Perry Mason walked the length of the corridor, looking for the freight elevator. At length he found it and pressed the button, waiting for the cage to come lumbering up to the sixth floor. When it arrived, he pulled open the door, got in the cage and pressed the button marked Baggage Room.

The big elevator moved slowly down the shaft and came at length to a jolting stop. Perry Mason opened the two doors, and stepped out into the baggage room. A uniformed porter, seated at a desk, looked at him with questioning, uncordial eyes.

Perry Mason staggered against the door of the elevator, lurched for two steps, paused, took a deep breath, and grinned fatuously at the man in uniform.

"Came f'r m' trunk," said Perry Mason.

"What trunk?" asked the porter, with hostility in his voice.

Perry Mason grinned and fished around through his pockets, finally bringing out a roll of bills. He pulled out a one dollar bill and lurched across to the porter. He handed over the bill; then, just as the porter was about to take it, jerked it back.

"Thash not 'nuff," Perry Mason said.

He took a five dollar bill from the roll, regarded that speculatively, shook his head in solemn negation, explored the roll of bills, and pulled out a twenty.

The porter's palm was eagerly extended. The porter's fingers clutched at the bill. The look of unsmiling hostility left his face. He pocketed the bill, got to his feet with an amiable grin.

"Have you got the check for the trunk?" he asked.

Perry Mason shook his head.

"Can't find it," he said.

"What kind of a trunk?" asked the porter. "What did it look like?"

"Big trunk," said Perry Mason, "great big trunk. Shalesman's trunk. You know, got all my shtuff in it. Gotta have it. Two daysh late now."

The porter moved toward a pile of trunks. Perry Mason became garrulous.

"Two daysh late now," he said, "wife's showing up. 'Magine that. Jush got tip from friend, wife'sh coming down from city to look me up. Maybe she'sh got detectives trying to get goods on me. Got 'nawful nice little girl friend. Can't get her mixed up in it."

The porter indicated a large trunk.

"This it?" he asked.

Perry Mason shook his head.

The porter moved around a stack of trunks.

"This one," he said, "was left here…"

Perry Mason's face broke into smiles.

"Thash one," he said, and patted the trunk affectionately. "Lesh go."

"What's your room number?" asked the porter.

" Six fortytwo," said Perry Mason.

"I'll bring it right up," the porter said.

"Gotta come right now," Perry Mason insisted. "Maybe detectivesh watchin' hotel."

The porter was sympathetic.

"All right," he said, "let's go right away. That's no way for a woman to check on a man who's on the road a lot of the time. He's got to have a little pleasure sometime."

Perry Mason patted the porter's shoulder.

"You shaid mouthful," he confided. "Little pleashure now'n then ain't gonna hurt nobody."

The porter got a hand truck, put the trunk on it, and wheeled it into the freight elevator. Perry Mason stood beside him as the elevator went up to the sixth floor, walked by the side of the truck down to the room. He opened the door of the room and stood to one side.

The porter pushed the hand truck into the room. Marjorie Clune turned her face toward the porter and made chewing motions with her jaw.

The porter stole a surreptitious glance, then averted his eyes.

"Gotta get half cashe whiskey in shish trunk," said Perry Mason, waving his hand in the general direction of the bureau. "Putter down anywhere. Goin' out in about fifteen minutes," said Perry Mason, "maybe ten minutes. Wife may have detectives watchin' hotel. You get me taxicab, wait by trade entrance, will you?"

He flashed his hand once more toward his trouser pocket.

"You've already given me…" said the porter, then let his voice trail into silence as Perry Mason gravely pulled out the roll of bills, took another twenty from it and dropped it into the porter's palm.

"Just give me a ring," he said, "whenever you're ready. I'll have a cab waiting."

He walked to the door, paused with his hand on the knob for one flashing glance at the girl on the bed.

Marjorie Clune was ready for him. She met his eyes with a bold glance of ready invitation.

The porter slipped out into the corridor and closed the door.

"All right," said Perry Mason, "get out of bed and get into your clothes."

Marjorie Clune jumped from the bed and struggled into her dress. Perry Mason pulled the ring of skeleton keys from his pocket, started working on the lock of the trunk.

Marjorie Clune had her dress on, her hair adjusted, and her face powdered before Perry Mason had the trunk open. It was filled with feminine garments, each garment on a hanger, and placarded with a cost tag and catalogue number. Perry Mason pulled the garments from the hangers and tossed them to Marjorie Clune.

"Hang these in the closet," he said, "and then close the closet door."

She took the garments wordlessly, made half a dozen trips to the closet. Perry Mason surveyed the interior of the trunk.

"It isn't going to be pleasant," he told her, "you've got to brace yourself. You'll probably be bruised. The air won't be any too good, but it won't be long."

"You mean I have to get in that?"

"I mean," he said, "you've got to get into that, and like it. You can sit in the bottom if you double your knees up under your chin. I'm going to tell the porter I've got half a case of whiskey in there, to handle the trunk carefully and to keep it right side up. There's a taxicab waiting by the freight entrance. The trunk will be strapped on the side of the taxicab.

"I'll have the cab take me to another hotel. I'll get a room and have the trunk sent right up. I'll bribe everybody to handle it carefully. But you're going to get shaken some, and bruised some, and it isn't going to be pleasant."

"Then what's going to happen?" she asked.

"As soon as I can get you into another hotel, I'll open the trunk," he told her. "You can get out and we'll take a cab to the airport. I've got a fast cabin plane waiting there. We'll take it."

"Take it where?" she asked.

"Back to the city," he told her.

"What will we do in the city?"

"When we get there," he told her, "we're going to bring things to a head."

She put her hand on his arm.

"Those clothes," she said, "those garments of Thelma's that had blood stains on them. Do you know where they are?"

"Yes."

"Where are they?"

"They're where we can get them when we want them, and if we want them we can still tie them up with Thelma Bell."

"It would mean," she said, "a lot to Bob if those garments were discovered. You know Bob was my boy friend. They might figure that he had a motive to kill Patton, but Sanborne was Thelma's boy friend, and he had more motive than Bob Doray could ever have had. You see, Patton was…" Her voice trailed into silence.