Mason was yawning with weariness as he fitted a latchkey to the door of his private office and swung it open.
Della Street looked up from her secretarial desk, said, “Hello, Chief. How’s it coming?”
“I thought I told you to go home and go to bed.”
“I went home. I went to bed. I slept. I’m back and ready for another night session if necessary.”
Mason shuddered. “Don’t even think about it. One of those is enough to last me for quite a while.”
“That’s because you’re under such a strain. You can’t relax in-between times.”
“Today,” Mason told her, “there haven’t been any in-between times.”
“Paul Drake phoned while you were gone. He says he has something he thinks will prove interesting. He wants to come down and talk with you.”
“Give him a ring,” Mason said.
Della Street called Paul Drake, using the unlisted telephone, and not putting the call through the switchboard.
Mason tilted back in the swivel chair, closed his eyes, stretched his arms above his head and gave a prodigious yawn. “The trouble with a case of this sort,” he said, “is that you have to keep one jump ahead of the police, and the police don’t go to bed. They work in shifts.”
Della Street nodded, heard Drake’s tap on the panels of the door, and got up to open it for him.
“Hi, Paul,” Mason said. “What’s new?”
“You look all in,” Drake told him.
“I had a hard day yesterday, and then things really started coming pretty fast last night. How are the police doing?”
“The police,” Drake said, “are jubilant.”
“How come?”
“They’ve found some bit of evidence that makes them feel good.”
“What is it, Paul?”
“I can’t find out, and neither can anyone else. They seem to think it’s really something. However, that isn’t what I wanted to see you about at the moment. I suppose you’ve heard that your client, Bedford, has made another statement.”
Mason groaned. “I can’t get back and forth fast enough to keep up with his statements. What’s he said this time?”
“He told reporters he wants an immediate trial, and the district attorney says that if Bedford isn’t bluffing, he’ll give it to him, that there’s a date on the calendar reserved for a case which has just been continued. Because Bedford is a businessman and insists that his name must be cleared and all that stuff, it looks as though the presiding judge might go along with them.”
“Very nice,” Mason said sarcastically. “Bedford never seems to think it’s necessary to consult his lawyer before issuing these statements to the press.
“What about Harry Elston, Paul? Have you been able to get any line on him?”
“Not a thing, and the police haven’t been able to,” Drake said. “Elston opened that safe-deposit box about nine forty-five last night. He had a brief case with him, and, as I said, no one knows whether he put in or took out, but police are now inclined to think he took out and then put in.”
“How come?”
“It was a joint lock box in both names. Now there isn’t a thing in there in the name of Harry Elston, but the box is jammed full of papers belonging to Binney Denham. They’re papers that just aren’t worth a hang, things that nobody would keep in a lock box.”
“Some people keep strange things in lock boxes,” Mason said.
“These are old letters, receipted statements, credit cards that have expired, automobile insurance that’s expired, just a whole mess of junk that really isn’t worth keeping, much less putting in a safe-deposit box.”
Mason pursed his lips thoughtfully.
“The point is,” Drake went on, “that the lock box is full—just so jam full you couldn’t get another letter in it. The police feel that the idea of this was to keep them from thinking anything had been taken out. They’re pretty well convinced the lock box was full of cash or negotiable securities, that Elston found out Denham was dead, cleaned out the box and put this stuff in it.”
“How’d he find out Denham was dead?” Mason asked.
“Well, for a while the police were very much interested in the answer to that one. Now they’re not concerned any more. They think that they have a dead open-and-shut case against Bedford. They think that any jury will convict him of first-degree murder. The D.A. says he hasn’t decided whether he will ask for the death penalty as yet. He has stated that, while he will be ever mindful of the responsibilities of his office, he has never received any consideration from Bedford’s counsel and sees no reason for extending any courtesies.”
Mason grinned. “He wants to send my client to the gas chamber in order to get even with me. Is that it?”
“He didn’t express it that way in so many words, but you don’t have to look too far in between the lines to gather his thought.”
“Nice guy!” Mason said. “Anything else, Paul?”
“Yes. This is what I really wanted to see you about. I got a telephone call just before I came in here. The operative who was shadowing Grace Compton only had time for a brief telephone call. He’s at the airport. Our blonde friend is headed for Acapulco, Mexico. I guess she wants to do a little swimming. My operative is keeping her under surveillance. He has a seat on the same plane. He didn’t have time to talk. He just gave me a flash.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Told him to go to Acapulco.”
“When are they leaving?”
“There’s a plane for Mexico City leaving at eight-thirty.”
Mason looked at his watch. “And she’s down at the airport already?”
Drake nodded.
“What the devil is she doing waiting down there?”
“Darned if I know,” Drake said.
“How has she disguised herself?” Mason asked.
“How did you know about the disguise?” Drake exclaimed. “I hadn’t mentioned it.”
“Figure it out for yourself, Paul. She knows that police have a pretty damn good description of her. She knows that they’re looking for her. When the police are looking for someone, they’re pretty apt to keep the airport under surveillance. Therefore, if Grace Compton was going to Acapulco, Mexico, the logical thing would be for her to stay in her apartment until the last minute, then dash out and make a run to get aboard the plane. Every minute that she’s hanging around that airport makes it that much more dangerous for her. Therefore she must have resorted to some sort of disguise which she feels will be a complete protection.”
“Well,” Drake said, “you hit the nail right on the head that time, Perry. She’s disguised so that no one’s going to recognize her.”
Mason raised his eyebrows. “How, Paul?”
Drake said, “I don’t know the details. The only thing I know is that my man told me she was so disguised, that if he hadn’t followed her and seen her go through the transformation, he wouldn’t be able to recognize her. You see, he had time for a flash but no details. He says she’s waiting to take the plane to Acapulco, and that’s all I know.”
“He’ll call in again?” Mason asked.
“Whenever he gets a chance he phones in a report.”
“He’s one of your regular operatives?”
“Yes.”
“Do you suppose he knows Della Street?”
“I think he does, Perry. He’s been up and down in the elevator a thousand times.”
Mason turned to Della Street “Go on down to the airport, Della. Get a cab. Paul’s operative will probably phone in before you get there. See if you can contact him. Describe him, Paul.”
Drake said, “He’s fifty-two. He used to have red hair. It’s turning kind of a pink now and he’s bald on top, but Della won’t see that because he wears a gray hat with the brim pulled fairly well down. He’s a slender man, about five foot seven, weight about a hundred and thirty-five pounds. He goes for gray, wears a gray suit, a gray tie, a gray hat. He has gray eyes, and he’s the sort of guy you can look directly at and still not see.”
“I’ll find him,” Della Street said.
“Not by looking for him,” Drake said. “He’s the most inconspicuous guy on earth.”
“All right,” Della said, laughing, “I’ll be looking for the most inconspicuous guy on earth. What do I do after that, Chief?”
Mason said, “You get this girl spotted. Try to engage her in conversation. Don’t be obvious about it. Let her make the first break if possible. Sit down beside her and start sobbing in a handkerchief. Be in trouble yourself. If she’s frightened that may make her feel she has a bond in common with you.”
“What am I going to be sobbing about?” Della Street asked.
Mason said, “Your boy friend was to have flown down from San Francisco. He’s stood you up. You’re waiting, watching plane after plane.”
“Okay,” Della said. “I’m on my way.”
“Got plenty of money for expenses?”
“I think so.”
“Go to the safe and take out three hundred bucks,” Mason said.
“Gosh! Am I supposed to go to Acapulco too?”
“I’m darned if I know,” Mason told her. “If she gives you a tumble and starts confiding in you, stay with her as long as she’s talking. If that means getting on a plane, get on a plane.”
Della Street hurried to the emergency cash drawer in the safe, took out some money, pushed it down in her purse, grabbed her hat and coat, said, “On my way, Chief.”
“Phone in if you get a chance,” Mason said. “Use the unlisted telephone.”
When she had gone, Mason turned to Paul Drake. “Now let’s find out about this girl’s apartment, Paul.”
“What about it?”
“Did she give it up or simply close it and lock it?”
“Gosh! I don’t know,” Drake said.
“Find out, and when you find out let me know. If she’s given up the apartment, and it’s for rent, get a couple of good operatives whom you can trust, a man and woman. Have them pose as a married couple looking for an apartment. Pay a deposit to hold the place, or do anything necessary so they can get in there and dust for fingerprints.”
“You want some of this girl’s prints?”
Mason nodded.
“Why?”
“So I can show them to the police.”
“The best way to get them,” Drake said, “would be to give the police a tip on what’s happening.”
Mason shook his head.
“Why not?” Drake asked. “After all, they have her fingerprints. They have them from the car and from the motel and—”
“And they’re building up a case against Stewart Bedford,” Mason said. “They wouldn’t do a thing to this girl now. They’d think she was a red herring I was drawing across the trail. For another thing I want the prints of someone else who must have been in that apartment. However, the main reason I don’t want the police in on it is that I don’t dare risk the legal status of what’s happening.”
“What’s the legal status of what’s happening?”
“A killer is resorting to flight,” Mason said.
Drake frowned. “You got enough evidence to convict her of murder, Perry, even if you have evidence of flight?”
Mason said, “I don’t want to convict her of murder, Paul. I want to acquit Stewart G. Bedford of murder. See what you can do about getting fingerprints and be sure to tell your man to watch out for Della Street. I have a feeling that we’re beginning to get somewhere.”