Mason's face showed surprise. "Been there ever since around eleven o'clock," the janitor said.
Mason thanked him and signed the register while the elevator was shooting upward. His steps echoed down the deserted corridor. He turned a corner and saw lights in his office, transforming the frosted glass of the entrance doorway into a golden oblong, against which appeared in black letters:
Entrance
Mason passed by the door to the entrance room and went to his private office. He opened the plain mahogany door with his key and saw Della Street tilted back in his big swivel chair, her feet propped upon the desk, ankles crossed. She was sound asleep.
She looked up as the latch clicked into place when the door closed. Her eyes, swollen with sleep, blinked in the bright light. "'Lo, Chief," she said sleepily. She lowered her feet from the desk, rubbed her eyes with her knuckles, grinned and said, "I fell asleep after the midnight news broadcast. That's the last one."
She indicated the portable radio which she had placed on the corner of Mason's desk, stretched her arms, yawned, made a little grimace, stamped her feet, and said, "Gosh, my legs have gone to sleep. What time is it?"
"Half past two," he told her. She tried to walk, but swayed on her numb feet. The lawyer caught her in his arms as she staggered. "Steady," he told her, holding her close to him.
She smiled sleepily and said, "I'm all pins and needles from my knees down. Gosh, I've been asleep a long time. That's one of the best sleeping chairs I ever sat in."
He slid an arm around her shoulders while she pillowed her cheek against his coat and closed her eyes.
"Why did you come up here?" he asked.
"There was a news flash on the ten o'clock broadcast that Sam Grieb had been murdered on his gambling ship and that everyone aboard was being held pending a complete investigation, so I thought you might want something, or try to get some message to me, and I figured I could work things better from here than from the apartment house where I hang out."
"Did anything else come in?" Mason asked.
She puckered her forehead into a frown and said, "Gee, Chief, those legs are driving me nuts. Let me walk around."
He circled her waist with his arm. Together, they started walking around the office, Della Street stamping her feet, making little grimaces of pain. "Let me see," she said… "There was some hot stuff in the midnight broadcast. It seems that Perry Mason, the noted attorney, was aboard the ship at the time of the murder, and was detained by authorities for questioning. The police are looking for a mysterious white-haired woman somewhere around fifty or fifty-five years of age, who wore a silver gown, silver slippers, a string of pearls about her neck and had snow-white hair cut in a boyish bob. Everyone described her appearance as striking… Tell me, Chief, why did Mrs. Benson go aboard? Were you to meet her out there?"
"No," he said, "she claims she went out to back me up in case I got into any trouble."
"Then she must have been carrying a gun," Della said.
"How are your legs?" the lawyer inquired.
"Better. I can feel the floor now, but we were talking about a gun. Look here, Chief, are you keeping something from me?"
"Lots of things," he told her.
She looked down at her legs and said, "Regretfully, Chief, I must inform you that my circulation is now restored."
He released her. She danced a swift jig step, perched herself on the corner of the office desk, and said, "Let's get this straight while we have a chance. The landlady out at my apartment house is absolutely okay. She's a friend of mine and perfectly swell. I told her I had some friends coming to see me and I didn't have room to put them up in my apartment, so I wanted to rent the adjoining apartment for a few days. You see, my apartment was once part of a double, but they made it into two singles, and the other single is vacant. I paid her a week's rent and then went out to your place and picked up a suitcase. Gee, Chief, I hope I got everything you need. I didn't have room to put in an extra suit of clothes, but I got socks, shirts, underwear, ties, shaving things, toothbrushes and pajamas. I also put in the pair of bedroom slippers that were under the edge of your bed… I thought you might want to hide out."
"What did you do with the suitcase?" he asked.
"Planted it in this apartment I was telling you about. I figured that after they let you go they'd be watching you, and if they saw you leave your apartment with a suitcase they might…"
"Good girl," he interrupted. "Switch out those lights. We're on our way."
"You see," she said, turning out the lights, "in this way you can keep in touch with me and no one will be the wiser. There's a connecting door between the apartments, and I could have you in for meals and…"
He slipped an arm around her waist and said, "Della, you're a life saver. As a matter of fact, I have an idea they'll be trying to serve a subpoena on me within the next two hours."
"And you don't want to be subpoenaed?" she asked.
"Absolutely not. Where's your car, Della?"
"In the parking lot."
"Okay," he told her, "I'll get in my car and drive around the block. In case I'm shadowed, I'll ditch the shadows before I come out. If I'm not, I'll follow you out. After you get out to your apartment, put in a call for Paul Drake. Get him out of bed. Now, they may have tapped your line. So just ask him if he's seen me or heard anything from me. He'll tell you that he hasn't. Then you tell him it's important as the devil that you see him right away, and ask him if he can come out to your apartment. Tell him you're worried about me. Don't let him stall you along, but make him get in his car and come out at once. Do you follow me?"
"I," she proclaimed, "am two paragraphs ahead of you."
CHAPTER 9
PAUL DRAKE tapped at the door of Della Street's apartment. She flung open the door and said, "Come in, Paul."
He regarded her with a droll smile and said, "You're as bad as your boss. I was hoping I might get a couple of hours of sleep."
"I'm worried about Perry," Della said, "awfully worried about him. The news flash came through that he was out on that gambling ship when…"
Drake interrupted her to say, "He was out there, Sylvia Oxman was out there, Frank Oxman was out there, and some woman in a silver evening gown who tossed a gun overboard after the murder, was out there. Perry had lots of company. They can't pin anything on him just because he was there-but they're sure going to try!"
"Well," she said, "I don't know too much about it, but the chief's gone into hiding."
"Gone into hiding," Drake echoed. "Well, that's food for thought. Where did he go? Where is he?"
"I don't know. He telephoned in some instructions from a pay station. He says he may be classed as a fugitive from justice, and he doesn't want to get me implicated. He's worked out a method of communicating with me though."
Della Street picked up a shorthand notebook and said, "Here are his instructions: You're to find out everything you can about the murder, and particularly, he wants you to get a photograph from the newspaper men of the fingerprints that were developed on the glass top of Grieb's desk. It seems the fingerprint men got a lot of latent prints from it. There was one print of a hand, and the chief thinks it's a woman's hand. He couldn't see it clearly. He wants to get a copy of that latent print, if he can."
"Okay, what else?"
"The chief wants to find out exactly what Duncan's doing. Now there's a man on the ship by the name of Arthur Manning, who works as guard and bouncer. He figures he's due to lose his job as soon as Duncan takes over, because he'd sided with Grieb. The chief made a play to get Manning lined up with us, and thinks it's going to work. Manning's coming in to see me sometime after nine this morning. I'll get in touch with you when he comes in.