"So what?"
"So," Mason went on, "I thought perhaps we could drop around to his house and find him there."
"Now listen, Perry, if we go around there and start making a beef, it won't do us a damn bit of good and the first thing he'll do will be to get on the line and tell the detectives where they can find you. I feel the same way you do about him, but…"
"Forget it," Mason interrupted. "I'm working on an entirely different theory. What does he look like, Paul?"
"You mean a physical description?"
"Yes."
"He's around fifty, weighs about a hundred and ninety pounds, is five feet six-and-a-half inches, wears a short mustache, and has a little scar on the top of his right ear where a bullet nicked him, and…"
"What kind of a suit was he wearing?"
"He wears a blue serge suit when he's on duty," Drake said. "Figures it's less conspicuous and blends well in the dark. Most of the men who do shadow work wear dark clothes."
"What's his residence address, Paul?"
"A little bungalow just off Washington Boulevard on Fifth Avenue. It's pretty well out."
"How far from Washington?"
"Only a couple of blocks, as I remember the place. I drove out to see him two or three days ago."
"Tell you what you do, Paul," Mason said. "Climb in your car and meet me out at the corner of Fifth Avenue and Washington. I'm in Hollywood, driving a rented car. We should get there just about the same time."
"Now wait a minute, Perry. You're in bad enough on this thing already. For God's sake, don't go messing around…"
"Better start right now," Mason said, and hung up the receiver.
The lawyer beat Paul Drake to the rendezvous by more than five minutes. Drake drove up, parked his car, and came across to the lawyer and renewed his protestations. "I don't think this is going to get us anywhere, Perry," he said.
"Well," Mason told him, "I want you to know more about Belgrade. He's the only one of your men who was on the ship when the murder was discovered. I'm particularly anxious to know whether his report of what happened out there is accurate."
"He's a double-crosser, or he'd never have betrayed you," Drake commented bitterly. "I'll see he never gets another detective-agency job as long as he lives."
"Forget it," the lawyer told him. "It was a chance for a clean-up and he fell for it. Aside from that one slip, he may be okay."
They walked in silence for a block, then Drake said, "There's the house over there, the one which sits back from the street."
"Does his wife know you?"
"Yes."
"But she doesn't know me?"
"I don't think so. Not unless she's seen your picture somewhere."
Mason said, "That'll be swell. Now, what I want to do is to get into that house, so don't make any explanations, don't perform any introductions. When his wife comes to the door, put on an act and we both go in, see?"
"Maybe we both go out," Drake said.
"What sort of woman is she?"
"A blonde. She does things with her eyes."
"Think she's on the up-and-up?"
"Not this baby. I've seen her only once, but I wouldn't trust her around the block. She has one of those baby stares veneered on a face that's hard as cement, if you know what I mean."
"I know what you mean," Mason told him. "The last time I saw an expression like that was on the face of a nineteen-year-old blackmailer." He chuckled and added, "While she was waiting in the outer office, I asked Della Street what she looked like, and Della said she looked like a synthetic virgin."
"That's the type," Drake said. "Only this dame is in the late thirties."
"Okay," Mason told him, "let's barge in."
They turned from the sidewalk, walked up the narrow strip of cement to the porch stairs. Mason hung behind while Drake climbed the stairs first and rang the bell.
A few moments later a woman wearing a printed house dress opened the door and said with over-effusive cordiality, "Why, it's Mr. Drake! Why, good morning, Mr. Drake! How do you do? Did you want to see George?"
Drake said, "Yes," and stepped forward.
For a moment the woman's eyes became hard as blue quartz, but her full red lips maintained a fixed smile. "He isn't here," she said.
"I'm to meet him here," Drake told her, very apparently waiting for her to move.
"Oh, all right," she said sullenly, and stepped to one side. As Mason was walking past her, she said, "Won't you gentlemen come in and sit down? When was George to meet you here?"
Mason selected a comfortable chair, caught Drake's questioning glance, and asked, "When did you see him last, Mrs. Belgrade?"
She turned to face Mason, her eyes cautious, her face expressionless. "You're Mr. Mason, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"I thought so."
"When did you last see your husband?"
"Why?"
"I just wanted to know."
"Not since last night. He couldn't get home. He was detained."
"How was he dressed when you last saw him?" Mason asked.
"Why do you want to know?"
The lawyer indicated Paul Drake and said, "After all, he's working for Mr. Drake. He's been out on a case. We want to talk with him."
"You mean," she asked Paul Drake, "that he's still working for you?"
"Of course."
"He thought perhaps you'd feel sore at what you read in the papers and…"
Her voice trailed away into silence, and Drake said, "Of course I'm sore; but, after all, he's still working for me."
Mason inquired again, "How was he dressed, Mrs. Belgrade?"
"Why, he wore his business suit, his blue serge suit."
Mason said casually, "Well, we're all subpoenaed to appear before the Federal Grand Jury this afternoon. I thought it might be a good plan for us to have an informal chat before they ask us questions."
A look of relief came over the woman's face. "Oh," she said, "that's it. Well, I'm glad you men feel that way. George had a chance to make some big money giving a story to the newspaper. He'd have been a chump not to have done it. I can understand how you gentlemen feel; but you must make allowances for a man who's working on wages. Both of you make big money. George doesn't. Lots of times we have to struggle along to make both ends meet."
Mason nodded. "Yes, I know how he must have felt. Too bad he got gypped."
She said bitterly. "That subpoena certainly put George on the skids. He was in a position to sell some follow-ups to the newspaper. Then this subpoena was served, and the newspaper wouldn't have anything more to do with him. They figure whatever he says now is going to become public property."
Mason nodded, said, "Uh-huh," looked at his watch, asked, "How soon were you expecting him?"
"He telephoned me about an hour ago and said he'd be home in an hour. I'm expecting him any minute. He wanted to change his clothes."
Drake looked at his wristwatch, then glanced across at Mason. Mrs. Belgrade said nervously, "I think he'll be here any minute now… That sounds like his car." The worn rivets on brake linings squeaked against drums as a dilapidated car swung wide in the street and turned into the driveway.
"There he is," Mrs. Belgrade said. Mason nodded, walked to the door.
Steps sounded on the porch. Mason pulled the door open and said to the heavy-set individual who was pounding his way across the porch, "Welcome home, George. Come in and join the party."
Belgrade came to a dead stop. Paul Drake appeared in the doorway beside Mason and said, "Well, don't stand there gawking. Come on in."
Belgrade slowly walked toward the door, his eyes glancing about him apprehensively as though he were seeking some means of escape.