He hung up the phone and said, “Worked for Allgood up until four or five days ago. Allgood let him go because he didn’t have any more work. Business was kinda quiet. He says Milter was a pretty good man. He can’t remember what particular cases Milter had been working on lately, but he’ll look them up and let us know. He thinks it was mostly routine stuff.”
Mason heaved a sigh of relief that Allgood hadn’t missed his cue, carefully pinched out his cigarette, dropped it in the ash tray, said, “Well, I’ll be going. If you want me for anything, you can reach me in care of Witherspoon.”
“How did you happen to be here?” the sheriff asked.
The officer said, “He drove up right behind me. I brought him in with me.”
They wished Mason good night, and, as Mason went down the stairs, he heard them moving the body of Leslie Milter.
Mason drove his car to an all-night service station, opened the trunk, pulled out the flat tire, and said, “Fix this just as soon as you can. I’ll be back in a few minutes and see how you’re coming.”
Leaving the tire in the service station, Mason walked the five blocks to the bungalow where he had been told Marvin Adams lived.
The bungalow was a simple, unpretentious stucco building. Flowers which had been planted in the yard were evidences of Mrs. Adams’ desire to beautify the place. A light was on in the front of the house. Mason rang the bell.
A studious-looking young man came to the door.
“Marvin Adams in?” Mason asked.
“No, sir, he isn’t... He took the night train to Los Angeles.”
Mason said, “He was driving a car, I believe — earlier in the evening?”
“Yes.”
“Your car?”
“Yes.”
“He had a package I gave him to deliver. Apparently he forgot to deliver it. He must have left it in his room or in the car. It’s a square package wrapped in green paper, with my name written on it. Suppose we could look in his room and see if he left it there. He might have, you know — while he was packing.”
“Why, yes, sir. If you’ll step this way.”
The boy led the way down a corridor, past an open bathroom door, then paused, tapped on the door of the bedroom, and opened it.
It was a typical boy’s room with ice skates, tennis rackets, a couple of pennants, some pictures on the walls, a rack of neckties, a bed covered with a dark woolen blanket and no spread, a pair of white tennis shoes by the side of the bed, and a couple of white sport socks lying on the floor by the tennis shoes.
Mason prowled superficially about the room. “It doesn’t seem to be here. He keeps this room?”
“Yes. Another boy and I have rooms here, and Marvin keeps this one. He may rent it later.”
“Well, the package doesn’t seem to be here. How about the car? Where is it?”
“Outside, at the curb.”
“Isn’t locked, is it?”
The boy grinned. “No. You couldn’t hire anyone to steal it.”
Mason said, “I’ll take a look on the way out. I have a flashlight.”
Mason thanked the boy, said good night, and when the door had closed, slipped a small flashlight from his overcoat pocket and gave the battered sedan at the curb the benefit of a quick appraisal. It was empty.
Mason walked thoughtfully toward the service station where he had left his car, his steps pounding along the cement sidewalk. The street was dark and all but deserted so far as traffic was concerned. Mason met no pedestrians. A chill had edged the desert night. Overhead, the stars were frosty, brilliant, and steady. The sidewalk was lined with smoke trees, those weird trees of the desert which branch out into lacy, leafless tendrils, looking from a distance so much like smoke that many a tenderfoot has been deceived into thinking he is seeing a welcome wisp of blue smoke silhouetted against the sky, when he is in reality looking only at a most unusual bit of desert vegetation.
The man at the service station said to Mason, “Your tire’s all ready.”
“So soon?” Mason asked.
The man grinned. “Uh huh. There wasn’t anything wrong with it except that the cap was gone and the valve stem had worked loose. That was letting the air leak out.”
“How could the valve stem have worked loose?” Mason asked.
“Well, it might have jiggled loose. The cap was gone... Perhaps someone was playing a prank — some kid, you know.”
Mason paid the man, jumped in the car, fed it gas, was going fifty miles an hour by the time he left the city limits, and was hitting eighty as he skimmed along the desert road through the silence of the star-studded night.
Chapter 10
Lois Witherspoon came to the door of the big house as Mason rang the bell at the outer gate. The dogs, setting up an uproar at the sound of the bell, came running into the oblong shaft of brilliance which was thrown out from the hallway and against which the slim figure of the girl was silhouetted.
A moment later she turned on the switch which flooded the area in front of the iron gate with brilliance.
“Oh, it’s you, Mr. Mason. King — Prince — Be quiet! I haven’t a key. I don’t know where the watchman is... Oh, here he is. Pedro, open the gate for Mr. Mason.”
A somewhat sleepy-eyed Mexican servant fitted a key in the huge lock, and said, “Wait one moment, señor, until I fasten the dogs.”
“It won’t be necessary,” Mason said, opening the door.
The dogs rushed toward him, the circled as Mason walked calmly toward the house. The younger dog jumped up and placed his forepaws on Mason’s arm. The older dog trotted along quietly at the lawyer’s side. Both had upright wagging tails.
Lois Witherspoon said, “Eventually, they get acquainted with the guests, but you’re breaking all speed records.”
“They’re nice dogs,” Mason said. “Peculiar thing about canine psychology. They hurl a challenge at you, and you stand still and look at them, and, as we lawyers say, ‘the issue is joined.’ You keep right on going about your business, and show absolutely no fear, and almost any dog is inclined to give you the benefit of the doubt. Your father in?”
“Why, no. Didn’t you see him?”
“No.”
“I understood from the servants he left just a few minutes after you did. I believe he said there was something he wanted to see you about, and that he’d catch you before you got to town. I wasn’t here.”
Mason circled her slender waist, pulled her to one side, kicked the door shut. While she was still startled, he asked, “Do you know a Leslie L. Milter?”
“Why, no.”
“Anyone been trying to blackmail you?”
“Me? Good heavens, no!”
“You’ve been out. Where were you?”
“What business is it of yours?”
“Lots. Don’t stall. We haven’t time. Seconds are precious. Where were you?”
“I went into town — wanted to do an errand — and to see Marvin before he left.”
“Did you?”
“Yes. I caught him at the depot.”
“I didn’t see you there.”
“You wouldn’t. We were around by the express shed on the far side.”
“How long before the train came in?”