Della Street reached for the dictionary. “Well,” she said, “I’ll put it in code. Only I do wish you wouldn’t do it, Chief.”
Mason said, “Here. Give me the dictionary. I’ll help you... ‘Lawyer.’ That’s in column a on page 569, the seventh word.”
Della Street spelled out the code word. “GHKAI.”
Mason turned through the pages again, said, “Isn’t it nice I have a name that’s listed in the dictionary?”
“You might wish it on Paul Drake,” she said. “We could use ‘Detective Drake’ just as well as ‘Lawyer Mason.’ ”
“No,” Mason said with a grin. “Paul isn’t feeling too friendly right now. He might object to being selected as the victim of a hold-up. At that, it’s a tempting thought. Detective Drake has an alliteration which is lacking in Lawyer Mason.”
“Shall we use it?” Della Street asked eagerly.
“No, absolutely not. Get thee behind me, Satan. Let’s get back to our knitting. Here’s Mason on the a part of page 615, the sixth word from the top.”
Della Street said, “Six-fifteen-A-six. That’ll be HCGAH. What’s next?”
Mason said, “I’ll look up ‘has.’ Let’s see. That’s the second word in column b on page 455.”
“That’s FGGBD.”
“Fine,” Mason said. “Now, ‘fingerprint.’ That’s page 377, the seventh word on the page.”
Della Street said, “Three-seven-seven-A-seven. That’ll be EIIAI.” Abruptly, she looked down at what she had written and began to laugh.
“What?” Mason asked.
“I was just wondering what would happen if Lieutenant Tragg got hold of this message,” she said. “Has it occurred to you, Chief, that out of four words, two of them have ended in AI?”
Mason frowned, scratched his head. “That isn’t so good,” he said. “It’ll give Tragg too much of a clue. He’ll know darn well then it isn’t just an ordinary cipher, but some sort of a code.”
“You don’t think he’ll get hold of this, do you?”
“He may.”
“I don’t see just what you’re planning to do. Won’t the man who gets the message know it’s a trap?”
“Not if my idea is correct. The persons who are using this means of communication both have access to that place in the cellar; but for some reason, they don’t dare to be seen talking together. Now if that’s the case, they won’t have any opportunity to clarify an ambiguity in the case. In other words, the person who gets the message can’t pick up a telephone and say, ‘Hello, Bill. I got your message. What do you mean, a fingerprint? Your fingerprint or my fingerprint. Or...’ ” Mason broke off suddenly to stare at Della Street. “Do you realize,” he demanded, “what I have just said?”
“About the telephone?”
“Yes.”
“What about it?”
“Why the devil should anyone resort to the complicated means of putting a code in the top of a can if he could get to a telephone? After all, you know, Della, my idea has been that the code idea was necessary because we had two persons who needed to communicate with each other, couldn’t see each other, and so had to leave messages in a can at a certain place.”
“Well, what’s wrong with that?”
“But why the devil couldn’t they telephone to each other? There wouldn’t be any danger in that. A person can go into a telephone booth anywhere, drop a nickel, dial a number, and talk with any person he wants. In that way, a man could give another complete instructions without the possibility of having them garbled, or, as happened in this case, having the woman of the house find the can and toss it into the discard.”
She frowned. “Well, why not?”
“That’s just it. There’s only one explanation. The person can’t use a telephone.”
“Why?”
Mason said, “Either because they can’t get to a telephone, or because they couldn’t use it if they did.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, a deaf person couldn’t use a telephone.”
“Oh, I see.”
“And,” Mason said slowly, “a crippled person might not be able to get to a telephone.”
Della Street said, “Wouldn’t a crippled person have a telephone by the side of his bed? After all, a person who could put a can on a shelf, could certainly get to a telephone.”
Mason said, “There’s one person who doesn’t have a phone by his bed, yet is crippled. Remember Karr said he got so nervous at the sound of a bell he wouldn’t have a phone by his bed?”
Della said, “You’ve put your finger on something there.”
Mason stroked the angle of his jaw. “This begins to look like something,” he admitted. “But why should Karr communicate in code with anyone in the Gentrie house?”
“He’s the only one in the case who really couldn’t get to a telephone when he wanted one,” Della said.
Mason pursed his lips. “He is, for a fact. We’ll have to keep our eye on Mr. Elston A. Karr. It’s beginning to look very much as though he engineered the burglary of Hocksley’s flat. Of course, that doesn’t mean he suggested the murder of Hocksley.”
“Wouldn’t it make him legally responsible for it though — if he engineered the burglary?” Della Street asked.
“It would,” Mason agreed, a slight twinkle in his eyes, “on one condition.”
“What’s the condition?”
“That they can prove it on him.”
Della said, “You’ve just about done that by cold, remorseless logic.”
“I have, but that doesn’t mean Tragg’s going to. He may overlook that angle entirely.”
“Bosh! He pretends to be just dawdling along, and then— Wham!”
Mason abruptly walked over to the hat closet. “Be sure to get that can and the sealing machine, Della. Take that vase down to Paul Drake’s office. I’m going out to get a shave, a face massage, a manicure, and a quart of coffee.”
“I will,” Della Street said, then added, “and don’t you let that Sunley girl mix any more sex, simpers, and sweetness to kid you along.”
“You could have added pseudo-sincerity,” Mason grinned. “That also is alliterative.”
Della said, “Damn! I knew we shouldn’t have bought that dictionary.”
Chapter 11
Lieutenant Tragg rang the front doorbell, then raised his hat as Mrs. Gentrie opened the door.
“I’m sorry to keep on disturbing you,” he said, “but there are one or two minor matters on which I have to get more information.”
She seemed apprehensive for a moment, then smiled and said, “Come right on in, Lieutenant.”
“I’m not inconveniencing you?”
“Not at all, but now those other officers just came bursting in here without so much as a by-your-leave or without taking their hats off. You’re always a perfect gentleman.”
“Thank you,” he said, and then added after a moment, “but let me put in a good word for the hard-boiled officers. They’re overworked and have so many things to do, they simply don’t have time to think of people as human beings. They regard them as witnesses, suspects, possible victims, and accomplices — if you know what I mean.”
“Yes, I see,” Mrs. Gentrie said, ushering Tragg into the living room.
Rebecca looked up with a quick smile, a smile that was almost a simper. “Good afternoon, Lieutenant.”
Tragg came across to stand before her. “And how are you today?” he asked.
“I’m fine, thank you.”
“Well, you’re certainly looking well.”
“Isn’t she,” Mrs. Gentrie said. “I believe murder cases agree with her. She’s perked up no end.”
“Now, Florence,” Rebecca said, “you’re talking as though I had been an invalid.”