Tragg hung up, and went back to the kitchen where Hester was matter-of-factly engaged in peeling potatoes, where Mrs. Gentrie was rubbing a tin can with a rag and watching her sister-in-law with tolerant good humor.
Rebecca, sitting in the straight-backed kitchen chair, was tapping the floor with her toe. Her thin, rigid form fairly quivered with indignation. She got to her feet to face the officer.
“Was it necessary to lock that door?” she snapped.
Tragg regarded her with candid surprise in his blue eyes. “Good heavens,” he exclaimed. “Did I do that? That’s what the force of habit does for a man who’s detecting murders for a living. Miss Gentrie, I apologize. No hard feelings, I hope.”
He extended his hand, and as Rebecca hesitantly placed her thin, bony hand in his, Tragg put his left hand over hers, and stood for a moment smiling down at her.
The indignation vanished from her face. Her smile became coy and arch. “No one could withhold forgiveness from so attractive a penitent,” she said.
Mrs. Gentrie said matter-of-factly, “Forget it, Rebecca. The lieutenant’s a busy man. He doesn’t have time to think of all the little things. After all, he isn’t a suitor.”
Rebecca turned to her sister-in-law, started to say something, then changed her mind. The anger in her face gave way once more to a smile as she turned back to Lieutenant Tragg. “Do be seated, Lieutenant.”
He bowed, holding her chair gallantly. “After you, Miss Gentrie,” he said.
Rebecca sighed with satisfaction. She settled down into the straight-backed kitchen chair as though she had been the star in a movie receiving a penitent but ardent swain. “Do you ever do crossword puzzles — on your days off, Lieutenant?” she asked invitingly.
Chapter 12
Mason left the elevator and came walking down the long corridor of his office building. His hat was tilted back on his head at a jaunty angle, and his hands were thrust deep in his pockets. He was whistling the catchy chorus of one of the popular tunes and his manner was that of a man who was very well pleased with himself and the world.
The door of Paul Drake’s office opened, and Della Street, thrusting out her head, came running after him down the corridor.
Mason turned and looked down at her with smiling eyes. “Hi, Della,” he said. “What’s the rush?”
“I was waiting for you,” she said. “I’ve been trying to get you.”
“What’s the excitement?”
She looked up and down the corridor, slipped her hand through his arm, said, “Come on into Paul Drake’s office.”
Slowly the smile faded from Mason’s eyes. He walked back the half dozen steps which took him to Drake’s office, and Della Street piloted him past the girl at the switchboard, down the glassed-in partition to Paul Drake’s private office.
Drake looked up as Mason entered, said to Della Street, “See you got him.”
She nodded.
Mason perched a casual hip on the edge of Paul Drake’s desk. “What is the excitement?” he asked.
Drake said, “They found out something about that telephone, Perry.”
“Which one?”
“The one in Hocksley’s flat.”
“You mean the fingerprints on it?”
“No. Something else.”
“What?”
“The thing had been rigged up into an ingenious burglar alarm. There was a small hole in the base which looked as though it might have been a place for a wire. In reality, it was a little lens. A beam of invisible light ran through it, and when anyone stepped across that beam, it worked the alarm. Lifting the telephone receiver disconnected the whole thing. Then you had only to walk over to a switch by the safe, throw that, turn back, and put the telephone receiver back in place. Because it was a dial phone, the thing didn’t interfere with the operation of the telephone.”
Mason said, “Oh-oh.”
Della Street and Paul Drake were watching him anxiously.
“See where that leaves young Gentrie?” Drake asked after a while.
Mason nodded.
“And,” Della Street said, “it all ties in with the message in the tin. Tragg can really go to town on that.”
Mason lit a cigarette. “Yes,” he said thoughtfully, “that would account for it. The tin itself was a signal. Whenever the can was placed on the shelf, it meant the time had come to rob the safe. If any unforeseen developments necessitated a minor change in plans, that would be noted in code on the inside of the tin top.”
“It was noted,” Drake said, “and the person for whom the message was intended got it all right.”
“And acted on it,” Della Street supplemented with a meaning glance at Mason.
“And,” Drake added, “they’re Junior’s fingerprints on the telephone. Now just suppose, for the sake of the argument, Perry, that message has something to do with the telephone. You could see where that would leave young Gentrie.
“Of course,” Drake went on, “they may never decipher that code. But they have some pretty clever cipher men knocking around these days. Whatever that message is, it’s an even money bet Tragg will have it all worked out within a week or two, perhaps a lot sooner than that.”
Mason lit a cigarette, blew out twin streams of smoke through his nostrils. “Just as a gambling proposition, Paul, what would you say the percentage of chances was?”
“Percentage on what?”
“That the message has anything to do with the telephone.”
“I’d say it was even money,” Drake said.
“Well,” Mason told him, avoiding Della Street’s eyes, “we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Anything else new?”
“Yes,” Della said. “Rodney Wenston’s waiting in the office. There’s a woman with him who claims to be the daughter of Karr’s partner. Wenston thinks she’s an impostor, and wants you to trap her.”
“Has she seen Karr?”
“No. Karr arranged with Wenston to answer the phone and handle all calls that came in on that ad. Wenston says that unless she can really produce some evidence, he’s not even going to let her talk with Karr. He said he was against Karr’s putting that ad in the paper. He says it’s certain to attract swindlers. He thought that if Karr wanted to do anything, he should quietly engage a firm of private detectives to find out what had happened to the daughter. Karr got impatient and said he couldn’t wait.”
“Where is this woman now?” Mason asked.
“Waiting in the office with Wenston. He hasn’t let her tell her story. He wants you to be with him the first time she tells it.”
Drake said, “There’s one other thing, Perry.”
“What?”