“Gosh, Chief, I wonder if Hocksley enters into the picture. After all, if he’s anywhere around and saw his name in the papers — well, you can see what would happen. Karr has managed to hide his identity by taking the flat under the name of Rodney Wenston, but this case is getting a lot of newspaper publicity. If Hocksley is anywhere in the country, he’ll see his name in the papers and — well, don’t you see? It makes sort of a sieve that sifts out everything except one particular-sized article. Karr has hidden himself from everyone except Hocksley, but Hocksley will read about what happened and come to that apartment just as certain as — but what am I doing, rattling along this way? Paul Drake’s coffee must have given me this talking jag.”
Mason was frowning thoughtfully. He said, “Go ahead, Della, keep on talking. You’re doing fine.”
She shook her head. “I absolutely refuse to solve cases for you. It’s a violation of my contract with the union.”
“You’re not trying to solve the cases,” Mason said. “You’re simply giving me ideas.”
“You don’t need anyone to give you ideas,” she said. “Or do you?”
They laughed.
Abruptly, she settled down against his shoulder with a little wriggling motion. “I’m getting my wires crossed,” she admitted. “In order to get anywhere in this world, a woman is supposed to be feminine and leave the thinking to the males. They like it better that way.”
“You must have been taking lessons,” Mason said.
She yawned sleepily. “I have. It’s a swell book. Sex Appeal for Secretaries, in two volumes. It says a well-trained secretary never argues with her boss.”
“Can’t a boss argue with his secretary?”
“It takes two to make an argument. Go ahead, Chief, and solve your mysteries. I’m supposed to stand by and hold your coat. Here I was, forgetting myself and trying to put it on, and — somehow, I don’t think it fits.”
The rambling frame structure of the Gentrie residence was dark and somber, save for the dining room and kitchen, which were ablaze with light. Mason parked his car and climbed the long flight of stairs which led up from the street to the porch level.
“Remember now,” he cautioned Della Street, “not to show too much interest in that can.”
He tapped gently on the door with his knuckles.
They heard the sound of quick steps from the inside of the house, then Mrs. Gentrie flung open the door. She pressed her finger to her lips for silence. “Please don’t make any more noise than possible,” she said. “I would prefer not to have my sister-in-law in on this. She’s never been very tolerant about the children.”
Mason nodded.
“Come in,” she invited.
They filed into the house, and Mrs. Gentrie escorted them through the living room into the dining room. “I hate to ask you to talk in here,” she said in a low whisper, “but the living room is right under Rebecca’s bedroom. She wants to know everything that’s going on, and very definitely she isn’t fair to Junior. What’s more, that police lieutenant has been flattering her with a little attention, and it’s turned her head. If we talked over anything where she could hear it, Lieutenant Tragg would know all about it before noon. He flatters her, and she thinks he’s simply wonderful.”
“What did she say when she knew Junior had been arrested?” Mason asked in a low voice.
“She doesn’t know yet. I just didn’t feel up to telling her. I didn’t know when you’d come, and I knew that she’d sit up and keep up an interminable chatter.”
“What happened?” Mason asked. “Tell me in exact detail.”
Mrs. Gentrie said, “Well, of course, I expected it. Lieutenant Tragg dropped in about dinner time. And Junior wasn’t here. His father said Junior had complained of not feeling well about three o’clock in the afternoon, and he’d told the boy to go on home. Naturally, he was surprised and irritated to find Junior wasn’t here.”
Mason nodded.
“What did Tragg say to that?”
“I think Lieutenant Tragg was very angry — not with us exactly, but with himself. He thought he should have done something about Junior earlier. He put men on watch at the house, and instructed the telephone company to disconnect our telephone. We were held here during the evening as virtual prisoners. Of course, the other children had to learn about it.”
“Was Steele here?”
“No. He’s out several nights each week. I just can’t size that boy up. He seems lonely. He’s certainly attractive enough, but I don’t think he has any girl friends. He just seems to enjoy sitting around with the family.”
“How about Rebecca?” Mason asked.
“Fortunately, she didn’t come in until after Tragg had left. There is only one thing she really cares for besides crossword puzzles and photography, and that’s opera. She had a crossword-club dinner meeting, and it’s also her opera night.”
“What time did Junior finally arrive?”
“Almost eleven o’clock.”
“Did Tragg ask him any questions?”
“No. He took him into custody. Then he took away the men who had been watching the place, and a short time after that the telephone rang. It was the telephone company to say that our telephone had been temporarily out of order, that service was now restored. I called your office right away. Of course, no one answered. I didn’t think anyone would. Then I called Mr. Drake’s agency, and it must have been nearly midnight when I got in touch with him. He told me he thought he’d be in touch with you later on, and if I’d wait up he’d pass the message on.”
Mason said, “But if Tragg had men watching the house, Steele must have been stopped when he came in.”
She said, “Yes — that’s right, if he came in before Junior.”
Mason said, “I’d like to know just where Tragg had his men stationed, and whether those men knew Steele by sight. I wonder if we could wake Steele up to ask him a couple of questions.”
“Oh, I’d hesitate to do that,” Mrs. Gentrie said. “After all, you know, he’s a roomer.”
“There’s a door which leads to his room from here?”
She pointed toward a door which opened from the hallway leading from the dining room to the foot of the stairs. “He has his own private exit and his own bath,” she said. “We rent him the room, then, of course, he can come in here whenever he wants to. We try to treat our roomers as one of the family — except on telephone service. We have so many telephone calls, because of the children and...”
“I understand,” Mason said. “How about knocking on his door?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t,” Mrs. Gentrie said.
Mason said thoughtfully, “Well, after all, it’s rather important.”
Mrs. Gentrie said, “I’d rather you’d just take a peek inside. I’d prefer almost anything than to have Rebecca come down now with all of her questions and — you know, if she got the idea I knew Junior wasn’t in his room when that shot was fired she’d tell lieutenant Tragg. Oh, Mr. Mason, please tell me that Junior didn’t do it. That’s the thing that’s been torturing me. You know how it is with a young boy, when he becomes infatuated with an older woman with more worldly experience. If she’s inclined to play him along, she can make a terrible fool of him. And all through this thing, Junior has acted so queerly. He just drew himself up very straight and erect and white-faced when Lieutenant Tragg placed him under arrest. He didn’t say a word.”
Mason said, “I want to see if Steele keeps his door locked. That may have some bearing on the whole thing.”
He crossed the dining room to the hallway, turned the knob of the door gently. It swung open on well-oiled, noiseless hinges. He looked inside, swung the door wider open so that light from the dining room illuminated the bedroom.