The assistant hotel manager was profuse in his expostulations, emphasizing his desire to work with the police, and the high reputation which the hotel enjoyed.
“We want to take a look at Mrs. Warfield’s room,” Tragg said. “Come on. Mason. You and Drake come along — and you can stay with that officer, Miss Claire.” And it was significant that Tragg hadn’t even mentioned the baggage which he had found in the room with the corpse.
The little group walked down to the elevator, rode up to the sixth floor, and the manager said, “I understand the room is in the same condition as it was when...”
“When the party checked out?” Tragg asked.
“When the bill was paid.”
“Who paid it?”
“This gentleman here, her brother-in-law.”
“Her brother-in-law!” Tragg exclaimed.
“That is what he said.”
Tragg looked at Mason. “Well, well, well, you didn’t tell me she was related to you, Mason. And you a brother-less bachelor.” He turned to the manager. “I don’t suppose you know when this party checked out?”
“I most certainly do,” the manager said. “Mr. Mason and this other gentleman appeared and paid the bill. There was a very attractive young woman with them at the time. Mr. Mason said the party in the hotel was his sister-in-law, that she had a weak heart, and that he was afraid something had happened to her. I sent a bellboy up to investigate. We found the room unoccupied. There was no baggage in it.”
“No baggage?” Tragg asked.
“No.”
“Then she had baggage when she rented the room?”
“She had a suitcase and a hatbox.”
Tragg digested that information. Once more he kept silent about the baggage which Mason had seen in the room where the murder had been committed.
“Go on,” Tragg said. “What else happened?”
“After Mr. Mason had paid the bill and left, he told me that in case I saw Mrs. Warfield, I was to let her know that her brother-in-law had been looking for her and was very much concerned about her.”
“The only catch being that he knew you wouldn’t see her,” Tragg said.
“On the contrary, I did see her.”
“You did?” Tragg stopped abruptly and stared at the manager.
“Yes Lieutenant, she walked across the lobby not more than fifteen minutes after Mr. Mason had paid the bill. You see, the clerk who was on duty wasn’t the one who had checked her in, but we had her description, and he knows most of the regular guests. He called to her and told her he had a message for her. She came to the counter to wait for the message. He called me, and I told her brother-in-law had been here and wanted her to communicate with him. She insisted that her name was not Warfield, that she had no brother-in-law, that we were impertinent, and started for the door. I tried to detain her, but she was so utterly indignant that I couldn’t be certain of my ground. After all, her bill had been paid, and there was no legal ground on which I could hold her, but there are several matters in connection with her stay here which haven’t been properly explained.”
“She had no baggage with her when she left?”
“No.”
Tragg said, “Let us take a look at the room.”
The manager opened the door, and Tragg, motioning for the others to wait in the corridor, entered the room. He looked quickly around, then turned swifty to the manager. “Look here, this room has been made up. You said it was in the same condition as when she left.”
The manager shook his head. “I understand it is in exactly the same condition as it was when the bellboy opened it with his passkey.”
“What time was that?”
“Perhaps around eight-thirty.”
Tragg gently turned back the covers of the bed. “She didn’t make this bed?” he asked.
“No, sir. The sheets are absolutely clean. The bed hasn’t been used.”
“The chambermaid didn’t change the sheets?”
“The chambermaid hasn’t been in here.”
“You are certain?”
“Yes.”
Mason, standing in the doorway, said, “No towels have been used in the bathroom either, Lieutenant.”
Tragg turned to Mason, regarded him speculatively, then devoted his attention once more to a study of the room.
He whirled back to Mason. “What was she doing out here?”
“Looking for work.”
“Did she find any?”
“She had a job under consideration.”
“What sort of a job?”
“I believe she was told that the vacancy hadn’t occurred as yet, but might within the next few days, and that her salary would be kept on while she was waiting.”
“Do you believe that is what she was told?”
“Yes.”
Tragg’s smile became a grin. “All right,” he said, “who told her?”
Mason answered his grin. “Paul Drake.”
“At whose suggestion?”
“Mine.”
Tragg said, “Well, I had to make those questions specific enough in order to get an intelligent answer.”
“You got the answer, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
Tragg said, “Let us see if we can’t short-cut some of this a little, fellows. You made Mrs. Warfield that proposition because you wanted her for something — what?”
“We wanted to locate her husband for her.”
Tragg said, “Nuts,” and walked away to stand in the door to the bathroom. Then he came back, looked at the drawn shades and the electric light.
He turned again to Mason, “What would I have to do, Mason, to get you to give me the whole dope on this thing — the real low-down?”
“Ask questions,” Mason said. “Ask anything you want, and I shall answer it.”
“And what would I have to do to get you to give it to me without asking questions?”
“Follow up the leads I was working on.”
“You mean Hollywood?”
Mason nodded.
Tragg hesitated a moment, then shook his head. “That’s too large an order — yet.”
“Then keep on asking questions,” Mason said.
“Thanks. I will,” Tragg promised grimly. “I shall begin by asking you the name you mentioned when you called on me earlier this morning.”
Mason frowned as though perplexed. “Homan?” he asked.
“No, no,” Tragg said. “Come on, quit stalling. The one from San Francisco.”
“Oh, from San Francisco. I am not certain that I...”
“The one that sounded like Spelley or something of that sort.”
Mason frowned. “I don’t remember any Spelley.”
“Was that name Greeley, Adler Greeley?” Tragg asked.
“No,” Mason said.
“Well, what was it?”
“So the dead man’s name is Greeley, is it?”
“I am not answering questions. I am asking them. I want that name that you mentioned, the one that you said was wanted by the San Francisco police.”
“Oh, you must be referring to Spinney,” Mason said.
“That’s it. What about him?”
“That’s all I know about him,” Mason said. “The name of Spinney.”
“And how did you happen to find that out?”
“One of Drake’s men uncovered a lead which made him think Spinney was associated with Homan.”
“Homan again,” Tragg groaned. “My gosh, why do you always come harping back to him?”
“Because he is the angle I am working on.”
“Well, what made you think he was registered here under the name of Lossten?”
“Because,” Mason said patiently, “I thought the man who was registered here was the man who had been driving the car. I thought the man who was driving the car was associated with Homan. I thought that Mr. Spinney was associated with Homan. Therefore, I thought it was a good possibility that the man who was registered here was Mr. Spinney.”