“How soon can you get something from Fresno?”
“It should be coming in any time now,” Tragg said.
“Headquarters knows you are here? They can reach you on the telephone if anything turns up?”
“Sure.”
Mason said, “Well, we are commencing to get it unscrambled. This all begins to fit into a perfect picture.”
“That Warfield woman,” Tragg said, “has simply disappeared into thin air. I don’t like that. A simple, unsophisticated, working woman couldn’t have walked out of a hotel in a city where she had no connections...”
Drake said, “You aren’t overlooking that cafeteria friend of hers, are you?”
“No, I am not,” Tragg said. “We have interviewed her. She says she doesn’t know a thing. We are going to keep a watch on her. We found out this much after Mrs. Warfield got that cafeteria job lined up, someone came in, flashed a buzzer, and said Warfield was a convict who had escaped, that Mrs. Warfield was sending him money, and asked a lot of questions. That naturally cooked Mrs. Warfield’s chance of getting the job. The cafeteria didn’t want the wives of any escaped criminals...”
Mason interrupted, “Then that man must have known Mrs. Warfield had the promise of that job. Only Spinney knew that.”
Tragg smiled. “The man’s description,” he said, “fits Greeley.”
Drake whistled.
Tragg said to Mason, “It is certainly beginning to look as though you were right about Homan...” He broke off as the sound of quick steps in the corridor approached the office door.
“We are having a procession tonight,” Drake said.
“Probably Della,” Mason assured him.
He opened the door. Della Street, walking rapidly, bustled into the room, said, “Hello, everybody. Hope I didn’t keep you waiting... Oh, good evening, Lieutenant.”
Mason smiled and said, “For the moment, Della, Tragg is one of the bunch. There have been momentous and important developments. The police agree that Stephane Claire is innocent of the negligent homicide. She is exonerated from driving the car, and, believe it or not, I am cooperating with the police.”
Della Street looked down at the suitcase, then over at the shirt on Mason’s desk. “How come?” she asked.
“Mrs. Greeley,” Mason said. “It was her husband’s. She found it in the soiled clothes after his death.”
“Oh-oh,” Della Street said, and then after a moment, “I presume then what I have found out doesn’t amount to anything?”
Mason said, “On the contrary, it is more important than ever.” He turned to Tragg and said, “She was getting some gossip on Homan.”
“I would like to hear it,” Tragg said, studying Della Street with quite obvious approval.
“Go ahead, Della,” Mason said.
She said, “La-de-dah, am I Hollywood!” She made a little gesture with her hand. “I mean really, you know. It’s terrific. That is, I think I have got something here.”
“Come on,” Mason said, “unload the gossip.”
“Don’t we eat?”
Mason glanced uneasily toward the telephone. “Tragg has had dinner,” he said, “and he is waiting for a report...”
“Oh, not dinner,” Tragg interposed. “It was just a snack. I am about ready for a beefsteak. I can telephone headquarters and let them know where to get in touch with me. After all, I am really supposed to be off duty now. Only on this job, you don’t keep hours.”
“Personally, I am famished,” Della Street admitted. “That is, I mean really famished. I think the idea of a steak would be simply terrific. Oh, definitely.”
Mason picked up a law book, held it poised, and said, “Cut it before I brain you.”
Her eyes were sparkling with mischief. “Don’t be a dope,” she said. “I mean this is the weanie of the evening.”
“Come on,” Drake announced, getting to his feet. “I have been waiting long enough for a chance to eat on Perry and dance with his secretary.”
“In my capacity as official representative of the law,” Tragg interposed sternly, “I am afraid I shall have to preempt your claim.”
“Age before beauty, my lad,” Drake said.
“Don’t I get in on this?” Mason asked.
“Go on,” Drake told him. “You are the host. You are supposed to see that your guests are properly entertained.”
“Socko,” Della Street announced. “Colossal!”
“Come on,” Mason said, getting to his feet.
“It is drizzling outside,” Della Street told him.
“Uh-huh,” Mason said, putting on his hat and coat.
Tragg stood watching him with speculative eyes. “You know, Mason,” he said, apropos of nothing, shaking a cigarette from a package, “you are damn deep.”
Drake said, “You don’t know the half of it.”
Mason switched out the lights, shepherded them out into the corridor, saw that the door was closed and locked. They started trooping down toward the elevator.
“Good place over at the Adirondack,” Della Street said.
“Oh, let’s try some place that has more life,” Mason said. “That’s staid and stodgy.”
“Suits me all right,” Tragg announced. “Do I get the first dance, Miss Street?”
“That will depend,” she said, “on how I feel after I have had the first steak. Right now, I am simply caving in.”
“I had the first claim,” Drake warned.
Mason said, “Remember I am painfully conscious of my duties as host, but I get the last dance, Della. Let them fight over the first.”
She turned and flashed him a quick understanding smile. Drake sighed. “There we go, Lieutenant. Our ship is scuttled before we have even got it away from the pier. As you have remarked before, Mason is a deep one.”
“Well, where are we going to eat?” Della asked.
“Oh, let us try the Tangerine,” Mason said. “It is good and lively, and it has the advantage of being within three blocks of the office.”
“We can walk it,” Tragg said.
“Not in this drizzle,” Della Street announced. “It’s really commencing to rain. I mean definitely, I really do!”
Mason made a grab for her, but she laughingly eluded him, slipped around the corner, and ran the rest of the way down the corridor. As he chased after her, he had a fleeting glimpse of Tragg making silly, futile gasps at thin air. Mason caught up with her at the elevator, and his arm encircled her waist. Struggling a little, she managed to move close to him and said in a low whisper, “What is wrong with your hat, Chief?”
“Huh?” he asked, surprised.
“Tragg was looking at it when you took it out of the closet.”
“Oh,” Mason said, and pressed the button for the elevator. “The lid is going to blow off tonight. Keep sober.”
The others came walking up. Della Street twisted away from Mason’s grasp just as the elevator slid to a stop, and the quartet trooped in with much laughing and joking.
When they reached the street, it was raining hard, and they stood in the shelter of the lobby for nearly five minutes before Mason was able to get a cab. The Tangerine however, because of the rain, had plenty of vacant tables, and a deferential headwaiter escorted them to a choice location near the side of the dance floor.
Mason said, “As a perfect host, Della, I will sit with my back to the floor show, place you between Tragg and... where the devil is she?”
Tragg turned around. “She was here a moment... Oh.”
He stood looking out on the dance floor to where Paul Drake and Della Street were whirling around.
“There you are,” Tragg said, seating himself. “The private detectives beat the regulars to it every time. Guess I shall have to see about getting that guy’s license revoked after all.”
“Steak dinner?” Mason asked.