“Why, no, not particularly.”
“Does he ever shoot craps for large stakes?”
“Why, no... well, wait a minute. He was in a little game a few days ago — oh, maybe a week ago.”
“With whom was he playing?”
“John Milicant.”
“Related to Emily?” Mason asked.
“Yes, he’s her brother.”
“How much did the brother lose?” Mason asked.
“I don’t know. I think he won.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know. There was a little talk back and forth, a little kidding.”
“Was the game for high stakes?”
“No — just twenty-five cents a throw or something like that. I don’t know much about how to play the game.”
“Where can I find John Milicant?”
“I don’t know just where he lives. I can find out from Emily.”
Mason said, “Get him. Bring him into the office. I want to talk with him. Don’t worry about your uncle. I’ll get out a writ of habeas corpus and serve it on Jason Carrel.”
“And there’s nothing else for me to do?”
“No.”
“Nothing I can do to help Uncle?”
“Not a thing,” Mason said. “Bring in John Milicant and forget about it. Quit worrying.”
He hung up the telephone, said to Paul Drake, “Okay, Paul. It’s nothing important. The relatives are closing in on the old man, that’s all. Go ahead and get busy on the Conway Appliance Company.”
As Drake left the office, Mason said to Della Street, “Get out a petition for a writ of habeas corpus. I’ll present it to Judge Treadwell and we’ll give Jason Carrel a jolt right between the eyes.”
Chapter 3
When Mason and Della Street returned from lunch, Paul Drake had already returned and was waiting for them.
“What’s new, Paul?” Mason asked.
Drake said, “We’ve located Marcia Whittaker.”
“Good work, Paul. How did you do it?”
“Oh, just a lot of leg work,” Drake said wearily. “We covered the Bureau of Light, Water and Gas. She had an application in for electric lights and gas. It’s an unfurnished flat. She’s evidently buying furniture and settling down.”
Mason lit a cigarette and stared at the match for a long moment before shaking it out. “Marcia Whittaker’s this girl’s real name?” he asked.
“Yes. Why?”
Mason said, “As I get her character from your report, she’s a drifter. Now she gets a flat and starts buying furniture. What’s brought about this sudden stability?”
Drake hugged his knees. “Her split out of twenty thousand bucks.”
Mason slowly shook his head. “That would send her on a splurge, not make her settle down... Della, take a look at the papers — vital statistics. Just a chance, but maybe...”
The two men smoked in silence.
A few minutes later there was a triumphant grunt from Della. “This what you want? ‘L. C. Conway, 57, to Marcia Whittaker, 23.’ Notice of intention to wed.”
Drake slumped down dejectedly. “Oh — oh,” he said. “Here I thought I’d done something smart, when all I’d have had to do was sit in my office and open the newspaper... Just another case of the professional being trimmed by the gifted amateur.”
Mason grinned. “Anything more about Conway, Paul?”
“Nothing that helps. That twenty grand evidently made quite a difference to Conway. He sold his business to Guy T. Serle and gave Serle the right to keep on using the name of Conway Appliance Company.”
“Does Serle know where Conway is?”
“I don’t know. Look, Perry, what do you think of these?” He drew a pair of dice out of his pocket and threw them across the desk.
Mason looked at the dice, picked them up and rolled them three or four times, then laughed. “I’m ashamed of you, Paul,” he said.
Drake said seriously, “That’s the merchandise delivered to me by the Conway Appliance Company. Two pair of loaded dice, and a very special premium.”
Mason shook his head, slid open a desk drawer and threw the dice in it.
“What do you think the premium was, Perry?” Drake asked him.
“Marked cards.”
“No, a nice lottery ticket.”
Mason whistled. “You tailed the delivery?”
“Sure. He chased around to twenty or thirty addresses, then beat it back to the East Ranchester address. I picked up Serle — a guy about forty, nervous, quick-moving chap, six feet tall, pretty slender, bony features, pinkish blonde, gray-eyed, wears double-breasted suits. I put a tail on him to see if he has any contact with Conway... However, we have a cinch now. We can locate Conway by putting a shadow on the girl.”
Mason pinched out his cigarette with swift decision. “I’d rather talk with the girl than with Conway,” he said. “Della, when Phyllis Leeds calls, tell her Judge Treadwell has issued a writ of habeas corpus.”
“Why did you pick Treadwell?” Drake asked.
Mason grinned. “He has an arcus senilis.”
“What’s that?”
“One of the things psychiatrists like to pounce on in senile dementia cases. You’ll hear plenty about it in a day or two. Come on. Let’s go.”
Driving out in Paul Drake’s car, Mason said, “The way I figure it, Paul, I’m retained by Phyllis Leeds. I’m not working for Emily Milicant.”
Drake flashed him a sidelong glance. “Go on,” he said.
Mason lit a cigarette. “A word to the wise,” he said.
“I’m supposed to read your mind?” Drake asked.
Mason nodded.
They drove in silence for several blocks, then Drake turned a corner and said, “This is the place — any particular angle of approach?”
“No,” Mason said, “we’ll have to pick up the cards and decide how to play our hand when we see what are trumps.”
They rang the bell twice, then heard steps on the stairs. The door opened. A blonde, attired in gold and brown lounging pajamas, stared at them with evident disappointment, and said, “Oh, I thought you were the man with the drapes.”
Mason said, “Miss Whittaker?”
She said, “Yes. Now don’t you boys tell me you’re working your way through college.”
“We want to talk with you,” Mason said.
“What about?”
“About a private matter.”
As she continued to stand blocking the doorway, Mason added significantly, “Something which I think you’d prefer to discuss where the neighbors couldn’t hear.”
She glanced at the doors opening on the porch. “Come in,” she said.
Drake closed the door behind them. Marcia Whittaker silently led the way up the stairs.
The living-room had shades but no drapes. New rugs were on the hardwood floors. The furniture seemed stiff and unreal as though it had not as yet become accustomed to its new surroundings and settled down to homey comfort.
“Sit down,” she invited tonelessly.
Mason studied her face, the yellow hair with a darker fringe at the roots, her hard, blue eyes containing a hint of fear, her skin seeming smooth enough when her face was in repose but showing hard little lines which sprang into existence between her nose and the corners of her mouth as she placed a cigarette in her lips, adeptly scratched a match along the sole of one of her Chinese shoes, and said, “All right, let’s have it.”
Mason said, “It’s about that check you cashed.”
“My God,” she said, “can’t anyone cash a check without being hounded to death? You’d think I was the only person in the city who ever had a check to cash. I was a fool for giving my address. I found out afterwards I didn’t have to.”
“What was the consideration for that check?”