“Who’s the witness?”
“He’s sitting out in the car now. His name’s Lunk, and he...”
“Wait a minute,” Mason interrupted, “what was the name?”
“Lunk. He’s the gardener out at the Shore place. And he’s the temporary custodian of the poisoned kitten.”
“How does he spell his name?”
“L-u-n-k. Thomas B. Lunk. That part’s on the up. I’ve already managed to get a look at his driver’s license.”
“What does he know?”
“I don’t know exactly, but I think it’s awfully important.”
“Why?”
“He got off a street car about two blocks from the house. It was just after that guard collared you and took you inside. I saw the street car come to a stop and this man get off. He’s an old, weather-beaten, outdoor type of man. He came hurrying toward the house. Occasionally he’d break into a run for a few steps. You could see he was in a great rush.”
“What did you do?”
“Followed a hunch,” she said, “started the car, and drove down a block to meet him, got out of the car and asked him if he was looking for the Shore residence.”
“Then what?” Mason asked, as she hesitated.
“I’d rather not tell you all this over the phone.”
“You’ve got to. At least the part that you don’t want him to hear.”
“Well, he was so excited he was stammering. He just kept nodding his head and couldn’t talk at first. Then he said he had to see Mrs. Shore right away. I turned on my best manner and asked him if he knew Mrs. Shore when he saw her — just sort of sparring for time and trying to find out what it was all about. He said then that he’d worked for her. That he’s the gardener who’s been with the place for twelve or thirteen years.”
“But doesn’t live there?” Mason asked.
“No. The address on his driving license is 642½ South Bilvedere. He says he lives in a little bachelor shack in back of a house. He used to live in a room over the garage up at the Shore place. Then he went down to live in this little shack.”
“What’s he know?”
“I don’t know. He was so excited he could hardly talk. He said he had to see her at once, that something had happened, and I told him that Mrs. Shore wasn’t at home, that I happened to know where she was and I could take him to see her. I got him in the car, drove away from the place, and then started stalling, pretending that I needed oil and gas, and then let the attendant at the service station here talk me into changing spark plugs. I told him that Mrs. Shore was where she couldn’t be disturbed right away, but that we could see her in fifteen or twenty minutes and I’d take him to her. All the time, of course, I kept calling up, hoping that you’d get a taxi and come in. When I didn’t hear anything from you, I bribed the service station attendant to let the air out of one of my tires and tell me that I had a puncture that had better be fixed right away. He got the tire off and kept fooling around with it. Now my boyfriend’s getting nervous and a little suspicious. I’ve got to let the attendant here put that tire back on, and you’ll have to get here in a rush.”
“What’s the address of the service station?”
“On the corner, four blocks down the boulevard from your apartment.”
“I’m coming right down. Wait there,” Mason said.
“What’ll I do when you get here?”
“Just follow my lead,” Mason said. “I’ll size him up. Tell me about him.”
“He has steady, blue eyes, with a far-away squint, a weather-beaten face with high cheekbones, a drooping mustache, about fifty-five or maybe sixty, gnarled hands, stoop shoulders, long arms, slow-moving, and has a single track mind. Sort of simple, but obstinate and sullen when he gets suspicious. I think he’ll believe anything you tell him, if you can make it sound plausible. But I was so excited and — well, he’s getting terribly suspicious. You’ll have to get down here right away or he’ll walk out on me.”
“On my way,” Mason promised, and hung up.
He switched out the lights, went down in the elevator, crossed the street and waited in the shadows to make certain he wasn’t being followed. Having convinced himself on that point, he walked rapidly for three blocks, and paused long enough to once more be certain no one was on his trail. Then he walked to the all-night service station where an attendant in white uniform was just finishing tightening the bolts on the left hind wheel of Mason’s car.
Mason walking up to Della Street, apparently without noticing the man in his late fifties who sat at her side, raised his hat, said, “Good evening, Miss Street. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.”
Della searched his eyes for a signal, hesitated a moment, then said, with some show of feeling, “Well, you certainly were late! If it hadn’t been for finding a nail in this tire I couldn’t have waited.”
“Too bad,” Mason said. “I was unavoidably detained. You know, I told you I could get you an audience with Mrs. Shore. But, you see, she’s...”
He broke off, apparently seeing, for the first time, the man beside Della.
Della said, “It’s all right, this is Mr. Lunk. He’s working out at the Shore place as a gardener. He wants to see Mrs. Shore, too.”
Mason said, “Mrs. Shore is at a hospital. She was poisoned. She says she took poison by mistake, but that isn’t what the police think, and they’re making it a matter for police investigation.”
“Poison!” Lunk ejaculated.
Della Street registered dismay. “Can’t we see her? Mr. Lunk says his business is terribly important.”
Mason said, “We can try at least. I thought everything was arranged, but the way things have turned out...” He shifted his position so he could watch Lunk from the corner of his eye. “You see,” he went on, “with a police guard on the premises, the minute we tried to see her, they’d begin asking us questions.”
“I don’t want no police,” Lunk burst out. “I’ve got to see Mrs. Shore personally and private.”
Mason raised his eyebrows. “You say you work there?”
“I’m the gardener.”
“Live there?”
“Nope. I come to work on the street car and go home on the street car. I lived there for a while. That was years ago. She wanted me to stay on, but I can’t stand having a darned Oriental snooping around. I want to be by myself and be private-like.”
“Oriental?” Mason asked.
“Yeah. That houseboy she’s got. I don’t know why she hasn’t fired him long ago. To tell you the truth, I’ve been looking for the FBI to come around and... Well, I guess I ain’t goin’ to say nothin’ more.”
Mason didn’t press him, but nodded sympathetically. “Well, as I understand it, if we can fix things so we can see Mrs. Shore without the police grabbing us, you want to see her. Otherwise, it can wait. Is that it?”
Lunk said, “It can’t wait.”
“That important?”
“Yes.”
Mason gave the matter thoughtful consideration. “Well, let’s go down and see if the coast is clear.”
“Where is she?”
Mason said, “She’s in a hospital.”
“Yeah, I know. But what hospital?”
“I’ll drive you there.”
Mason eased the car past the street intersections. “At this hour of the night, you don’t ordinarily meet anyone on these intersections, but if you do meet someone, he’s driving like the devil. You can get smacked at an intersection as easy as not.”
“Uh huh.”
“So you’ve been working for Mrs. Shore for some twelve years?”
“Yes, goin’ onto thirteen.”
“You knew her husband then?”
Lunk glanced at Mason sharply, saw nothing except an expressionless profile as Mason’s eyes held steady on the road ahead.