“Yes.”
“Okay, put him on.”
A click came over the line as the operator plugged in a key and said, “Here’s Lieutenant Tragg on the line.”
“Hello,” a peculiarly muffled voice said. The man at the other end of the line might well have been holding his fist cupped between his mouth and the transmitter. “Is this Lieutenant Tragg?”
“This is Tragg. Who is this talking?”
“Never mind. I’m just telling you something about Perry Mason, the lawyer, and the girl who drove him out to the Shore place a while after midnight.”
“Go ahead,” Tragg invited. “What d’you know about ’em?”
“They picked a man up. He’s an important witness, one you want. They spirited him away where they’ve got him sewed up.”
“Go on,” Tragg said impatiently. “Who’s the man, and where is he?”
“I don’t know who he is, but I can tell you where he is.”
“Where?”
The voice suddenly speeded up its tempo as though anxious to get the conversation terminated.
“Maple Leaf Hotel under the name Thomas Trimmer. Registered about quarter past four this morning. He’s in room 376.”
Tragg said quickly, “Now, wait a minute. Let me get one thing straight. Are you absolutely certain that Perry Mason, the lawyer, is the one who put this man in the hotel? Is he back of that?”
“Back of it, hell,” the voice said. “Mason was the one who came in with him, carrying a canvas-covered telescope bag. The girl wasn’t with him then.”
The receiver abruptly slammed up at the other end of the line.
Lieutenant Tragg jiggled the hook. “Able to trace that call?” he asked.
“Pay station, block from the hotel,” the exchange operator said. “I got the call traced, and two radio cars rushing out there with instructions to pick up anyone they see within three blocks of the place for questioning. We’ll know in fifteen minutes if they get any results.”
There was the glint of a triumphant hunter in Tragg’s eyes. “I’ll wait fifteen minutes just on a chance.”
It was twenty minutes before the report came in.
Two radio cars had converged on the place. It was an all-night restaurant with a phone booth near the door. There was only one man on duty behind the counter, and he had been busy waiting on some customers. He had vaguely noticed a man enter the phone booth, but he couldn’t describe him. The radio cars had picked up two men within a radius of four blocks of the place. It didn’t seem probable that either man had put in the call, but the police had secured names and addresses from driving licenses. Then the officers, stopping at the Maple Leaf Hotel, had found that a Thomas Trimmer had been checked in about four o’clock. He was a man in the late fifties with a slight stoop. He weighed a hundred and forty pounds, was about five feet six, wore somewhat shabby, but clean clothes, had high cheekbones, and a gray drooping mustache. His only baggage had been an old-fashioned canvas telescope case, fairly heavy. Trimmer had been brought in by a tall, well-dressed man.
A little pulse in Lieutenant Tragg’s forehead began to pound as he listened to the report.
“Keep the radio cars on the job,” he ordered. “Sew the place up so Trimmer doesn’t get out. I’m on my way out there right now.”
Chapter 17
Mason drove the car slowly. The long hours of sleepless activity had lowered his resistance to the cold chill of the night air.
The kitten curled up on the seat beside him, snuggling closely for warmth. Occasionally, the lawyer, steadying the wheel with his left hand, placed his right hand down on the kitten’s fur, leaving it there for a few seconds until Amber Eyes would start purring in drowsy contentment.
In the east, the stars were shrinking into invisibility. A faint illumination furnished a backdrop against which the roofs of the clustered apartment houses showed in a serrated silhouette. Mason slowed the car as he neared the place where Della Street lived. The entire apartment house was dark, save for that one vaguely lighted orange oblong which would be Della Street’s window.
Mason parked his car, picked up the relaxed form of the purring kitten, and slipped it under his overcoat, holding it against the warmth of his body. He paused before the long list of tenants beside the mail boxes, and pressed the bell of Della Street’s apartment.
Almost instantly, the electric buzzer which released the catch on the street door brought her answering signal. Mason pushed through the door, and into the stuffy, warm air of the lobby. He crossed to the automatic elevator, pressed the button, and ascended to Della Street’s floor. Amber Eyes, nestled under the lawyer’s coat, became apprehensive as he felt the upward motion, and squirmed around, digging sharp little claws into Mason’s clothing until an inquiring, startled head pushed its furry way out from the overcoat to stare curiously at the walls of the elevator cage.
The elevator came to a stop. Mason opened the door, walked down the corridor and paused before Della Street’s door to tap lightly with the tips of his fingers, giving their private code knock.
Della Street opened the door. She was still wearing the clothes in which she had been attired when Mason had deposited her in front of the taxi stand at the hotel.
“Gosh, I’m glad to see you. Tell me, did I get your signals right?” she asked in a half whisper, as Mason eased his way through the door and entered the cozy warmth of her apartment.
“Darned if I know. What did you think I wanted?”
“For me to go out to Lunk’s place.”
“Right. What did you do with him?”
She said, “He wasn’t there. Oh, you’ve got the kitten!”
Mason took off his hat, placed the kitten in Della Street’s outstretched hands, and sat down without taking off his overcoat. He frowned thoughtfully at the carpet.
“Got a drink?”
“Been keeping a pot of coffee hot for you. Spiked with brandy, it will fix you up in a jiffy—”
She deposited the kitten on the davenport. “You sit there. Amber Eyes, and be a good kitten.”
Mason said, “Wait a minute, Della. I want to talk with you about...”
“Not until you’ve had that coffee,” she said, and vanished through the door into the kitchenette.
Mason sat motionless, elbows resting on his knees, staring fixedly at the pattern in the carpet.
Amber Eyes investigated the davenport, jumped down to the floor, allowed his nose to guide the way to the kitchenette, and stood at the door giving a high-pitched “miaow.”
Della Street laughed and opened the door, saying, “And I suppose you want some warm milk.”
Mason was still in the same position when she returned carrying a tray on which were two cups of steaming black coffee. The aroma of fine brandy mingled with that of the beverage to caress the nostrils.
Mason lifted a cup and saucer from the tray, and grinned at Della Street.
“Here’s to crime,” he said.
She sat down on the davenport, balanced the saucer on her knee and said, “Sometimes that toast of yours scares me.”
Mason sipped hot coffee, felt the brandy warming his blood into circulation.
“What happened?” he asked.
She said, “I wasn’t certain you could keep Lunk occupied much longer. I told the cab driver to hurry.”
“Give him the Bilvedere address?” Mason asked.
“Not the address. I told him to stop at the corner of a cross street and wait. Then I walked back a block, turned the corner, checked the numbers until I came to the driveway which led into Lunk’s place. It’s a little square house tacked onto the garage and...”
“I know,” Mason interrupted. “I was inside the place. What did you do?”