“That’s right.”
“I don’t get you.”
Mason said, “I was calling on Mrs. Milfield in connection with a matter of business. I didn’t know what your business was, but I realized that if you found me here, it would put her in an embarrassing position and start you off on a wrong scent. So I decided to keep out of the way until after you had left.”
Mrs. Milfield said, “Here’s the milk, Mr. Mason.”
Mason took the quart bottle of milk over to the drain board of the sink. Mrs. Milfield gave him a glass. Mason poured out a glass of milk and grinned at Lieutenant Tragg over the rim.
“Here’s looking at you, Lieutenant.”
Tragg said, “You didn’t think you were really going to slip this on over on me, did you, Mason?”
Mason, his mouth full of crackers, managed to enunciate clearly enough to be understood. “Certainly not. I was merely trying to keep you from slipping one over on yourself. Who’s the victim this time, Lieutenant?”
“What makes you think there is a victim?”
“Isn’t this a professional call?”
“Let’s talk about your call, first.”
Mason grinned. “I have nothing to conceal. I just dropped in for lunch.”
Tragg said irritably, “This isn’t getting us anywhere, Mason.”
“It’s getting me a darn good lunch. Very nice peanut butter, Mrs. Milfield. Permit me to compliment you on it.”
“Thank you.”
Tragg said, “All right, wise guy. Mrs. Milfield’s husband has been murdered.”
“Too bad,” Mason mumbled, his mouth full of cracker.
“I don’t suppose you know anything about it,” Tragg said.
“Only what you’ve told me.”
Tragg looked at the onions in the sink.
“These the onions you were peeling?” he asked Mrs. Milfield.
“Yes.”
“Where are the peeled ones?”
“I... I had just started when you rang the doorbell.”
Tragg said, “Humph!” and after a moment shot Mason a suspicious glance.
“Where was her husband murdered?” Mason asked conversationally, taking two or three swallows of milk.
Tragg grinned. “By a technicality, Mason, it’s within the city limits of Los Angeles.”
“Makes it nice,” Mason observed. “Gives you something to do. Who did it?”
“We don’t know.”
“Sounds interesting,” Mason commented.
Tragg said nothing.
“How did you know I was here?” Mason asked abruptly.
“I told him you were,” Mrs. Milfield said.
“Why?” Mason asked, pouring himself another glass of milk.
Tragg said, “You’re making me hungry, Mason.”
“Help yourself,” Mason told him cordially. “It’s one of the police prerogatives, you know. Why did you tell him, Mrs. Milfield?”
“I thought I’d better, after I found out what it was all about. I didn’t want to be placed in a false light.”
“Certainly not,” Mason observed, washing his hands at the tap in the kitchen sink, and tearing off a paper towel from the roll above the drainboard.
“I explained to Lieutenant Tragg,” she went on. “That you were calling on me in connection with another matter — something that had to do with my husband’s business; and that when you heard Tragg was here, you thought it would be better if he didn’t find you.”
Tragg grinned. “You don’t need to coach him, Mrs. Milfield. He knows all the lines, even yours.”
Mason shook his head, dolefully. “I told you so, Mrs. Milfield. He doesn’t trust me. Well. I’ll be on my way. I’m sorry about your husband. I don’t suppose Lieutenant Tragg gave you any particulars?”
She said, “Why yes. He gave me all the details. It seems that...”
“Hold it!” Tragg interrupted sharply. “What I told you wasn’t to be passed on.”
She lapsed into silence.
Tragg moved over to look at the onions in the sink. He was frowning thoughtfully.
Mason said, “Well. I’m on my way. My sincere sympathies, Mrs. Milfield.”
“Thank you.” She turned to Lieutenant Tragg. “That,” she said, “is everything I know. I’ve told you frankly the entire situation.”
Tragg, still regarding the onions in the sink, said, “I’m glad you did. It always pays to be absolutely frank with the police.”
She was talking quickly now, apparently giving him her fullest confidence. “It was,” she explained, “Mr. Mason’s idea that you shouldn’t find him here. I, of course, didn’t have any idea why you were coming. I’m terribly shocked to hear about Fred, but after all, I felt that I should tell you just exactly...”
Mason said, “Here’s where I came in.”
Tragg regarded him thoughtfully. “You mean here’s where you go out.”
In the doorway, Mason turned and smiled. “It amounts to the same thing as far as I’m concerned, Lieutenant.”
Chapter 4
There was a phone in the corner drugstore. Mason dropped a nickel and dialed his office, using the private unlisted number which rang the telephone on his own desk.
After several seconds, Della Street answered.
“Hello,” Mason said cheerfully. “Had lunch?”
“Certainly not. You told me to wait right here.”
“I’ve been to lunch.”
“Well, I like that!”
“And we have a murder.”
“Another one?”
“That’s right.”
“Who’s the victim?”
“Fred Milfield.”
“Chief!” she exclaimed. “How did it happen?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who’s our client?”
Mason laughed. “We haven’t one. Don’t become such a slave to the conventions, Della. Can’t I have a murder case without a client?”
“Not profitably.”
“No,” Mason admitted, “I suppose you have something there. Tell Paul Drake to get on the job, contact the newspaper boys, see what he can find out about Milfield’s murder.”
“Chief,” she protested. “I’ve got to have someone to charge this to — just as a matter of bookkeeping, and...”
“Okay,” Mason said, “charge it to Miss Kingman.”
“What,” Della asked, “do you want Drake to find out about the murder?”
“Everything. You go get some eats. I’ll be right up.”
Mason flagged a taxi, went to his office and found Della Street waiting for him.
“Hello,” Mason said, surprised, “I thought you’d gone to lunch.”
“I was just starting out when I saw a well-dressed young woman frantically trying to get into the office, so I took pity on her and explained to her you wouldn’t be in until Monday morning. She was white-faced and desperate, said she simply must see you.”
Mason said impatiently, “I haven’t time to see anyone now, Della. This murder case has broken. Milfield’s been murdered. His wife was...”
“This young woman,” Della Street interrupted, “is Carol Burbank.”
“I don’t care who she is. I... Oh! Wait a minute! Burbank, eh?”
Della Street nodded.
“Any relation to the Karakul fur Burbank?”
“I didn’t know. That’s why I let her in. I think she is.”
Mason whistled. “We’ll talk with Carol Burbank,” he agreed. “She seems excited?”
“More than excited. She’s white-faced with desperation.”
“She’s in the outer office?”
Della Street nodded.
Mason said, “Okay. You go down to Paul Drake’s office. Tell him about Milfield’s murder. Tell him the police know about it. He can dig out the details for us. Tell him to get busy on it and let everything else go. You talk with him and while you’re doing that I’ll see if this Carol Burbank is tied up with the Burbank we’re looking for.”