“Here’s what we’ll do. We leave the office together. Downstairs in the lobby we stop and chat for a minute or so. Then I leave you two as though I were starting for court.
“You go into the department store across the street. I’ll take the car, drive two blocks down the street and park in front of a fire plug. At this time of day cars will be parked solid everywhere else. Now, the shadows, if they’re clever, will be following along behind. There will be two of them, one to stay in the automobile and the other to follow me in case I should leave my car. They won’t be able to park anywhere near me, and they won’t dare to double-park. That will take care of the car and the driver. He’ll just have to keep going. The second man will have to jump out and follow me on foot. I won’t try and ditch him at all. I’ll go to the nearest telephone, call up Paul Drake, give him some instructions, leave the phone and start walking down the street as though, after my conversation with Drake, I’d thought of something else I had to do.
“You girls leave the department store, walk down the street and you’ll find my automobile parked in front of a fire plug on the right-hand side two blocks down. I’ll pick the first fire plug I can find. Della, you have the keys to my car. There’ll probably be a parking tag on it. You may even find the cop in the act of putting on the tag and he’ll start bawling you out. Don’t pay any attention to that. Just get in and drive off. I’ll go into the interurban station. My man will be following me, of course, but by that time his partner and his car will be out of the running. Now you synchronize your watches with mine. I’ll take the first interurban car that leaves after an interval of exactly twenty minutes to the second from the time I say good-by to you girls. I’ll be back in the car in a seat on the right-hand side, next to the window. For all my shadow can tell, I’ll be going all the way on the interurban.
“You girls drive on out Seventh Street, park the car at a point that’s far enough out so that my shadow can’t pick up a taxicab. You keep watch on the red interurban cars. I’ll be watching for you. When my car passes, I’ll signal you and you fall in behind the car. I’ll ride out to a point that’s sufficiently isolated, then get off. My shadow will, of course, be right behind me. But you’ll be there with the car. I’ll step into the automobile, and as I do so, I’ll tell you all about exactly how many minutes it took me to go from the terminal to the point where I got off. The shadow will think I was making some sort of a test to check up on the story of a witness and he’ll be left there twiddling his thumbs, hoping for a taxi, perhaps trying to stop some passing motorist and offer him five bucks to follow us.
“The whole thing will depend on split-second timing. We want to get away from there fast, before the shadow can make any possible connections with any kind of transportation, so be sure we have a smooth, steady, well-timed operation that goes like clockwork.”
“And then?” Della Street asked.
Mason said, “Then you make the first turn off the main road and I’ll tell you where to go from there. We’ll wind up in Gertie’s apartment. Gertie, you’re inviting us to spend the day and to have dinner. We’ll pick up some food at a delicatessen place, and wait up in your apartment.”
Gertie said, “Gee that’s swell. I just started one of those diets and I’ve counted calories until I feel like my belt buckle is scraping against my backbone. I’ve just been looking for a good excuse to throw the whole thing overboard, and I think this is it! You always did like tenderloin steaks, Mr. Mason, and my butcher said he’d been saving some for me. After all, when a girl changes from the status of an unattached female to a blushing bride, the occasion calls for some celebration.”
12
It was seven-thirty. Out in Gertie’s kitchenette the girls were busy doing the dishes. They had been cooped up in the place all day, playing cards, listening to the radio, phoning Paul Drake, dozing fitfully.
Perry Mason, sitting in the one overstuffed chair which the apartment offered, chain smoked cigarettes and frowningly regarded the faded carpet. As Paul Drake had so aptly pointed out, it could well be a week before they found any trace of Bob Fleetwood.
The open window on the shaft gave a partial ventilation, sufficient to let in some air, but not enough to dispel the heavy odors of cooking, the aroma of broiled steaks, of coffee.
For the third time in ten minutes Mason glanced impatiently at his wrist watch.
Abruptly the telephone rang.
Mason jumped for the instrument, scooped the receiver off the hook, said, “Yes, hello.”
Paul Drake’s voice, keen-edged with excitement, said, “We’ve got him, Perry!”
“Got Fleetwood?”
“That’s right!”
“Where?”
“He’s holed up at a little farmhouse — a little mountain ranch actually within five miles of where the car went off the grade.”
“Wait a minute! Della, grab a notebook and get these directions as I repeat them. Go ahead, Paul.”
Drake said, “At the foot of the grade you’ll see a sign on the right-hand side of the road that says, ‘Fifty miles of mountain grades ahead. Be sure you have plenty of oil, water and gas.’ Now you set your odometer to zero at that sign.”
“That’s at the foot of the grade?” Mason asked.
“Right. It’s just before you start climbing, about a hundred yards or so.”
“Okay, I’ve got it. Then what?”
“You go exactly thirty-one and two-tenths miles from that sign,” Drake said. “That puts you well up in the mountains, over the first ridge down in an elevated valley. There’s a stream running along in the valley, but it’s narrow and steep and you wouldn’t think there was any farming land within a hundred miles. But right at that point you’ll notice a side road that turns off. You follow that and it brings you to a little general store and post office at exactly one and four-tenths miles from the place where you turn off.
“Now you go right past the post office and take the first road that turns off to the left. It’s a rocky dirt road that looks as though it would pinch out within the first hundred yards. It doesn’t. It keeps on going. It’s a rough, twisting rocky road, but it climbs up a steep grade and brings you to a beautiful little elevated mountain plateau i with some good ranch land, about ten or fifteen acres of fine mountain meadow. There are two little ranches up there. You want the first one. You’ll be able to spot it from the name on the mailbox. The name is P. E. Overbrook. I don’t think he has any idea about what’s going on. There’s no electric power of any sort on his place. He doesn’t have a radio.”
“Does he know Fleetwood? Is it a hide out?”
“I can’t tell you that,” Drake said. “All I know is that when my man stopped at the ranch he saw Fleetwood walking around the house. He only had Fleetwood’s description, but he’s pretty certain.”
Mason repeated the names, distances and directions. “That right, Paul?”
“That’s right.”
“Okay,” Mason said. “We’re on our way. Are you in touch with your operative up there?”
“There’s a telephone service at the general store, but I don’t know how long you can get him there. And remember that up in that country it’s all party line stuff. There’ll be a lot of people listening.”
“I know,” Mason said. “If there should be any developments and you want to stop me, get someone up there to flag me down at the general store. We’ll make time.”
“Okay.”
Mason hung up the phone, turned to Della Street and said, “You got those down, Della? All those distances and names?”
“I have them, Chief.”