“Give him a ring,” Mason told her. “What’s in the papers? Anything?”
“Oh, a lot of stuff” she said, “and Drake seems to be bursting with information, I’ll give him a buzz.”
She entered her office, and Mason picked up the newspapers, to skim through them. A few moments later, Della Street closed the office to stand by the exit door which opened into the corridor. When she heard Paul Drake’s steps outside, she opened the door, and, making a mock salute, stood at attention. “Hello, Della,” the detective said. “Lo, Perry.”
Mason indicated a chair. “What’s new, Paul?”
The detective sat down in the big leather chair, and turned around, draping his legs over one of its arms. “Lots of things,” he said, lighting a cigarette.
“Well,” Mason told him, “begin in the middle and work both ways.”
“On the gambling business,” Drake told him, “I have a couple of live ones spotted, a contractor about fifty-five who was there with a girl who couldn’t have been over thirty and looked twenty. Then there was a bank executive with a fluffy little blonde. Either of those two should be just what we want.”
“How about Lone Bedford?” Mason asked. “Did you follow her?”
“I’ll say.”
“Where?”