“Do you think that will get you anywhere?” Drake asked.
“I don’t know,” Mason told him, “but somehow I figure her as a pretty straight-from-the-shoulder young woman.”
“Remember,” Drake warned, “that no matter what good points she may have, she’s definitely living a double life.”
“I know,” Mason told him, and slid out from the seat, to stand on the sidewalk. “Is that your man in the roadster across the street, Paul?”
Drake nodded. The man in the roadster touched the brim of his hat, lit a cigarette, shook out the match and settled back in the seat as though waiting for someone to join him. Drake interpreted the signals to Perry Mason. “The girl’s in there. The man hasn’t showed up yet.”
Mason said, “All right, let’s go,” and led the way into the foyer of the apartment house. They took the elevator to the third floor. Mason tapped on the apartment door and said in a low voice to Paul Drake, “She doesn’t know your voice. If she opens the door, we walk in. If she asks questions, tell her you have a package and a telegram.”
Drake nodded, Lone Bedford’s voice from behind the door called out, “Who is it, please?”
“Telegram and a package for Mrs. Chennery,” Drake said.
She opened the door at once. Mason, stepping slightly to one side, placed the palm of his hand between Drake’s shoulder blades and pushed him forward, so that her eyes focused on Drake first. “Well,” she said impatiently, “where’s the telegram and package? You can’t come in...”
Mason pushed Drake slightly to the left while he moved to the right, pushing the door farther open. She swung to face the detective, apparently oblivious of the fact that another man was with him, until Mason had pushed the door completely open and was circling past her left arm. She turned to face him then, with an expression of annoyance, and her face froze into a mask of consternation. Mason, moving back, retrieved the edge of the door and swung it shut, calmly walked over to a chair and seated himself.