Mason heard Drake’s whistle of surprise. “Where was it?” the detective asked.
“In a packing case in his workshop. What had you been able to find out about him, Paul? Anything?”
“Just a description. I have men out looking for him. I’ll call them in “
“Did you have a good description?”
“Yes. Fifty-two years old, six feet tall, two hundred and ten pounds, brown hair, brown eyes... Tell me, Perry, are you certain it’s George Trent?”
“Reasonably so,” Mason said. “The niece had hysterics. The janitor identified him. The body had been jammed into a packing case. I wanted to look around some, but Holcomb kicked me out. He wanted to work on the girl while she was still hysterical. What else, Paul?”
“I have a couple of likely prospects my men picked up coming out of The Golden Platter. I’m breaking license numbers down into names and addresses.”
“Get anything on Lone Bedford?” Mason asked.
Drake said, “She’s at the Green Room of the Maxine Hotel with Della right now, Perry.”
“Okay,” Mason said, “Take advantage of her being there to have a man frisk her apartment. See what he can dig up.”