“That won’t be at all necessary, Mr. Perry,” the clerk said. “I’ll instruct the garage man and…”
“No, thank you,” Mason interposed firmly. “I want to make certain that the car is parked where it will be available at rather unusual hours. I’ll talk with the garage man myself. A bit of a tip sometimes is most efficacious I’ve found.”
“Yes, Mr. Perry,” the clerk said suavely. “I’ll let you know as soon as your niece arrives.”
Mason hung up the receiver, opened one of his suitcases, took out a bundle of keys, and compared them with his door key. He selected three passkeys of similar design and started experimenting on his own door.
The second key worked the lock easily and smoothly. Mason detached it from the bundle and slipped it into his pocket. He closed the door of his apartment quietly behind him, and walked down the corridor until he came to the door bearing the number 1029. This was Peltham’s apartment, and Mason, moving with calm assurance and a complete lack of nervousness, fitted his passkey to the door. The lock clicked back, and Mason entered the apartment.
He didn’t switch on the lights, but took from his pocket a miniature flashlight about half the size of his little finger. Using that to guide him, he moved directly toward the clothes closet.
He selected a dark topcoat and made certain that the name of the tailor and the initials “R.P.” appeared in the label on the inside of the inner pocket.
He folded the overcoat, put it over his arm, closed the closet door behind him, his gloved hands leaving no fingerprints, and quietly left the apartment.
Two minutes later, safely ensconced in his own apartment, Mason telephoned Della Street at the drugstore where she was waiting.
“Okay, Della,” he said.