Mason heard a man’s voice at the other end of the line saying something to Gertie and then her voice in the transmitter saying, “Now you listen to me, Stew. Maybe this is on the level, and maybe it ain’t. I’m broadminded, but I’m getting fed up with this. Now you just give me a ring about five minutes to five, and if I don’t have to work tonight, I’m going to go right along and crab your party. If that gal ain’t your cousin, I’m going to get a nice double handful of blonde hair… And don’t think you can kid me.”
“All right, sweetheart,” Mason said, “good-by,” and distinctly heard a masculine voice say at the other end of the line, “You just let me talk with that boy friend of yours, sister. I want to get his address.”
Mason slipped the receiver back onto the hook, stepped out to the curb, waited for a taxi, and gave the address of the St. Germaine Hotel.
He had to wait ten minutes before Della Street put in an appearance.
“Made it as fast as I could, Chief,” she said. “How serious is it?”
“Plenty,” he said. “They’ve framed me.”
“Who?”
“Mattern.”
“That shrimp!”
“He’s worked up a good story,” Mason said.