Mason said, “Because she doesn’t want Mrs. Tump to know that she’s intimate with Peltham — if Byrl Gailord is the one who’s intimate with him.”
“And if she isn’t?” Della Street asked.
Mason said, “Forget that. Ring up that Contractor’s Journal. Tell them we have a personal ad which must go in their next issue. Look up the position of Byrl Gailord’s name in the telephone directory, and compose a code ad asking if it’s all right to represent her… And somehow I feel as though I’m walking into a trap the minute I do that.”
“Couldn’t you go ahead and represent her without it?”
“I could,” Mason admitted, “but I don’t want to. That ten thousand dollars looked as big as the national debt last night, Della, but it looks like trouble now. Go ahead and work out that ad. Tell Paul Drake to look up Tidings, and get Tidings on the telephone for me.”
A few moments later, she popped her head in the door to say, “There’s a one-thirty dead-line on that ad, Chief. I’ve got it ready and will rush it down. Albert Tidings is coming on the line in just a moment. His secretary’s on now.”
Mason picked up the telephone, and a man’s rather high-pitched voice said, “Hello.”
“Mr. Tidings?” Mason asked.
“No. This is his secretary. Just a moment, Mr. Mason. Mr. Tidings is coming right on… Here he is.”
A booming, resonant voice said, irritably, “Hello. Who the devil is this?”