Mason digested the information and said, “Now that’s something. Any other clues?”
“Apparently that’s all that found its way to the last minute news flashes… Want me to call up Paul Drake and start him working on it?”
Mason said, “I’d better call him myself, Della.”
“Look like the plot’s thickening?” she asked.
“Positively curdled,” he agreed, cheerfully. “It’s like Thousand Island dressing… Almost as bad as the cream gravy I tried to make on that hunting trip last fall.”
“Can I do anything to help, Chief?”
“I don’t think so, Della. I don’t think I’ll do very much. After all, we’ll be hearing from Mrs. Tump on this, and in one way this will simplify matters.”
“Sounds more complicated to me,” she said.
“No. It’ll work the other way. With the charges made in connection with the trust fund of the Elmer Hastings Memorial Hospital, a court would want a pretty thorough accounting from Tidings on the Gailord trust. Tidings won’t dare to let us drag him into court on that now. He’ll make all sorts of concessions — that is, if he wasn’t inside of that coat when the bullet went through. If he was, and should pass out of the picture, we’ll then be in a position to have another trustee appointed and get an accounting from Tidings’ administrator… What worries me is the lipstick on the handkerchief in his coat pocket.”
“Getting narrow-minded, Chief?” she asked banteringly.