“And,” Della Street said, “it all ties in with the message in the tin. Tragg can really go to town on that.”
Mason lit a cigarette. “Yes,” he said thoughtfully, “that would account for it. The tin itself was a signal. Whenever the can was placed on the shelf, it meant the time had come to rob the safe. If any unforeseen developments necessitated a minor change in plans, that would be noted in code on the inside of the tin top.”
“It was noted,” Drake said, “and the person for whom the message was intended got it all right.”
“And acted on it,” Della Street supplemented with a meaning glance at Mason.
“And,” Drake added, “they’re Junior’s fingerprints on the telephone. Now just suppose, for the sake of the argument, Perry, that message has something to do with the telephone. You could see where that would leave young Gentrie.
“Of course,” Drake went on, “they may never decipher that code. But they have some pretty clever cipher men knocking around these days. Whatever that message is, it’s an even money bet Tragg will have it all worked out within a week or two, perhaps a lot sooner than that.”
Mason lit a cigarette, blew out twin streams of smoke through his nostrils. “Just as a gambling proposition, Paul, what would you say the percentage of chances was?”
“Percentage on what?”
“That the message has anything to do with the telephone.”
“I’d say it was even money,” Drake said.