“How are you going to get in?”
“I’ll try the back door and actually cut through the screen just to make Luceman’s burglar come to life.”
She placed her hand on his arm. “Take care of yourself, Chief,” she said in a low voice.
“I intend to.”
“There’s no good telling you not to take any risks,” she said, “because you aren’t built that way. You could no more sit in your office, wait for business to come in, and handle it in an orthodox manner than a trout could live in stagnant water. But do keep an eye open.”
“Okay, I will, and if you have to start back to town, meet me at...”
“Locarno’s Grill,” she interrupted. “Over the biggest, thickest filet mignon in the place.”
Mason looked rapidly up and down the sidewalk, surveyed the dark outlines of the two-storied frame house, said, “Okay, Della, here we go. Keep your eyes open, and remember the signals.”
He started as though headed for the front steps, then suddenly detoured to pass around between the houses. A small flashlight hardly larger than a fountain pen gave him sufficient illumination to show the cement walk which led around to the back of the house.
An inspection of the back door showed Mason that entering the place was not going to be as easy as he had anticipated. The screen door was unhooked, but behind it was a wooden door equipped with a formidable lock, a lock which had cost much more than the average back-door lock. A casual inspection of the windows showed that they were locked tightly, and there was something in the unshaking rigidity of the window frames which indicated the locks were more efficient than those a nocturnal prowler would ordinarily expect to find.