“Did you get a good look at her?”
“She was rather — well, she looked rather — well cheap,” Della Street said. “Something in the way she walked.”
The radio officer frowned, said, “Guess I’ll check up with my partner. How do you get through to the back of the house?”
“This way,” Mason said, walking toward the dining room. “Sit down if you will please, Miss Garland. I’ll be glad to talk with you.”
The officer said, “I can find my way okay.”
“I’ll switch on the lights for you,” Mason said, and added apologetically, “I’m batching here. Engaged in some research work. Afraid I’m not much of a housekeeper when it comes to dusting.”
The light Mason had switched on disclosed what his flashlight had failed to make plain — that the table and chairs were well covered with dust.
The officer, frowning at them, said, “You sure aren’t much on housekeeping. Don’t you eat here?”
Mason laughed. “I’m afraid I’m a typical scholar, the absentminded sort. As a matter of fact, I do most of my eating in the kitchen. And my eating is rather sketchy at that.”
The officer followed Mason on into the kitchen. As Mason switched on the lights, he could see the vague outlines of a burly figure standing on the back porch just outside the back door.