Mason nodded eagerly. “Yes. He was up here a couple of months ago.” He added, somewhat ruefully, “But I didn’t see much of him. I had my work, and he was frightfully busy. I guess those police conventions are rather — well, I guess an officer has his time pretty well taken up.”
The radio men exchanged grins. “We do for a fact.”
Mason switched out the lights behind them. Della Street, making herself comfortable in a chair in the front room, unostentatiously glanced at her wristwatch as the trio entered the living room.
“What’d you say your name was?” the first officer asked.
“Miss Garland,” she said, with somewhat aloof dignity.
“Getting subscriptions for the Chronicle, ” the first officer explained. “Now, Miss Garland, let’s find out about this woman who went around the comer.”
Della Street raised her eyes, looking at a far comer of the ceiling. She placed her gloved finger against her chin, and said meditatively, “Well, let me see. I couldn’t tell how she was dressed, but there was something about her. Oh, yes, her walk. Rather an exaggerated swing to the... er... hips... I remember she had on a narrow-brimmed hat and... no, I don’t think she wore any coat other than a jacket. Her skirts were rather short, and she was — well, leggy.”
The radio officer laughed in high good humor. “Leggy,” he said. “That’s a good one. Damned if it doesn’t describe that breed of cat.”
“I don’t think you could miss her if you happened to see her walking along the street,” Della Street said.
The officers glanced at each other. “You didn’t see any man with her?”