“Yes, but when she steps outside of her secretarial position and becomes an accessory, she loses her amateur status.”
“What’s an accessory?” she asked.
Mason said out of the corner of his mouth, “A moll who cases de joint.”
“Stop it,” she commanded. “I certainly led with my chin on that one. My face gets red every time I even think of it.”
Mason piloted her through the doors of the grill. “I’ve got some telephoning to do,” he said. “I’ll seat you, order some cocktails, and run.”
A headwaiter came smiling toward them. “Something near the...”
“A corner, somewhere far back,” Mason said.
The headwaiter’s smile became almost a smirk. “Yes, sir. I understand. This way, please.”
When they were seated and had ordered cocktails, Mason went to the telephone booth. He first called the airport, found that two seats were available on the midnight plane, and engaged them. Then he called Paul Drake’s office on long distance. Drake was not in, but Mason left instructions. “As nearly as possible,” he said, “I want to find out where Rodney Wenston was during every minute of the day. Tell Paul to get a line on Delman Steele, a roomer at the Gentrie house on East Dorchester. Got that?”
“Yes. Paul will be in in an hour or so.”