“That’s right,” Karr said. “It’s murder. I’m a wanted man, Mr. Mason. There are people who want to know where I am. If they find out, I’m finished. In my condition, I can’t move around rapidly. I took a lot of trouble getting into this place unobserved. Johns Blaine rented it, and moved in. He and Gow Loong smuggled me in under cover of darkness. No one has ever seen me. That’s the beauty of the place. That balcony out there gets the sunlight, but it can’t be seen from any direction. There isn’t any other house which can command a view. That’s the advantage of that deep gully along there — ‘barranca’ they call it in this country. That’s one of the reasons I didn’t think they’d ever rent the lower part of the house. Too many people are afraid there’s going to be an earthquake, and the whole thing will slide down into the gully — barranca.
“There may be better places out here in Hollywood, but we didn’t have time to look around too much. They were after me. They were pretty hot on my trail, if you want to know the truth. A man who has to move around in a wheelchair isn’t exactly what you’d call inconspicuous. Johns did a good job in the limited time he had. It’s a satisfactory place. But I can’t stand any investigation. I don’t want to talk with the police. I don’t want them to talk with me. I can’t see any newspaper reporters.”
“What do you know,” Mason asked, “and what happened?”
“A man moved in down in the lower flat about a week after I’d rented this place,” Karr said. “I haven’t ever seen him. He’s never seen me. His name’s Hocksley. Guess you saw it on the mailbox — didn’t you?”
Mason nodded.
“I don’t know what he does. I think he’s connected with the studios, some sort of a writer. Damned irregular habits. I can hear him dictating sometimes at night. Always seems to dictate at night. Don’t know what he does during the daytime. Guess he sleeps.”
“Does he dictate to a stenographer?” Mason asked.
“No. To a dictating machine. That’s the way it sounds, and I think that’s right. Has a girl who comes in every day and pounds the typewriter. He seems to keep her busy. She’s the one who discovered the murder.”
“She comes in each day?” Mason asked.
“Yes.”