Mason moved over to the light checked suit and calmly started going through the pockets.
“Oh,” Mrs. Gentrie said, “I... do you think it’s all right to do that?”
Mason said, “I think we’ve got to find out everything we can about him.”
“I know, but isn’t that rather — well...”
Mason said, “I think it will be all right.” He glanced significantly at Della Street and said, “Get Mrs. Gentrie to show you where he keeps his linen, Della.”
Della, distracting Mrs. Gentrie’s attention, said, “I suppose in this drawer...” She stopped at the expression on Mason’s face as the lawyer pulled a telegram from a side pocket of the coat Steele had discarded.
“Well, well, what’s this?” Mason said.
“Really,” Mrs. Gentrie protested as Mason unfolded the yellow oblong of paper. “I’d prefer that you didn’t read that.”
Mason, however, already had the telegram opened and was reading the message. “Well,” he said, “this is something. It’s a telegram sent to Steele at the office of the architect and says, ‘Man named Carr Luceman accidentally shot self when cat knocked gun off table. Luceman’s address thirteen-o-nine Delington Avenue, San Francisco. Grab plane investigate.’ And it’s signed K. Anamata.”
Mrs. Gentrie, visibly perturbed, said, “I wish, Mr. Mason, you could handle this without prying into Mr. Steele’s business.”