Mason nodded. His eyes, preoccupied now, were gazing through Della Street out past the walls of the office.
“You certainly did make that plain enough to him,” she said. “What were you trying to do, frighten him, or make him mad?”
“Neither. I just didn’t want any misunderstanding — and I wanted to know where I stood. Lieutenant Tragg is no one’s fool. One of the big things which keeps Karr from being rated as a likely suspect is the condition of his legs. Tragg isn’t going to take anyone’s word for that. He’s going to check up on it.”
“Ask permission to make an examination?”
“Oh, he won’t be that crude, not unless he gets something else to work on. After all, he’s not in a position to go around offending prominent taxpayers. He’ll go about it in a roundabout way, but he’ll be very thorough. Don’t worry about that.”
“You think he’ll be suspicious of Karr’s legs?”
“I would if I were in his place.”
She laughed. “Well, in a way, you are.”
Mason took his hands from behind his head, stretched out his left wrist, and consulted his strap watch. “Paul Drake’s late. He said he’d be in here ten minutes ago, and make a preliminary report. He... here he is now.”
Della Street was up out of her chair as soon as Paul Drake’s distinctive knock sounded on the door of the private office. She crossed over and opened it.