Drake said, “On the desk telephone, and the desk telephone was on Hocksley’s desk, and Hocksley’s desk was in the room where the safe was located, and the telephone was right near the door of that room. Moreover, there’s a side door on the garage that Hocksley used to get in and out. That door opens into a little yard between the flat and the Gentrie house. It’s right near a side door leading to the Hocksley flat.”
“Were the fingerprints clear enough so the police could do anything with them?”
“Very clear. I think Tragg’s getting ready to do something there. He’s just waiting for the right time to strike.”
“Meaning he...” Mason broke off as the door from the outer office opened, and the girl who had charge of the switchboard timidly entered.
“I didn’t know whether to disturb you, Mr. Mason,” she said. “I told this woman you were in conference on an important matter, but she says that she wants to see you about the matter you’re talking over.”
“Who is she?” Mason asked.
“Her name is Gentrie, and there’s a young man with her, her son.”
Mason glanced at Drake.
Drake, consulting his notebook again, quoted: “He was in bed and asleep when the shot was fired. He came in, however, just about fifteen or twenty minutes before the shooting. He’d been out with Opal Sunley, the stenographer who handled Hocksley’s work.”
“You’re certain?” Mason asked.