“What time did death occur?” Mason asked, holding the door open for the detective.
“The autopsy surgeon isn’t too definite,” Drake said. “You know how it is, Perry. They used to probe around in a guy’s digestive apparatus, talk about rigor mortis, and give you a time as though they’d been standing by the side of the victim, holding a stop watch, when he croaked. Then that Thelma Todd case, and the Rattlesnake Murder case, and a couple of others hit them right where they lived, and they’ve been so cagey ever since they won’t fix a definite time.”
“I know,” Mason told him, ringing for the elevator. “What’s the best they can do in this case?”
“Between noon and two-thirty, and that’s as far as they’ll go.”
“My God!” Mason exclaimed, “they found the body before five o’clock, didn’t they?”
“Something like that, but between noon and two-thirty is the best you can get them to do. That suits the police all right, because it brings the earliest time limit just within the time Jimmy Driscoll was seen in the house with the gun.”
Mason rang again mechanically for the elevator. His eyes were slitted in thought. “Wouldn’t it,” he said, “be a funny trick for Rita to play on her sister if—”
The elevator cage slid smoothly into position. The door glided back and Mason said, “Okay, Paul, keep working on those other angles. Get in touch with me if you find out anything.”
He was still frowning in thoughtful contemplation as he entered Helmold’s pet store. “Well, what is it?” he asked of the excited proprietor.
“They took it, Herr Counselor. They took it!” Helmold said excitedly.