“You mean the canary?”
“Ja! Ja! They came, the police, with many questions, and they took the canary.”
“Did they ask you about his being lame?”
“Not asked. But they looked at his feet.”
“Did they seem to know anything about canaries?”
“Not them, but they talk of taking him to an expert.”
Mason nodded and said, “Well, don’t let it bother you, Karl. It’s just one of those things. I tried to get that canary out of the way, but I couldn’t do anything without involving you, and I didn’t want to do that.”
“It is evidence?” Helmold asked.
Mason nodded and said, “They think it is, anyway. All right, Karl. Thanks a lot for telling me.”
Mason dropped in at his barber shop and was shaved. Then he called a cab, went to the Doran Building, saw from the directory Prescott & Wray were in 382, took the elevator to the third floor, walked down the corridor to the inside offices, pushed open the entrance door, and said to a red-headed girl who surveyed him with snappy blue eyes, “I’m Perry Mason. I want to see George Wray. Tell him it’s important.”