He watched her idly while her deft fingers flipped over a telephone key, and heard her transmit the message. She nodded toward a door marked “Private,” and said, “Mr. Wray said for you to come right in.”
Before Mason had reached the door, it was pushed open by a chunky man of forty, who clamped Mason’s outstretched hand in a cordial grip and said, “Mr. Mason! This indeed is a pleasure! I’ve heard a lot about you, read a lot in the papers, but hardly expected to be so fortunate as to meet you in the flesh. Come in! Come right in! Come in and sit down.”
Mason turned to say over his shoulder to the red head at the desk, “If anyone should call, asking for Mr. Mason, will you see that I’m connected?”
Her eyes showed interest as she looked him over in frank appraisal. “Sure,” she said.
Mason allowed Wray to pilot him to a chair. The automatic door check swung the door firmly shut.
“Well, well, I’m glad to see you,” Wray said, assuming the conversational aggressive at once. “I’d thought some of coming to your office; but I realized how busy you were, and didn’t want to intrude on you. This is a most unfortunate occurrence! Doubly unfortunate because Walter’s wife is involved. I can’t understand how the police could suspect her of anything like that.”
“ You don’t?” Mason asked.
Wray shook his head vehemently. “Indeed not,” he said with booming finality. “I’ve known her for eight or nine months. She’s every inch a lady.”
“You knew her before the marriage then?”
“Yes, I met her almost as soon as Walter did. They’ve been married about six months, going on to seven, I think.”