“Through the car,” Drake said. “I went to the garage where he kept his car, found he’d had some work done on it recently, got the mechanic who did the work, took him out to the wrecked car, showed it to him, and he identified it absolutely, pointed out some of the work he’d done on it. We’re out there now. I’m telephoning from that drug store.”
“Any explanation of how this car happens to be registered in the name of Carl Packard?”
“No, but it’s Braun’s car, all right, but the manufacturer’s serial numbers on it don’t agree with the serial numbers on that registration certificate.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, the mechanic just pointed that out to me. When he’d worked on the car it had different license plates on it and had been registered to Jason Braun. The present license numbers agree with the registration certificate to Carl Packard, and the make and model of car is the same. The rest of it is all haywire.”
Mason frowned thoughtfully. “Well, Paul, we’re getting somewhere now. We can start tracing the registrations and that other car should give us a lead. Keep working on it. I’ll give you a ring after a while.”
He hung up the telephone and said to Wray, “Well, getting back to this partnership business, I’m wondering if—”
“I beg your pardon,” Wray interrupted, “but you mentioned the name of Jason Braun over the telephone. He’s not in any trouble, is he?”
Mason kept expression from his face, picked up his cigarette from where he had laid it on the desk when he answered the telephone, and asked casually, “Know him?”
“Why, yes,” Wray said. “I know him rather well.”