“I regret the circumstances,” Carpenter amplified.
“And that doesn’t mean a damn thing,” Mason remarked.
“It’s the best I can do.”
“Well,” Mason said angrily, “as attorney for Mrs. Prescott, I can tell you right now that your attitude isn’t appreciated in the least. When Mrs. Prescott is appointed executrix or administratrix, as the case may be, you’ll lose the account just as fast as she can check it out.”
Carpenter observed blandly, “It’s unfortunate.”
Mason strode from the bank, his angry heels pounding the flagged floor. Behind him, Frederick Carpenter continued to stroke his bald spot with an even tempo of conservative caution. Then, as Mason passed through the swinging doors, Carpenter reached for the telephone on his desk.
Mason paused on his way to his office to telephone Paul Drake. “Listen,” he told the detective, “I think you’ve uncovered something on that Jason Braun angle. I’m working on it from one angle, but that’s no reason you shouldn’t work on it from another. Confidentially, the man’s an investigator for the Board of Fire Underwriters. He’s working on a case right at present and his disappearance may have been deliberate, in which event that amnesia business may have been a stall. Now, the Board of Underwriters probably won’t be anxious to give out any information, if they know why you want it. But if you can rig up a plant who will claim to have certain information about some incendiary fires which have been set within the last two or three months, the chances are the Board of Underwriters will send Jason Braun to call on him. Now, I want to get this angle covered before the police get wise to it, so get busy on it.”
“Okay,” Drake said.
“And one more thing,” Mason told him, “get busy on a Rosa Hendrix who works at the office of Prescott & Wray. She’s a readhead with a cat-swallowed-the-cream expression. See what makes her tick.”