“Any idea who’s putting up the money?” Mason asked.
“Not for Diana Morgan,” Drake said, “but I have a line on Rosa Hendrix.”
“What sort of a line?”
“In case you’re interested,” Drake said, “she has a luncheon engagement tomorrow with Jimmy Driscoll.”
Mason stared at him with thought-slitted eyes.
“Listen, Paul,” he said, “what sort of baggage does that woman have?”
“Rosa Hendrix,” Drake said, “has a cheap, split-leather suitcase with a pasteboard backing, a steamer trunk, and—”
“No, I’m not talking about her. I’m talking about her other identity — Diana Morgan.”
“The sort of baggage that would go well with a three-hundred-and-ninety-five dollar apartment,” Drake said. “Hat boxes, suitcases, trunks, finest of leather—”
“How are they marked?”