“Did Packard make any statement to you about where he was staying in town, what his business was, or what his plans were?”
Trader clamped his lips together again, and after a moment puckered up the corners enough to send out a thin stream of yellow liquid into the cuspidor which stood by his table.
“Not answering that question?” Mason asked.
Trader shook his head. “He admitted it was his fault,” he said at length. “That’s all I’m telling you guys about the talk I had with him.”
Mason said, “Look here, Trader, you’re not helping us very much. I’m not trying to drum up a damage suit. I’m trying to get information, and it isn’t going to hurt you any to give us that information.”
“I’ve done all the talking I’m going to,” Trader said.
Mason motioned to Paul Drake. “Come on, Paul,” he said, “let’s go.”
“Where to now?” the detective asked, as they crossed the curb to his car.
“Take me out to my car,” Mason said. “I’ll drive it back to the office. In the meantime, you start men finding this chap, Carl Packard.”
“How bad do you want him?” the detective asked.