“It couldn’t have been in the Prescott house,” Driscoll said positively, “because Rosalind and I were alone in the house. She was in the solarium and I was telephoning.”
“That,” Mason said moodily, “is what you say. What do you suppose Packard will say when they find him?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care— What’s the matter? Can’t they find him?”
Mason shook his head. “He wandered out of the hospital and disappeared. Now then, Driscoll, where were you when Packard left the hospital?”
“What do you mean?”
“About an hour after the accident.”
Rosalind laughed light-heartedly and said, “That’s once the breaks are with us, Mr. Mason. Jimmy was with me at the airport — in fact, I guess we were already flying to San Francisco.”
Mason said, “Now here’s something else: You people are wanted by the police. I know you’re wanted by the police. Rita left a broad back trail because of that lame canary. I traced her through that, and if I did, the police may. Now then, if it were ever known that I talked with you here and didn’t turn you in to the police, knowing that you were fugitives from justice, I might be held as an accessory. The question is, can I trust you to keep your mouths shut?”
Rita Swaine nodded and said, “Why, of course.”
Rosalind Prescott said, “But we’re not fugitives from justice, Mr. Mason.”