He swung the car to the right.
“Go two blocks, and the hotel is on the left-hand corner,” she said.
Mason found the hotel, slid the car to a stop, and asked Helen Monteith, “Do you remember the room number?”
“It was room 29,” she said.
Mason nodded to Della Street. “I want to go up to that room, Della,” he said. “Go to the room clerk, ask him if the room is occupied. If it is, find out who’s in it.”
As Della Street vanished through the door to the lobby, Mason locked his car, and took Helen Monteith’s arm. They entered the hotel. “An elevator?” Mason asked.
“No,” she said. “You walk up.”
Della Street turned away from the desk and walked toward Mason. Her eyes were wide with startled astonishment. “Chief,” she said, “I...”
“Let’s wait,” Mason warned her.
They climbed the creaky stairs to the third floor, walked down the long corridor, its thin carpet barely muffling the echoing sound of their footfalls.