Mason, laughing, said, “Gosh, Della, I think I want to do this when I’m ready to retire. How nice it would be to have a cabin where you could make friends with...”
“What is it, Chief?” she asked, as he broke off abruptly.
Without answering her, Mason strode over to the pine tree in which the bluejay was perched. The jay, thinking he was being pursued, fled into the dark retreat of the forest, his startled squawk being superseded by cries of “Treason!” which merged into a more raucous and continuous vituperation of the man who had betrayed his confidence. Della Street, sliding across the seat, her feet pointed at the open door, gave herself impetus by a boost from the steering wheel, and slid to the ground with a quick flash of shapely legs. She ran across to where Mason was standing.
“What is it, Chief?”
Mason said, slowly, “That wire, Della.”
“What about it... I don’t see any... Oh, yes... Well, what is it, Chief?”
“I don’t know,” Mason said. “It isn’t an aerial, but you can see the way it’s been concealed. It runs along the branch of that limb and is taped to the upper side of it. Then it hits the tree trunk, runs along the tree trunk until it comes to that other limb, goes up through that, runs into this tree, then crosses over to that grove... Drive the car outside and park it on the highway, Della. I’m going to take a look.”
“What do you think it is, Chief?”
“It looks,” he told her, “as though someone had been tapping Fremont Sabin’s telephone.”
“Gosh, Chief!” she exclaimed. “Isn’t that something?”