She snuggled her arm in his. “Be your age, you big oaf.”
They drove a dozen blocks before Mason found an all-night restaurant with a public telephone. He parked the car, went into the restaurant, and called Paul Drake’s office. When he heard the detective’s voice on the line, he said, “Okay, Paul. You can go home now,” and hung up.
Chapter 8
Phyllis Leeds sat across from Mason in the big leather chair, her eyes darkened by apprehension and fear of what was to follow. Mason said, “There’s no way of breaking it gently, Miss Leeds, so brace yourself.”
“About Uncle Alden?” she asked.
“Not directly,” Mason said. “It’s about John Milicant. He was found in his apartment about an hour ago by a maid. He’d been murdered.”
“Murdered?”
Mason nodded. “A carving knife stuck in the back, a little above the left shoulder. The blade forward and downward.”
“Good Heavens!” she exclaimed.
“Paul Drake had operatives on the job all last night,” Mason went on. “We know everyone who entered the apartment house where Milicant had his apartment — everyone, that is, that went to the sixth floor. Among those persons was a Marcia Whittaker, whom John Milicant intended to marry, and a man who answers the description of your Uncle Alden.”