“I’ll say he does. He’s a great eater, likes his food, and eats plenty of it.”
“Where do you suppose he’ll eat lunch today?”
Drake took a notebook from his pocket, opened it, and thumbed through the pages. “Here we are,” he said. “Complete data on the guy... H’mmmmm... Let me see where he eats... Here it is. Most of the time at the Home Kitchen Cafe down on East Ranchester. It’s only a couple of blocks from where he was running the business.”
“What does he look like?”
Drake read a description from the book. “Around forty, an even six feet, hundred and sixty pounds, gray eyes, long, straight nose, thin features, red hair, thin lips, always wears double-breasted suits.”
“Why should a bird who likes his grub eat at a dump on East Ranchester?” Mason asked.
“Because it’s a swell place to eat, Perry. My operatives looked it up. It’s run by a French couple. Serle kids one of the waitresses quite a bit, and she seems to like him.”
“Got her name?” Mason asked.
Drake turned over the page, ran his forefinger down the notes, and said, “Sure... Here it is... Hazel Stickland.”
“Does she figure in it?” Mason asked.