“I don’t think so. I told my men to collect everything they could on the bird, and they went to town.”
Mason said, “Think I’ll drop in there for lunch.”
“You might land him that way,” Drake said, “but it wouldn’t fool him any.”
“I’m not so certain I care about fooling him, Paul. He... ”
The door from the outer office opened, and Della Street came breezing in. “Hi, Paul,” she said, by way of greeting. “How’s the sleep?”
Drake groaned. “Not worth mentioning, and I’m headed back to put my nose to the grindstone... So long.”
When he had gone, Mason said to Della Street, “What did the handwriting expert say?”
“He’ll try and get us a preliminary report just as soon as possible. It’s not a report that he’d swear to, but it’ll be something you can bank on just the same. What was in the envelope, Chief, and why did you rush it over to the expert?”
Mason said, “An omelet that I can’t unscramble. Photostatic copies of hotel registers back in October of 1907, the Regina Hotel at Dawson, the Golden North Hotel at Skagway, a hotel at White Horse, and one in Seattle.”
“What do they show?”