“Just luck,” Drake said, wearily. “Don’t give me any credit for that — although you’d have been the first to blame me if the name hadn’t been there. Anyway, it was a lucky break. I went down to 692 Herrod Avenue. The Conway Appliance Company had had an office there for a couple of months. It had received lots of mail, and then it had moved out suddenly and left no forwarding address.
“I got a description of L. C. Conway.” Drake pulled a notebook from his pocket, opened it, and read, “L. C. Conway, about fifty-five, around five foot ten, weight a hundred and ninety pounds, bald in front, with dark, curly hair coming to a point about the top middle of his head. Has a slight limp, due to something wrong with right foot... No one knew where he lived or what he did.”
Mason frowned.
“Couldn’t find a thing?” he asked.
“Nope,” Drake said, “but I found one thing that was significant.”
“What?”
“The day after he moved, all mail quit coming to the office.”
Mason studied his cigarette thoughtfully for a moment, then said, “Meaning a forwarding address had been left at the post office?”
“Yep.”
“Any chance of getting it?”