“Give him the check,” he said, “with my compliments.”
He strode to the telephone booth. Della Street was on the line.
“Listen, Chief,” she said, breathlessly. “Drake’s located Alden Leeds.”
“Where?”
“Seattle. Emily Milicant’s with him. Drake’s Seattle correspondent is keeping him under surveillance. Your plane leaves in thirty minutes. Think you can make it? I’ve got your reservation. I’ll wire you all the details care of the Portland airport.”
Mason said, “I’ll make it. Take this in shorthand.”
“Okay. Shoot.”
“Milicant’s apartment was on the sixth floor. Check everyone who had apartments above him. Serle let something slip about a conversation Milicant had over the phone. It may have been with someone above him in the same apartment house. Tell Drake a waitress named Hazel Stickland of the Home Kitchen Cafe took a runout powder. Have him check on that waiter who took the food up to Milicant’s apartment. We’re taking this waiter’s story too much for granted. Find out if he knows this waitress. Have Drake try to find Hazel. Serle’s sold us out to the D.A., lock, stock, and barrel. He fixes that conversation at ten o’clock. He knows he’s lying, but he figures he can square his own pinch that way. Alden Leeds probably telephoned police the tip-off that got Serle’s place raided. Milicant knew that when Leeds called, Leeds probably left another twenty grand with Milicant when he paid that last visit. Milicant must have been killed almost immediately after that... Give all that dope to Paul Drake. Got it?”
“Got it,” she said. “Happy landings, Chief.”
Mason hung up and sprinted out of the restaurant.