“None whatever,” Drake said, “but I bought a post office money order for twenty-five bucks payable to the Conway Appliance Company, scribbled a note that it was in payment of the merchandise I’d ordered a couple of months ago, and asked him to send it by mail to a phony address. I sent it to 692 Herrod Avenue.”
“How did you know what kind of merchandise he was selling?” Mason asked.
“I didn’t,” Drake said, “but a guy like that isn’t going to turn down twenty-five bucks, and he isn’t going to take a chance on cashing a post office money order without giving the sucker some sort of run for his money.”
Mason nodded. “Good work, Paul. Get an answer?”
“Yep,” Drake said, squirming around sideways so that he could get his left hand into the inside pocket of his coat. “Found out what the bird’s selling all right and got his address.”
“What’s he selling?”
“Crooked crap dice by the looks of things,” Drake said, pulling a letter from his pocket and reading.
“Dear Sir, It is our policy to make deliveries by messenger and never through the mail. Your valued order received, but you neglected to state whether you had any preference in color or size. Unless we hear from you to the contrary, we will deliver two pair of our regular ivory cubes. There will, of course, be the usual premium.”
“How’s it signed?” Mason asked.
“Signed ‘Guy T. Serle, President,’ ” Drake said.