“You didn’t find him?”
“Lord, no! We didn’t have a chance to even look. The police nabbed me first.”
Mason said, “Your nephew, Harold, apparently has been cutting a wider swath than he’s been given credit for. His mistress had an apartment in the same building with Milicant. Leeds went downstairs to call on Milicant. He’d found out Milicant was going under the name of Conway, and found out about the twenty grand. Harold didn’t know whether it was blackmail or what. He wanted to find out. He’s the witness who saw you leave the room.”
“Harold, eh?”
“It doesn’t seem to surprise you,” Mason said.
Leeds said dryly, “Nothing surprises me. I’ve had too many birthdays.”
“I don’t suppose,” Mason said, “that, under the circumstances, you’d care to go on the witness stand and tell your story.”
Leeds looked at him, steadily, slowly shook his head.
Mason scraped back his chair, and got to his feet. One of the deputy sheriffs reached for the telephone. Mason said, “I’ll see you in court,” and walked across to the barred door. The second deputy opened the door, escorted Mason through the anteroom, and out into the corridor. Leeds, standing behind the screen of the divided table, turned to wait — expectantly facing the door of the elevator which was to take him down to the jail.
Drake was waiting for Mason at his office. It needed but a look at Della Street’s face to tell Mason that the detective had bad news. “What is it, Paul?” he asked.