Mason said, “Just a moment. I want to find out about some papers. If you can wait just a moment, Mr. Milicant, I won’t detain you over five minutes.”
Milicant was again regarding his wrist watch as Mason strode across the office, entered the law library, and then detoured through the corridor door to Paul Drake’s office.
Mason nodded to Drake’s secretary, raised his eyebrows in silent interrogation, and pointed toward Drake’s private office. She nodded, and Mason went on in to find the detective sitting in his little cubicle, his feet on the desk, reading a paper.
Mason said, “Paul, I’m damned if I know whether this is just a hunch or whether I’m naturally getting suspicious of my fellow men. John Milicant is in my office. He’s around fifty-five, about five foot ten in height, fairly stocky, wears good clothes, bald on top, and has a slight limp.”
Drake frowned, and said, “What are you getting at, Perry?”
“Read that description again — the one that you have of L. C. Conway.”
“I get you,” Drake said. He pulled out his notebook, glanced through the description and said, “It fits. Of course, Perry, it would fit a lot of men.”
“I know,” Mason said, “but it’s worth a play. Milicant will leave my office in about two minutes. Do you have an operative you can put on his tail?”
“I’ll have a man on him when he leaves,” Drake promised.
Mason returned to his own office, said, “I wanted to look up a matter. I won’t need to keep you any longer, Mr. Milicant.”