Mason’s smile was both affable and evasive. “I thought,” he said, “the suggestion came from you. I read you Conway’s description, that was all.”
She recognized the note of dismissal in his voice and came to her feet.
“Does Phyllis know anything about this?” she asked.
“No one knows, outside of my office staff and those who are working with me.”
Ten minutes after Emily Milicant had left, Della Street announced that Ned Barkler was in the office.
Mason told her to bring him in, and, a few seconds later, was shaking hands with the calmly competent, completely unperturbed prospector.
“Hello,” Barkler said, his pipe clamped between his teeth. “Ain’t seen Phyllis, have you?”
“No,” Mason said. “I think she’s out at the house.”
“Nope. She ain’t there.”
“Perhaps she went to the bank. Were you out at the house?”