Barkler sat down, pushed the tobacco down into the bowl of his pipe with a horny forefinger, and said, “Some cops were out at the house messing around with fingerprints and stuff. They tried to shake me down, and I told them where they got off.”
“Alden Leeds’ study was ransacked,” Mason said.
“Uh-huh,” Barkler agreed.
Mason, eyeing the man curiously, said, “How did you happen to locate Alden Leeds?”
“Where?”
“At the sanitarium.”
A network of little wrinkles appeared around Barkler’s amused eyes. He took the pipe from his mouth to chuckle softly. Mason, sizing up his man, made no effort to crowd him, but tilting back in his swivel chair, lit another cigarette and waited.
After a few moments, Barkler went on, “That crowd sure must‘a thought Alden was getting simple. Christ Almighty, Alden’s been through things those stay-at-home bastards never even dreamt of — and taken them all in his stride. Why, he was in a mutiny one time... well, no... I guess he wasn’t either.”
“Leeds got in touch with you?” Mason prompted.
“Uh-huh, there was a couple of heavy rubber bands holding the curtains together in the bathroom. Alden slipped them off, tied them together, and then tied the ends to the iron bars on the window. He wrote a note asking whoever found it to ring me up and tell me where he was. Then he wrapped a little piece of soap in the paper to give it weight...” Barkler broke off to chuckle. His chuckling started a fit of coughing. His pipe went out, and he scratched a match to light it again.