“Not a thing,” Drake said.
Mason said, “Hell, Paul, I don’t see how you do any business in this office. You can’t pace the floor.”
Drake started to say something when one of the telephones rang. He answered it, received evidently a routine report because he looked at his watch, made a note, said, “Okay, stay on the job and keep reporting,” and hung up.
Before he could turn to say anything to the lawyer, another phone rang, and Drake picked up the receiver, said, “Okay, this is Drake talking. Put them on.” He turned to Mason, and said, “Seattle calling.” A few moments later he said, “Yes, this is Paul Drake. Go ahead and tell me what you’ve found.” Then for five minutes, beyond an occasional “Yes... Okay... Go on from there,” he said nothing, but scribbled notes on a sheet of paper. He said, “Make a complete report by way of confirmation and send it on by airmail,” hung up, and turned to Mason again.
“That was my Seattle correspondent,” he said. “They dug up old passenger lists of the steamship lines. Records show that Alden Leeds sailed for Dawson City via Skagway in 1906. In the latter part of 1906, he was reported in partnership with a man named Bill Hogarty in the Tanana country. Next winter it was reported Leeds was killed in a snowslide.”
“Killed!” Mason exclaimed.
“That’s the way the report runs. Shortly after that, Bill Hogarty came out. He’d struck it rich. Hogarty got as far as Seattle and vanished. Our correspondent wants to know if he’s to try and pick up the Hogarty trail.”
“Go to it, Paul,” Mason said. “Start from there.”
“Where do I stop?” Drake asked.
“Don’t stop,” Mason said. “Keep going,” then, turning to Della Street, “Come on, Della. Let’s go to an office where we can pace the floor.”