Mason said, “The thing I want to be dead certain of is that we haven’t mistaken the type of girl we’re dealing with.”
“Well,” Drake assured him, as they crossed the curb to the apartment house, “times have changed a bit since a girl could take only flowers, candy and books from a boyfriend, but this girl knows which side of the bread has the butter.”
Mason pushed open the door of the lobby. “She’s in, Paul?”
“Sure,” the detective said, “I’ve had a man covering her ever since she got in this morning, about three-thirty, to be exact. That’s the chap in the roadster across the street. He gave me the ‘go ahead’ sign.”
Mason approached the desk. “Will you ring Miss Trenton, please,” he inquired of a bored clerk, “and tell her that a Mr. Drake is very anxious to see her at once upon an important business matter?”
The clerk plugged in a line, and, after a moment, said, “Two gentlemen in the lobby to see you, Miss Trenton. One of them is named Drake... What?... A business matter... Just a moment.” He turned from the mouthpiece to ask Mason, “Exactly what sort of business did you want to see her about?”
“About some jewelry,” Mason said.
The clerk was supercilious. “You’ll have to be more definite,” he said.
Mason, raising his voice, so that it would be audible to the party at the other end of the line, said, “Tell her we want to see her about some jewelry; that it’s private and a personal matter. that if she wants to have it spread all over the apartment house, that’s her business. I’m giving her a chance to keep her private affairs to herself.”
The effect was instantaneous. The receiver made squawking noises, and the clerk said, “Very well, Miss Trenton,” jerked the plug out and said, “Go on up, apartment 14B, on the fifth floor.”