Mason picked up the telephone and pushed the button which connected him with Della Street. “Della,” he said, “tell Paul Drake to telephone his correspondents in Honolulu and have them find out everything they can about Evelyn Whiting, the nurse who came over on the ship with us. Have him send an operative to see Ida Johnson, Aileen Fell’s cabin-mate, and get a written statement from her. The Johnson girl’s friendly. And tell Paul to get a photograph of Aileen Fell in a dinner dress.”
“Just a minute,” Della Street said.
Mason held the phone and could hear her transmit the message to Drake, then she said into the telephone, “Drake says he can get a prompt report from Honolulu but he doesn’t know how he’s going to get a photograph of Aileen Fell in a dinner dress. He says the district attorney will have a couple of detectives guarding her and—”
“Get some politician to throw a party for the detectives,” Mason interrupted. “Tell them it’s formal and the dicks will show up in their tuxedos, then Drake’s photographer can pose as a newspaper photographer and take a flashlight. No detective ever overlooked an opportunity to have his picture taken in a tuxedo... My God, do I have to tell Drake how to run his detective agency?”
Della Street laughed and said, “Paul was just telling me his parents had made a mistake. He should have been quintuplets.”
“You’d think he was from his expense accounts,” Mason said. He hung up the receiver, reached across the table and shook hands with Hungerford. “Thanks a lot, Roy,” he said. “If it becomes necessary to call on you for a financial contribution, I’ll let you know. I don’t think it will be. Would you like to fly up to San Francisco with us right after dinner?”
“No, thank you,” Hungerford said. “I have my own plane. But I’ll see you up there.”
Mason escorted Hungerford to the door, stepped into the outer offices, shook hands with the office force, chatted for a few minutes about China and Bali, then piloted Jackson into the law library.
Jackson blinked studious eyes from behind tortoise shell glasses and said, “You’re going to have a tough time with Rooney, Mr. Mason. I feel that I should warn you.”
Mason grinned, “You don’t seem to like him, Jackson.”