“No,” Mason interrupted. “I don’t play ball that way, Paul. From what I’ve seen of Winnie Joyce on the screen, she’s a nice kid. There’s a startling resemblance, though. Not only does Belle Newberry resemble her in face and figure, but in actions and temperament. They have high-powered personalities, if you know what I mean.”
“And you think this substituted picture had something to do with the murder?” Drake asked.
“I don’t know, Paul. So far, I’ve been acting on the assumption that Celinda Dail, who apparently has matrimonial designs on Roy Hungerford, stole the picture and sent it by air mail to Rooney for an investigation. But I’m not so certain that’s correct. Rooney admitted he’d made an investigation for Celinda, but didn’t say anything about the picture. He intimated Belle had let drop some remark which had given Celinda a clue she’d gratuated from U.S.C. I’d like to find out something about that picture. Have your men cover the Royal Hawaiian Hotel over in Honolulu and see if they can uncover anything. Perhaps some of the employees may have seen someone hanging around Moar’s room— Remember, though, Paul, he was registered under the name of Newberry.”
Drake said, “Okay, Perry, on my way,” and dashed through the door into his room.
Someone knocked on the door of the sitting room. Mason said, “That’s Dail. Let him in, Della.”
Della Street opened the door and said, “Come in, Mr. Dail.”
Charles Whitmore Dail seemed far from comfortable. “Good morning, Mr. Mason,” he said. “Good morning, Miss Street. I seem to have placed myself in rather an unenviable position.”
“Sit down,” Mason invited.
“Thank you,” Dail said. He glanced around him at the room with its dictating machines, protable typewriters, and law books.
“Field headquarters,” Mason explained.