“Then there’s this other thought you brought up that the money might have been his wife’s,” Drake said.
“Well, I don’t figure that angle so strong right now, ” Mason told him, as the operative pulled in to the curb and said, “Here’s a telephone, Mr. Mason.”
Mason telephoned the hotel, only to learn that Della Street was still absent. He walked back to the automobile, frowning. “I don’t like it, Paul,” he said. “Della’s still out.”
“Maybe she went to get her hair done,” Drake suggested.
“Not that girl,” Mason told him. “When she works on a case she’s like I am, working day and night, grabbing a bite to eat when she can get it. She’s doing something on this case.”
“I wonder if that piece of blue silk cloth has anything to do with it?” Drake asked.
“Now that’s a thought,” Mason said.
“Maybe she’s remembered who wore the gown,” Drake suggested.
“Perhaps,” Mason said, still frowning, “but it’s entirely unlike Della to have left the hotel without letting me know, and making certain it didn’t interfere with any of my plans. It’s equally unlike her not to have telephoned in a report. And I can’t understand what’s keeping her so long.”
“Oh, well, one thing at a time,” Drake told him. “Let’s tackle this place up in the Santa Cruz Mountains.”