Mason paused at the desk for his key. The clerk handed him a key and several messages. Looking them over, Mason found they were messages of his calls to Della Street.
“Hasn’t Miss Street come in yet?” he asked the clerk.
The clerk said, “I don’t think so.
Mason strode toward the elevator. “Come on, boy,” he said to the operator, “shake a leg. See how quickly you can get this crate to the fifth floor.”
They emerged on the fifth floor. Mason strode down the corridor, fitted the key to the lock, flung the door open. “She hasn’t been here since morning,” he said. “Look here, Paul, something’s happened to her.”
“She left under her own power,” Drake pointed out.
“But she’d have come back or left a message,” Mason said. “For God’s sake, do something. Don’t stand there gawking at me.”
“What do you want me to do?” Drake asked.
“Get on the phone,” Mason said. “Start your men covering the city. Check the automobile accidents. Cover the ambulance calls. Check through the hospitals. Give me some action.”
Drake nodded, ran through the connecting door to his room and started putting through calls.