Mason’s telephone rang. The lawyer scooped it up, placed the receiver to his ear, said, “Hello,” and heard Belle Newberry’s voice saying, “Is that you, Mr. Mason?”
“Yes. Where are you, Belle?”
“At my hotel. I’ve been calling you all afternoon. They let me out when they knew you were getting a writ of habeas corpus.”
“Have you heard anything from Della?” Mason asked.
“No. I’ve been ringing the hotel every half hour. No one’s answered. I didn’t want to leave any message because I was afraid some newspaper reporters might get hold of it, and I’m dodging them.”
“Jump in a cab and come on up here,” Mason said. “I want to talk with you.”
He hung up the receiver, walked through the suite of rooms to Della Street’s bedroom, then retraced his steps and went through to Drake’s room. Drake had just finished putting through telephone calls.
“Okay, Perry,” Drake said. “If anything’s happened to her, I’ll have a report within half an hour.”
“If anything’s happened to her,” Mason said, “half an hour’s too long.”
“Well, I’ll get it just as soon as the information’s available. I told the office to put on as many extra men as they needed. It’ll take a little while to get them all working, but we’ll cover the city with a fine-tooth comb. We’ll know within five minutes if there’s been any accident reported of if she’s in the emergency hospital.”