“Is there anything I can do?” Belle Newberry asked. Mason said, “Yes, you wait here and play secretary. Take all the messages that come in, and be ready to give me a complete report whenever I call in. You, Paul, tell your office to report to Belle and give her all the dope. Keep men on the job.”
Mason walked to his suitcase, pulled out a bolstered revolver, unbuckled his belt and slipped the strap through the loop in the holster. “Come on, Paul,” he said to the detective, who was telephoning. “We haven’t got all day, you know. Tell ‘em to rash those men down here.”
Chapter 13
The two automobiles, filled with grim, silent men, roared up the paved road which wound through redwood-covered mountains. An orange-peel new moon hung suspended against the orange after-glow of sunset. The drivers were men who knew their business, men who kept the cars in second gear, gave plenty of throttle on the turns and used the brakes but sparingly.
Drake said, “Have you any idea how you’re going to play this, Perry? We don’t want any rough stuff if we can avoid it.”
Mason said, “I’m going to find out whether Eves knows anything about Della Street. If he starts anything, I’ll finish it.”
“He’s very apt to start something,” Drake warned.
“And I’m very apt to finish it,” Mason said.
“How do you figure the nurse in it?” Drake asked.
“I don’t know,” Mason admitted. “They’re holding something back. How the devil did her dress get on the cleat?”