“You mean if he knows all about Carl Moar and has found out who Belle really is you’re still going to try and help Moar?”
“Not Moar,” Mason said. “Belle.”
“Is there anything you can do, Chief?”
“I don’t know,” he told her. “One thing’s certain, I can smoke them out into the open.”
Della Street said dubiously, “I’m not certain that you can, Chief. Celinda Dail is nobody’s fool, if she was the one who got possession of Belle’s picture and sent it to Rooney, and they know about...”
“Why to Rooney?” Mason asked.
“Because Jackson’s wire says Rooney is related to the president by marriage. That means Celinda would have confidence in him and he’d probably be the one to whom she’d appeal. That would explain why Rooney is so set against allowing Moar to obtain any concessions by making a partial restitution.”
Mason grinned and said, “Well, we’ll find out within a couple of hours. Wireless Jackson that Dail’s aboard and that I’ll handle it from this end. Tell him to have Paul Drake keep a couple of operatives on Rooney and let me know if they uncover anything interesting.”
Charles Whitmore Dail, looking ponderously dignified in his tuxedo and stiffly starched shirt, said, “Come in and sit down, Mr. Mason. I believe you have met my daughter?”
Celinda Dail wore a dark evening dress, which revealed the long, slender lines of her athletic figure. The black coral bracelets which circled her right wist emphasized the creamy smoothness of her skin. She smiled at the lawyer with her lips. Her eyes were blue, wary and watchful.