The Case of the Cautious Coquette

Chapter 22

Mason, wearing Paul Drake’s black overcoat, met the car containing Drake’s men, gave them careful instructions, and assigned them to positions as carefully as a football coach working out a play.

From the highway, came the sound of brakes as a car swung into the driveway leading to the auto court. The long antenna and red spotlight characterized it as a police car.

Mason said, “Okay, boys, this is it.”

The car came to a stop as Drake’s men converged on it. Flash bulbs blazed into brilliance, blinding the eyes of the driver and his passenger.

“Hey,” Sergeant Holcomb growled, “what’s the idea?”

“Just a picture for the press, Lieutenant Tragg,” one of the men said.

“It ain’t Lieutenant Tragg. It’s Sergeant Holcomb. Be sure you get that name right now, will you? H-O-L–C-O-M-B.”

“Okay, we’ve got it;” one of the men said. “How about another picture?”

Again flashlights popped.

Mason, taking advantage of the dazzled eyes of the officer, moved forward to stand by the running board, holding the Speed Graphic in his hand. Sergeant Holcomb reached for the ignition switch, then the dash panel switch. “Is Mason really in there?”

One of the men said, “He’s there. We checked the register. He’s with one of Drake’s men.”

More flashlights blazed.

“Say, wait a minute,” Holcomb protested, “you’re making this look like the Fourth of July.”

“Here he comes!” one of the men shouted. “He’s seen the flash bulbs and he’s breaking cover. He knows we’ve located him now.”

“Here he is,” Holcomb said to Goshen.

The figure which came running out of the door of the cabin, attired in a tan overcoat and holding a hat in front of his face, ran up the gravel driveway directly toward the police car.

The photographers deployed into a semicircle. Flashlights blazed into brilliance.

The figure hesitated, stopped, turned, put on the hat, and with the dignity of surrender strode back toward the cabin.

Cameramen ran along beside the figure snapping more pictures. Mason remained at the side of the police car.

“Okay,” Sergeant Holcomb growled to the man at his side. “You seen him. That’s him, ain’t it?”

There was a silence.

“Well?” Holcomb asked.

“That’s him,” Goshen said.

Sergeant Holcomb chuckled, turned on the ignition, and backed the car. “Hope those pictures turn out good,” he called out. “So long, boys.”

As the police car drove away, Mason said to the other operatives, “All right, boys, rush back and get those pictures developed. I want each man to keep track of his own pictures he took so we can identify them.”

Mason watched them drive away, then went back into the cabin and grinned at Lando.

“How did I do?” Lando asked.

“Okay,” Mason said.

“It was a lot of action there for a minute. Those flashlights certainly do blind a man.”

“We’ll change overcoats now,” Mason said. “This black one isn’t quite as good a fit. The tan one, I think, will be more comfortable. The car from the Blade should be here... Let’s see what this one is.”

Headlights shone down the long driveway, as a car approached the cabin.

Lando went to the door and looked out.

A man’s voice said, “We’re from the Blade. We want to interview Mr. Mason.”

“What are you talking about?” Lando asked.

“Oh, let them come in,” Mason said. “If they’ve located me here they’re entitled to an interview. We can’t dodge them.”

A newspaper reporter and a photographer entered the cabin.

“Hello, Mr. Mason,” the reporter said.

“Hello,” Mason said, grinning.

“You’ve been leading the cops quite a chase, haven’t you?”

The photographer raised his camera, a flash blazed into brilliance.

Mason said, “I’m working on a case. I’m not letting everyone know where I am, but I’m not dodging the police. In fact, the police were here not over ten minutes ago. You want another picture? Sergeant Holcomb was out here — with Goshen.”

They wanted more pictures and then asked Mason to pose in the doorway.

“And also coming out of the cabin,” the photographer said.

The photographer stood in the yard. Mason opened the door, emerged from the cabin, holding his hat slightly to one side of his face.

“That’s swell,” the photographer said. “Looks as though you’d been trying to dodge a picture and I’d slipped around to the side and got a good one.”

The reporter said, “We’d like to know more about this case, Mr. Mason, and...”

“Sorry, I have no comment to make on the case.”

The reporter looked at his watch. “I guess that does it. Come on, Jack, let’s rush these pictures back and get them developed. You say Holcomb was out here?”

“That’s right He’ll give you details on the phone.”