The Case of the Fan-Dancer's Horse

Chapter number 10

Paul Drake entered Mason’s office wearily.

“Well,” Mason asked, “how bad was it?”

“Pretty damn bad,” Drake said.

“What happened?”

“Sergeant Dorset was there. He wanted to get tough.”

“He always does.”

“Sheldon put the DO NOT DISTURB sign on Callender’s door.”

“You’re sure?”

“The police are.”

“How come?”

“Well, when they searched Callender’s room they found his DO NOT DISTURB sign hanging in its proper place in the closet. When they searched room five-ten they couldn’t find the DO NOT DISTURB sign. It had been there earlier in the day because the room had been checked by the maid when she made it up.”

“Anything else? They get any of those other people-straightened out — the ones who had called on Callender?”

“The woman who came in at two twenty-three had an appointment.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. The house dick stopped her at the elevator. She tried to pull a stunt of righteous indignation, but he demanded to know where she was going and she said she was going to room five-eleven. The house dick told her she’d have to use the house phone and get a clearance from that room. He went over to the house telephones with her and called five-eleven. When Callender answered, he gave her the phone. She said, ‘It’s me. I’m downstairs. The house dick made me phone. I’ll be right up.’ Callender’s a regular tenant. They gave him the breaks as much as possible. Anyone else might have had to come down to the lobby to see a gal at that hour. The girl gave her name to the house dick — Lois Fenton.

“Callender was a nut on his morning coffee. He didn’t want to wake up until his coffee was there all ready to serve. He’d leave an order the night before when he wanted it. That’s why the waiter knocked and tried the door in spite of the DO NOT DISTURB sign.

“Another thing, this Fenton girl had called on Callender earlier. A maid saw her leaving Callender’s room at 2:00 A.M. Callender stood in the doorway and said, ‘It’s good-by, then,’ or something of the sort. He seemed pretty grim about it.

“The maid said the girl started for the elevator, then seemed to change her mind and went back and took the stairs. The maid would have reported it if it hadn’t been Callender’s room. He’s a privileged character.”

“It’s the same woman, Paul?”

“The description fits her like a glove.”

“So the police are nominating Lois Fenton, is that it?”

“That’s right, with Sheldon as accomplice. And they’ve found something else, Perry. A very peculiar bloodstained imprint on the wall.”

“What sort of an imprint?”

Drake said, “The police haven’t exactly accounted for it yet, but from their description I think I know what it is.”

“What is it?”

“It’s the sort of a print that would have been made by an ostrich feather fan that had been soaked in blood and then slapped against the side of the wall to get rid of the blood. — A semi-circular stain with a lot of little lace-like fingers forming a more or less symmetrical pattern.”

Mason pursed his lips. “How long have I got?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did Faulkner tell them I’d been there?”

“He hadn’t up to the time we left, but the police were holding Faulkner and Julian for further questioning.”

“They’ll tell?”

“Hell’s bells, Perry, they’ve got to tell! And I’m in a spot myself. I have that horse coming up here and... well, the police are going to want to know all about the entire case and...”

Mason looked at him in surprise. “What the hell has the horse got to do with it?” he asked.

“Gripes,” Drake said, “it’s part of the case.”

“What gives you that idea?”

“Why, you asked me to get the men on the job searching for that horse at the same time as... Say isn’t the horse a part of this case?”

Mason frowned at him. “Were you intending to tell the police all about all of your business?”

“No, Perry, of course not, but... well, hang it, I’ll have to answer their questions.”

“That’s fine,” Mason told him. “When they ask you about a horse, tell ’em about a horse. Until they do ask you, don’t tell them a damn thing about any horse.”

When the door had closed behind Paul Drake, Mason turned to Della Street. “Got a pencil handy, Della?”

She picked up her pencil by way of answer, slid a shorthand book into position on her knee, and raised inquisitive eyebrows, waiting for Mason’s dictation.

Mason said, “I want to construct a timetable and get it in chronological order. What time do you suppose it was when we went to the hotel?”

“The Richmell?”

“Yes.”

She said, “I looked at my watch when we reached the city. It was a little after one — about eight minutes, I think.”

Mason said, “Allowing time to reach the hotel from that point, putting it in round figures, we’ll call it one-twenty A.M. when we entered the hotel. This night-club waiter, Harry, was calling on Callender at that time. We don’t know when he went out. Just start tabulating it, Della. Put one-twenty, Harry goes in. Then make a blank for the time he left.

“Now, the next time we know anything about someone being in the room is at two o’clock, when the maid saw an unidentified woman, who may have been Lois Fenton leaving the room. After that we have Sheldon leaving the room at about two twenty-one. At two twenty-three this woman who gave the name of Lois Fenton was back in the room again, and at two thirty-two or two thirty-three she was out. At two forty-four a young man was in and at two forty-four-ten he was out. At three-two Sheldon checked out. Type that into a time schedule, will you please?”

Della Street fed a small piece of paper into her typewriter and worked out a schedule:

She handed Mason the list. The lawyer was studying it when a knock sounded, and Gertie opened the door from the reception room, peeked in, and waited for Mason’s nod.

“Come in, Gertie. What is it?”

“Gee, Mr. Mason,” she said, “I didn’t want to tell you this over the phone because I was afraid you might not see her. She’s waiting out there, and boy, oh boy, is she class!”

“I take it someone has impressed you, Gertie.”

“Impressed me,” Gertie exclaimed, and rolled her eyes in an ecstatic expression. “If I had a figure like that — if I thought I could ever get a figure like that, I’d go without ice cream and butter and I’d never look a piece of candy in the face, and... Mr. Mason, she’s superb, she’s marvelous.”

“And the name?” Mason asked, dryly.

“The name,” she said, “is Cherie Chi-Chi. That’s all the name she’ll give. She’s never been here before, but...”

“I’m quite sure we want to see her. Show her in.”

The girl whom Gertie escorted into the office was the fan-dancer Mason and Della Street had met at Palomino the night before.

“How do you do, Mr. Mason and Miss Street,” she said, smiling.

Gertie reluctantly closed the door.

Cherie Chi-Chi was wearing a suit, the pattern of which was a cross between the pepper-and-salt of a conventional tweed and a plaid. The skirt was tight-fitting and short. The legs were smoothly encased in sheer nylons. As she glided across the office, the short tight-fitting skirt did nothing to minimize her feminine charms. She extended her hand to Mason.

“So nice to see you again,” she said, cooingly.

“Sit down,” Mason invited, glancing quizzically at Della Street.

The fan-dancer settled back in the overstuffed leather chair across from Mason’s desk. She made a perfunctory gesture to pull the hem of her skirt down, then frankly crossed her knees and laughed up into Mason’s face.

“Surprised?” she asked.

Mason shook his head.

She shifted her position in the chair. “After I saw you, I didn’t put on any more performances at Palomino last night.”

“No?”

“No. I came to town.”

“Driving?”

“Yes.”

“By yourself?”

“Harry was with me. You remember Harry, surely. The big waiter...”

“Yes, I remember Harry.”

“You see,” she said, “I had thought all along that you had found my horse, but when it turned out that what you had discovered was merely a couple of fans... well, then I had to see a certain party.”

“Now wait a minute,” Mason said. “Let’s not have any misunderstanding. You’re not a client of mine.”

“No, of course not.”

“And you’re not really Lois Fenton.”

“No.”

“Yet you’ve used her name.”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve called on me because you want something.”

“That’s right.”

“What is it?”

She gave him a full-lipped smile. “You’re very abrupt.”

“Perhaps I am, but you want something, and I want to know what it is.”

“Why so anxious?”

“I want to see what the pay-off is.”

“There isn’t any.”

Mason settled back into silence. The young woman’s fingers folded the hem of her skirt into little pleats, then straightened out the cloth again. “Would you,” she asked at length, “feel that you had to say anything about those two fans?”

“To whom?”

“To anyone.”

“That depends. What was the name of the party to whom you reported about the fans — and the horse?”

“John Callender.”

“You know what happened to him?”

She let her left hand slide up and down the smooth expanse of stocking on the right leg, which was crossed over the left knee. “Yes.”

“If you are trying to tell me anything, you’d better go ahead.”

She said, “I went in to report to John Callender. He’d hoped I’d get the horse.”

“When did you see him?”

“Shortly before two o’clock this morning.”

“Go ahead.”

“Frankly, Mr. Mason, I told Callender exactly what had happened between us. I showed him the two fans that you had brought to me. I told him I didn’t think you’d really found the horse at all.”

“Then what happened?”

“He told me not to be silly, that you were pulling the wool over my eyes. He said you’d really found the horse, that these fans were just a red herring. He told me to get in touch with you again.”

“And then?” Mason asked.

She said, “I tried to get in touch with Mr. Callender about an hour ago and was advised that he was dead. Apparently he had been murdered. I thought I should come to you and tell you frankly what had happened.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to be dragged into it. Under the circumstances, I thought you might have some wrong ideas and tell the police — and the newspapers.”

“Callender was in good health when you left him?”

“Of course. A maid in the hall saw me leaving and John was standing in the door. He was waiting for someone. I thought perhaps I should tell you.”

“Why this sudden interest in me?”

“Because if you know the true circumstances you won’t bring me into the picture. Otherwise you might... well, you might have a lot of wrong ideas.”

“So you decided to come to me?”

“Yes.”

“Your own idea?”

“Harry thought I should come.”

“And what did Harry suggest that you tell me?”

“The truth.”

“Have you told it?”

“Not all of it.”

“Well, why not go the rest of the way?”

“I was waiting for you to ask questions.”

“Tell me everything you want to tell me and then I’ll ask the questions.”

She said, “I’ve known Lois Fenton for about two years. Lois and I had both been in the carnival circuit. We both are of the same build. In some ways we look a great deal alike. When Lois got married she didn’t have any further use for her career. Her dancing had been very successful. I was just part of a girl show — but I had ambitions.”

“Go ahead,” Mason said.

“I’d had a hell of a time, trying to get somewhere in the carnival girl shows. That’s not much of a life. The movie scouts don’t grab you out of those dumps. When Lois got married several months ago, I asked her if I couldn’t take over. You see, the agent who was handling Lois had sold her on the strength of photographs and her reputation, and if I should take her name and step right into her itinerary, no one would ever know the difference.”

“You asked Lois if you could do that?”

“Yes.”

“What did she say?”

“She told me to go ahead. We signed an agreement.”

“Go on.”

“That’s all there is to it. I used Lois Fenton’s name. I copied her clothes, made my hair the same color. I also used the stage name of Cherie Chi-Chi. I used that whenever possible. Because, you see, that would be my own, and I wanted that to fall back on in case something happened and some day someone would say I wasn’t Lois Fenton. I did all right for myself, but Fm not going to try and kid you, Mr. Mason. I don’t think I put on anywhere near as good a performance as Lois did. But I got by. I got by very nicely.”

“Then what happened?”

She said, “Then something happened I hadn’t really anticipated.”

“What?”

“Something I should have known would inevitably happen.”

“What was it?”

“Lois and her husband didn’t get along. She left him.”

“And then what?”

“Then naturally, she wanted her own name back. She wanted to fill her own dates. She had a living to make.”

“And what did you do?”

“I couldn’t simply surrender everything I’d gained.”

“So what happened?”

“Lois got a dating on her own in Brawley. She made a tremendous success there, and then she... well, she thought she was going to step right back and take over the bookings that had been arranged for me. I didn’t think that was right.”

“You went to Callender?” Mason asked.

“No, that was something else. Callender came to me.”

“When?”

“Two or three days ago.”

“Where?”

“At the little town I was playing before I went to Palomino.”

“What did he want?”

“He said that he had a very valuable horse; that the horse had been stolen or had strayed away; that he thought someone had found that horse and that this someone might become confused because his wife, using her maiden name of Lois Fenton had been keeping the horse. He said he was afraid that it would cause a lot of confusion. He wanted me to give him a letter and to sign another letter, using the name of Lois Fenton.

“He didn’t fool me any. I knew it was a trick but he said he would stand back of me and see I didn’t get into any trouble. He said he needed my help because the finder would know the horse had been in the possession of a Lois Fenton who was a fan-dancer and it might take a personal interview to get the horse back. He offered me two hundred and fifty dollars. I tried to hold out for three fifty. He wouldn’t raise the ante, so I grabbed at it.

“Now then, that’s the story. I signed these letters. I thought you had the horse. I was acting under Callender’s instructions. If you keep quiet about the whole business we’ll both be a lot better off.”

“And where is the real Lois all this time?”

“I don’t know. She tried to muscle in on my dates and I told her she couldn’t. If the agent had any idea anything was fishy, we’d both be in the soup. We made it plain to her that she’d get into serious trouble.”

“Who’s the we?”

“Harry and me.”

“Are you married to him?”

“No.”

“He takes quite an interest in you?”

“Yes.”

Mason began to drum with his finger tips on the edge of the desk.

“So,” Cherie Chi-Chi went on, “I wanted you to know about the horse and about the letters I’d written and about how I happened to be using the name Lois Fenton. I had full and complete permission in the form of a written agreement from Lois to take over her name and go on and build up a career for myself on the strength of her reputation.”

“Where is this agreement?” Mason asked.

“I don’t know. John Callender had it.”

“Didn’t you have a copy?”

“No, it wasn’t drawn by a lawyer. It was just a letter she wrote to me all in her own handwriting. We both signed it, but she didn’t keep a copy. When John Cal-lender wanted me to write you about the horse he said he’d have to keep that agreement for a few days if he was going to protect me. That was okay by me. He has a lot of political influence down there in the Valley. I gave him the agreement and he gave me the two hundred and fifty.”

“Did you and Lois have any trouble over that Brawley date?”

“Yes.”

“You saw her there?”

“Yes.”

“How was she dressed at the time?”

Cherie Chi-Chi smiled. “She wasn’t.”

“I mean...”

“Oh, I get you. Yes, I copied her clothes. What the hell, I had a living to make. I’d been building myself up in the trade ever since Lois got married. I wasn’t going to quit just because she changed her mind. Her husband was rich. He could support her. I didn’t have anyone to support me.”

“Except Harry,” Mason said.

“Don’t be a fish,” she snapped. “You are confusing the cart with the horse.”

“What did you do after you left Callender at two o’clock this morning?”

“Went down in the lobby and then met Harry.”

“Harry was waiting outside the hotel?”

“Yes.”

“Then you went back again about twenty minutes past two?”

She straightened in the chair. Her eyes widened. “Went back where, Mr. Mason?”

“Went back to Callender’s room.”

She slowly shook her head.

“The house detective says you did.”

“Why, no, Mr. Mason. Absolutely not.”

“He remembers the occasion very distinctly,” Mason insisted. “You went into the hotel, crossed the lobby and started up to the elevators. You were dressed very much as you are now and carrying a violin case. Naturally, you caught the eye of the house detective. He stopped you and wanted to know where you were going. You said you were going to see one of the guests in the hotel and he demanded to know which one. You finally told him it was Mr. Callender. The house detective called Callender’s room, then put you on the phone and listened to the conversation. You said you were coming up. Evidently Callender said to come right ahead. You took the elevator and went up. You arrived at Callender’s room at approximately twenty-three minutes past two and stayed there for about nine or ten minutes.”

She shook her head vehemently. “Not me, Mr. Mason. I was there at quarter to two. I left at two o’clock. I had no occasion to return.”

“You say someone saw you leave?” Mason asked.

“Yes. There was a maid in the corridor when I came out at two o’clock.”

“What did you do?” Mason asked.

“I started for the elevator and then changed my mind. I thought perhaps it would be just as well if I went down by the stairs, Hotels are sometimes a little fussy about girls going in and out at night and... well, you know how it is, Mr. Mason. I’m not entirely dumb. In order to be a good fan-dancer you have to have this and that, and these and those; and I don’t try to conceal what you might call my business assets. I dress so that I’ll attract a certain amount of attention. That’s part of the business that goes with my racket. When a girl walks down the street of a town like Brawley, for instance, or Palomino, she wants to attract attention. Men whistle at her and talk about her and then go and pay money to see her put on her fan dance in the evening.”

“So you decided you’d go down the stairs?”

“Yes.”

“What did you do?”

“I went down the stairs. I walked down the four-flights to the mezzanine, then crossed the mezzanine and went down the stairs and across the lobby.”

“And you didn’t come back at two twenty-two or two twenty-three?”

“Absolutely not, Mr. Mason.”

“You can prove that, of course?”

“Of course. I was with Harry.”

“How long?”

She met Mason’s eyes with steady calm. “As long as was necessary, I think, Mr. Mason.”

“You know that Callender is dead — that he was murdered?”

“Yes.”

Mason said, “I happen to know Harry called on Callender about twenty minutes past one.”

“Harry did? Oh, no, you’re mistaken.”

“No. Harry called on him.”

“On someone else on that floor, perhaps, but not on John Callender.”

“On John Callender at about one-twenty.”

“All right, what if he did? John Callender was alive when I left at two o’clock, a maid saw him standing in the door seeing me out. She recognized both of us.”

“Anything else?” Mason asked, refusing to pursue that subject further.

“Yes. I know that Arthur Sheldon had a room directly across the corridor from that occupied by John Callender. I know that Arthur Sheldon is... well, he’s always been carrying the torch for Lois. I like you, Mr. Mason. I think you played square with me. I thought that I should tell you these things so you wouldn’t... well, wouldn’t stub your toe. You’ll know what the score is now.”

“Are you,” Mason asked, “going to keep on using the name of Lois Fenton?”

“I don’t know. I think so. I like it better than Irene Kilby. But why? My entire business career has been built up on that name. My contracts are in that name. My booking is in that name.”

“There will, of course, be considerable notoriety — quite a bit of newspaper notoriety in connection with all this.”

She cupped her hands around her knees, threw back her head and laughed. “Did you think that would frighten me?”

“I wanted to know what your reaction would be.”

She looked down at her legs and said, “I photograph well, Mr. Mason.”

“In other words, you’ll welcome any publicity you can get.”

“I didn’t say that. I said that I photograph well.”

Mason’s unlisted telephone rang. Mason nodded to Della Street. She picked up the instrument on the desk, said, “Hello...” Then she said to Mason, “Do you want to talk with Paul?”

Mason frowned dubiously.

“Paul says it’s important.”

“Don’t mind me,” Cherie Chi-Chi said. “You can go into another room and take the call, or just be enigmatic over the telephone,” and she smiled knowingly at Mason.

Mason picked up the instrument, said, “Hello, Paul. What is it?”

“Are you alone?” Drake asked.

“No.”

“Client with you?”

“Not exactly.”

Drake said, “The detective who found that horse is on the way up with it. He telephoned from one of the outlying cities. He’ll be in town in an hour. He’s waiting for instructions on another line. What are we going to do about it?”

“Well?” Mason asked.

“Hell’s bells, Perry, you can’t park an automobile and a horse trailer out in front of the office building here, and you can’t drive into one of the parking stations. What the hell does a guy do with a horse in a city? Where do you want the beast parked? You can’t keep him in a closet.”

“Can you call me back in half an hour?”

“I suppose I could, but this chap’s waiting on the line for instructions. I used one of the other phones in the office to call you to see what you wanted done.”

Mason said, “There are places that specialize in taking care of things like that.”

“You mean you want him put in some livery place that’s on the outside of town? Perhaps some riding academy?”

“That’s right.”

“Then someone will have to stay there to keep an eye on him.”

“That’s right.”

“Okay, I’ll see what can be done.”

“Just a minute, before you hang up,” Mason said. “The merchandise to which you were referring divides itself generally into two parts.”

“What are you getting at, Perry?”

“Just what I said.”

“What am I supposed to do — play guessing games?”

“That’s right.”

“Okay, I’ll lead with my chin. It’s a saddle horse. There are two things, a horse and a saddle.”

“That’s not what I had in mind.”

“A body and legs.”

“No. The same two things that are on a silver dollar.”

“Head and tail,” Drake said. “Right.”

“Okay, Perry, go on from there.”

“That last-mentioned article,” Mason said, “you got one we could use hanging around your office?”

“I haven’t right now, Perry. I could get one in about four or five minutes.”

“That may not be soon enough,” Mason said, “but do the best you can.”

“I’ll have to have a description.”

“I’ll send Della down with it,” Mason said, “and I don’t think I’ll ever bet with you again. You’re too lucky.”

Mason hung up the telephone, opened his billfold, took out a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to Della Street. “Drake wins,” he said.

“Well, isn’t he lucky!” Della said, almost too quickly. “I certainly thought he’d never win that bet.”

“I didn’t think he would myself,” Mason told her, “but he’s won it and we’ll be good sports and pay up gracefully. Take the twenty bucks down to him, Della, with my compliments.”

Della Street took the twenty dollars, started for the exit door in the corridor, then turned, and over the fan-dancer’s shoulder flashed Mason a quick glance of inquiry. His answering nod was almost imperceptible.

Della Street slipped through the door. They could hear the sound of her quick steps in the corridor before the automatic door check had slowly clicked the latch shut on the door.

“Well?” Mason said to Cherie Chi-Chi.

“There’s really no reason why you and I shouldn’t be friends — good friends.”

“Have you found me unfriendly?”

“Not yet. I think you could get unfriendly if...”

“If what?”

“If you thought that it would be to your advantage. I don’t mean it that way. Perhaps I should say if you thought it would be to the advantage of a client of yours. I’d hate to have things turn out that way. I’m a good friend. I’m a hell cat as an enemy.”

Mason said, “I’m interested in knowing what happened after you left the Richmell Hotel at approximately two o’clock this morning. Where did you go?”

She smiled at him. “Places.”

“With Harry?”

“With Harry.”

“Would you mind giving me the name of your agent?”

“Not at all. He’s Sidney Jackson Barlow, in the May-berry Building.”

“And he’s also agent for the real Lois Fenton?”

She said, coldly, “So far as professional life is concerned, there is only one Lois Fenton. I am she.”

“He knows there are two of you?”

She shook her head.

“Do you intend to tell him?”

“If it happens to suit my advantage to do so, yes; otherwise not.”

“Of course, you know there’s no reason why I shouldn’t tell him,” Mason said.

“I’ve given you his name.”

“I know, but I could have ascertained that in a very few minutes from any one of half a dozen sources.”

She smiled sweetly at him. “That’s why I gave you the name, Mr. Mason. If I thought you couldn’t have found it out, I’d not have told you. However, Mr. Mason, I hardly think there’s going to be any great amount of complications in the future so far as a circuit being burdened with an overabundance of fan-dancers.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that if the house detective at the Richmell Hotel is in a position to testify that Lois Fenton called on John Callender at twenty-three minutes past two this morning, the police will see to it that Lois Fenton doesn’t interfere any more with my fan-dancing schedule. And I think that’s all I have to say, Mr. Mason. I don’t want to take up any more of your valuable time.”

“Not at all. It was a pleasure. Will you leave an address where I can get in touch with you?”

“Why certainly, Mr. Mason, any time.”

“Thank you. That’s fine.”

“Simply call Sidney Jackson Barlow at the Mayberry Building and ask him where Cherie Chi-Chi is playing. Whenever you want to — shall I say — see more of me?” And with a smile and a quick lithe motion she was up out of the chair, extending her hand across the desk. Her firm, sinewy fingers gripped Mason’s. “Thank you very much, Mr. Mason, and good day.”

Mason moved over to the door which went out through the reception room, but the fan-dancer smiled, said, “If you don’t mind, Mr. Mason, I’d prefer to go out this other way, the door which leads directly into the corridor. The one your secretary took when she went to pay Mr. Drake his bet.”

She crossed the office, opened the door, gave Mason a cordial smile and then her legs flashed in short, quick steps down the corridor.

Mason watched the door check slowly pull the door shut. Then he went over to his swivel chair, sat down and waited.

It was five minutes before Della Street came in.

“You got the message down to Paul all right, Della?” he asked.

“Uh huh.”

“Paul do any good?”

“I think so. He wanted a description.”

“You gave him one?”

Della Street laughed. “I told him that he didn’t need a description. All he needed was to station a detective on this block and tell him to let his conscience be his guide; that if he found himself following anyone it would be the right one.”

Mason grinned. “Specifically, what happened?”

She said, “I think Paul got a man on the job all right. He was frantically telephoning when I left the office. I went down in the elevator and stood by the cigar stand. That was to be my way of tipping off whatever operator Paul was able to get on the job to the identity of the person we wanted shadowed. He was to come to the entrance of the building, stand where he could see the cigar stand, and when this woman went past me I was going to speak to her.”

“Was she suspicious when she saw you there at the cigar stand?”

“I don’t think so. I stood talking with the’ girl behind the counter. When Cherie Chi-Chi came out of the elevators, I smiled at her. She came right across the foyer to tell me that you were just perfectly adorable. We chatted for a few seconds and then she said good-by and walked out to the street. You know how the lobby of the building is at this hour of the day. People are hurrying in and out and going to elevators in a rush, but boy, oh boy, did she stop the procession.”

Mason said, “That’s fine, Della. Hold the fort here. I’m going down to Paul Drake’s office and help him make arrangements for board and room for a horse.”