The Case of the Runaway

Chapter 2

Shortly after three o’clock that afternoon Mason’s switch board operator rang Della Street to announce that long distance from Crampton was calling Mr. Mason, insisting that it was on a matter of the greatest importance.

Mason nodded to Della Street. “I’ll take it, Della, but you’d better listen in on the call.”

Mason picked up his phone and when he had been connected through the switchboard heard the voice of Sara Ansel, urgent and impatient, arguing with the operator.

“This is Mr. Mason, Mrs. Ansel,” Mason cut in.

“Well, it’s about time!” she said. “Here we are in a jam and bull; your operator has been fiddling around—”

“Well, I’m on the line now,” Mason interposed. “What seems to be the trouble?”

“He’s dead.”

“Davenport?”

“Yes.”

There was a moment of silence.

“And,” Sara Ansel went on, “Myrna is in complete charge. He left a will leaving everything to her—certainly the least he could have done under the circumstances.”

“When did he die?” Mason asked.

“About fifteen minutes ago. It’s taken me all that time getting you on the telephone. That operator of yours—”

“Yes, yes,” Mason said. “Now the letter that you had reference to—”

“The address in Paradise is on Crestview Drive. You can get there by taking the Southwest Airways which goes to Chico. Rent a car at Chico and it’s only twelve miles over good, paved road. You won’t have much trouble finding the place but it’s a lot better if you don’t ask questions. So here’s the way you get there. Take the main street through town, then turn left on Oliver Road. At the foot of the grade make a sharp left turn onto Valley View for a very short distance, then turn left again onto Crestview Drive, and it’s the last place on the right-hand side.”

“There’s no one in the house?” Mason asked.

“There’s no one there. The secretary will be off duty.

You’ll find that—I’m sorry, there’s no opportunity to talk any more. Good-by.” She slammed up the telephone.

Mason hung up the telephone at his end of the line, glanced across at Della Street.

“Do you go to Paradise?” Della Street asked.

Mason nodded.

“And when you get there what do you do?”

“Represent Mrs. Ed Davenport’s best interests.”

“By finding that envelope?”

“Perhaps.”

“And then doing what?”

“That,” Mason said, “depends on what we find when we get the envelope. Find out about plane reservations, Della.”

Ten minutes later Della Street reported that by taking a direct plane to San Francisco it would be possible to pick up a Southwest Airways plane that would arrive at Chico at seven-fifty.

“Get two reservations, Della,” Mason said, “and let’s get started.”

“Two?” she asked.

He nodded. “Don’t think I’m going to walk into this without a witness.”