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Mason found his bedroom slippers placed under the edge of his bed.
"The perfect secretary," he muttered, gri
Mason opened the paper to the inside page and studied the diagram of the gambling ship, the photographs of the hull, waded through a lot of extraneous detail concerning the previous history of the ship and its transition from a proud, square-rigged vessel which sailed the seven seas, to a fishing barge and then a gambling ship.
Suddenly he thought of the eggs, and glanced at his watch. The eggs had been in exactly fifteen minutes.
He turned out the fire, dumped eggs and water into the sink with a frown of disgust, poured himself another cup of coffee, took it over to the table, placed two slices of bread in the electric toaster and switched on the current. He buried his nose once more in the paper and studied the statement of George Belgrade with a frowning concentration which prevented him from noticing the wisping streamers which began to drift upward from the bread in the electric toaster. The streamers grew into a cloud. The apartment was filled with the odor of burning toast. Mason groped with his free hand for the handle of his coffee cup, raised the rim of the cup to his lips and then caught sight of the smoke billowing up from the toaster. With an exclamation, he switched off the toaster. He gulped down the rest of his coffee, forgot about the bacon, dropped the newspaper on the floor, divested himself of his pajamas on the way to the bathroom, showered and shaved. While he was shaving, he was staring with unseeing eyes at his reflection in the mirror. The motions of his shaving were purely mechanical.
Mason foraged around in the cupboard and the icebox and found no food. He tentatively opened one of the hard-boiled eggs in the sink, but it presented too substantial a problem for a breakfast dish. He took the charred toast from the toaster, dropped in two more slices of bread and switched on the radio. He kept a watchful eye on the toast, turned it when one side was a golden brown. The voice of the a
The radio a
By the time the broadcaster had concluded his statement, Perry Mason ruefully inspected the charred remains of his second attempt at toast making and switched off the current.
For more than half an hour, Mason paced the floor in frowning concentration, then, having reached a decision, he dressed, put on his hat, locked the door of the apartment, descended to the street and walked to the boulevard. He called Paul Drake's office from a pay station, asked to be co
"Hello, Paul," Mason said. "You know who this is?"
"Yes. Where are you telephoning from?"
"A pay station."
"Where?"
"In a drug store. Is it safe to talk, Paul?"
"I think so. Listen, Perry, I'm sorry as hell about this Belgrade business. You know how it is. I pick my men the best way I can and I never put men on your work unless I've first tested them for honesty and ability and…"
"Forget it," Mason interrupted. "There's no use crying over spilled milk. Hell, Paul, we can't waste time swapping words over what…"
"I know," Drake interrupted. "But I want you to know how I feel."
"I know how you feel. You can't help what happened."
"Well, now I've got that off my chest," Drake said, "I want to see you. Ma
"Yes."
"I want to talk with you about that. You can't…"
"Think you can get away from your office without being followed, Paul?" Mason interrupted.
"I think so. I'll have a couple of the boys tail me, and if anyone's tagging along they can tip me off."
"Okay. You tell Della to leave any messages at your office. You bring Ma
"Okay," Drake said. "I think I've got an out for you, Perry."
"That," Mason proclaimed, "will help."
"It's a swell break for you," Drake said. "It's spectacular, dramatic and logical. It clears you and your clients."
Mason said slowly, "Perhaps you think that won't be welcome. How soon can you make it, Paul?"
"If we're not followed, I can be there in ten or fifteen minutes. I'm bringing Ma
"Okay," Mason told him, "… be seeing you," and hung up the telephone. He stopped at the lunch counter in the drug store, ate two soft-boiled eggs, toast and bacon, then waited on the corner for a cruising cab. When one came along, he had it drive to a side street address. He paused there uncertainly, as though debating with himself, then said to the cab driver, "Turn around, go out Figueroa to Adams, turn west on Adams, and then I'll tell you where to go."
The cab driver nodded, turned the car and sent it into speed. Mason leaned forward in the seat, said, "Not too fast as you round the corner into Adams. I want to look at some property there."