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"He's a double-crosser, or he'd never have betrayed you," Drake commented bitterly. "I'll see he never gets another detective-agency job as long as he lives."
"Forget it," the lawyer told him. "It was a chance for a clean-up and he fell for it. Aside from that one slip, he may be okay."
They walked in silence for a block, then Drake said, "There's the house over there, the one which sits back from the street."
"Does his wife know you?"
"Yes."
"But she doesn't know me?"
"I don't think so. Not unless she's seen your picture somewhere."
Mason said, "That'll be swell. Now, what I want to do is to get into that house, so don't make any explanations, don't perform any introductions. When his wife comes to the door, put on an act and we both go in, see?"
"Maybe we both go out," Drake said.
"What sort of woman is she?"
"A blonde. She does things with her eyes."
"Think she's on the up-and-up?"
"Not this baby. I've seen her only once, but I wouldn't trust her around the block. She has one of those baby stares veneered on a face that's hard as cement, if you know what I mean."
"I know what you mean," Mason told him. "The last time I saw an expression like that was on the face of a nineteen-year-old blackmailer." He chuckled and added, "While she was waiting in the outer office, I asked Della Street what she looked like, and Della said she looked like a synthetic virgin."
"That's the type," Drake said. "Only this dame is in the late thirties."
"Okay," Mason told him, "let's barge in."
They turned from the sidewalk, walked up the narrow strip of cement to the porch stairs. Mason hung behind while Drake climbed the stairs first and rang the bell.
A few moments later a woman wearing a printed house dress opened the door and said with over-effusive cordiality, "Why, it's Mr. Drake! Why, good morning, Mr. Drake! How do you do? Did you want to see George?"
Drake said, "Yes," and stepped forward.
For a moment the woman's eyes became hard as blue quartz, but her full red lips maintained a fixed smile. "He isn't here," she said.
"I'm to meet him here," Drake told her, very apparently waiting for her to move.
"Oh, all right," she said sullenly, and stepped to one side. As Mason was walking past her, she said, "Won't you gentlemen come in and sit down? When was George to meet you here?"
Mason selected a comfortable chair, caught Drake's questioning glance, and asked, "When did you see him last, Mrs. Belgrade?"
She turned to face Mason, her eyes cautious, her face expressionless. "You're Mr. Mason, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"I thought so."
"When did you last see your husband?"
"Why?"
"I just wanted to know."
"Not since last night. He couldn't get home. He was detained."
"How was he dressed when you last saw him?" Mason asked.
"Why do you want to know?"
The lawyer indicated Paul Drake and said, "After all, he's working for Mr. Drake. He's been out on a case. We want to talk with him."
"You mean," she asked Paul Drake, "that he's still working for you?"
"Of course."
"He thought perhaps you'd feel sore at what you read in the papers and…"
Her voice trailed away into silence, and Drake said, "Of course I'm sore; but, after all, he's still working for me."
Mason inquired again, "How was he dressed, Mrs. Belgrade?"
"Why, he wore his business suit, his blue serge suit."
Mason said casually, "Well, we're all subpoenaed to appear before the Federal Grand Jury this afternoon. I thought it might be a good plan for us to have an informal chat before they ask us questions."
A look of relief came over the woman's face. "Oh," she said, "that's it. Well, I'm glad you men feel that way. George had a chance to make some big money giving a story to the newspaper. He'd have been a chump not to have done it. I can understand how you gentlemen feel; but you must make allowances for a man who's working on wages. Both of you make big money. George doesn't. Lots of times we have to struggle along to make both ends meet."
Mason nodded. "Yes, I know how he must have felt. Too bad he got gypped."
She said bitterly. "That subpoena certainly put George on the skids. He was in a position to sell some follow-ups to the newspaper. Then this subpoena was served, and the newspaper wouldn't have anything more to do with him. They figure whatever he says now is going to become public property."
Mason nodded, said, "Uh-huh," looked at his watch, asked, "How soon were you expecting him?"
"He telephoned me about an hour ago and said he'd be home in an hour. I'm expecting him any minute. He wanted to change his clothes."
Drake looked at his wristwatch, then glanced across at Mason. Mrs. Belgrade said nervously, "I think he'll be here any minute now… That sounds like his car." The worn rivets on brake linings squeaked against drums as a dilapidated car swung wide in the street and turned into the driveway.
"There he is," Mrs. Belgrade said. Mason nodded, walked to the door.
Steps sounded on the porch. Mason pulled the door open and said to the heavy-set individual who was pounding his way across the porch, "Welcome home, George. Come in and join the party."
Belgrade came to a dead stop. Paul Drake appeared in the doorway beside Mason and said, "Well, don't stand there gawking. Come on in."
Belgrade slowly walked toward the door, his eyes glancing about him apprehensively as though he were seeking some means of escape.
"I'd feel the same way myself if I'd sold out a client," Paul Drake said.
"Skip it, Paul," Mason cautioned.
Belgrade, avoiding their eyes, entered the house. His wife came ru
Drake coughed, and they separated.
Belgrade said, "I'm sorry about this whole business, Mr. Mason. I owe you an apology. I know how you fellows must feel. You think I'm a two-time, chiseling crook."
Mason said, "Suppose we sit down and talk things over for a while, George. I've practiced law long enough to know that people are only human, after all."
Belgrade glanced across at his wife. "You got my things all ready, Flo?" he asked.
She nodded.
"Sit down, George," Drake said.
Belgrade kept his eyes fixed on his wife. "How about mixing up some Scotch and soda, Flo? Perhaps the gentlemen would like…"
"Would like nothing better than to have Mrs. Belgrade stay right here in the room," Mason said, gri
Belgrade looked puzzled.
"She might want to telephone a friend," Drake explained.
"Oh," Belgrade said.
When they were all seated, Belgrade looked across at Drake. "So I'm all washed up in the detective business, am I?" he asked.
"That depends," Mason told him, before Drake could answer. "We want you to tell us just how you happened to sell out, George. Perhaps it won't look so bad after we hear your side of it."
Belgrade turned to him. "You're certainly taking this mighty fine, Mr. Mason. You make me feel like an awful heel. I don't know as I can explain it, but I'd like to have you gentlemen understand my position. I haven't been working steady, and I have a wife to support, a house to keep up, and all sorts of expenses.
"Well, I went out on that gambling ship and walked right into the middle of a murder case. It's the first time I've ever stacked up against anything quite like it in all the time I've been working as an operative. I was tailing Sylvia Oxman, you'll remember, and when I'd followed her back to the wharf, Staples stepped up and said he'd been instructed to relieve me. That left me standing there, all washed up for the evening. I telephoned in my report, and Drake said that'd be all. I knew Drake was working for you, Mr. Mason, and I knew you were still out aboard the ship, so I thought I might do you a good turn by going back to the ship and seeing if I could help you."