“It did to me, too,” Alburg said, “but that was her name and that’s the way the check is made out.”

  “Social Security number?”

  “Oh, sure.”

  “What is it?”

  “I can’t remember it. It’s on the back of the check.”

  “We’ll take a look. What made her run out?”

  “Now you’ve got me,” Alburg said.

  The police seemed to feel that finishing their coffee was more important than making a check-up.

  “Anybody see what frightened her?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Find out.”

  Alburg got up from his chair, went out into the restaurant.

  Della Street smiled inquisitively at the officers. “My, you certainly got on the job fast,” she said.

  “Radio,” one of the men explained. “How do you folks get in on this?”

  “We don’t,” Mason said. “We just finished eating. We were visiting with Morris. He told us about the waitress taking a powder.”

  “How did he find it out?”

  “Orders began to stack up, food started getting cold, people started complaining about the service.”

  Alburg came back and said, “I can’t get a line on what scared her except it was …”

  “What table was she waiting on?”

  “She had four tables,” Alburg said. “She had started out with a tray. It had three water glasses and butter. We know that much for certain. More, we don’t know.”

  “Three glasses?” Mason asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “That’s our clue,” the officer said. “Usually people dine alone, in pairs, or four. A crowd of three isn’t usual. That tells the story. She had three people at one of her tables. She started out to take the order and recognized them, or they recognized her.”

  Alburg nodded.

  “Where are the three?”

  “They’re still here. I wish you wouldn’t question them though.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they got sore. They had to wait for service and they’re mad.”

  “That’s all right,” the officer said, “we’re going to question them.”

  “Can’t you do it quietly?”

  “Oh, to hell with that stuff,” the officer said. “Someone tried to kill this babe. She was frightened by the persons at that table. We’re going to shake them down. They’ll be damned lucky if we don’t take them down to headquarters. Come on, Bill, let’s go.”

  The officers finished their coffee, scraped back their chairs.

  Alburg followed them out, protesting halfheartedly.

  Mason looked at Della Street.

  “The poor kid,” Della said.

  “Let’s take a look,” Mason said.

  “At what?”

  “At the three people.”

  He led the way, selecting a place from which they could see the table to which Morris Alburg escorted the officers.

  The officers didn’t bother to put on an act. It was a shakedown and everyone in the restaurant knew it was a shakedown.

  The party consisted of two men and a girl. The men were past middle age, the girl was in the late twenties.

  The officers didn’t even bother to draw up chairs and pretend they were friends. They stood by the table and made the shakedown. They made it complete. They demanded drivers’ licenses, cards, and any other means of identification.

  Other diners turned curious heads. Conversation in the restaurant quieted until virtually everyone was staring at the little drama being enacted at the table.

  Mason touched Della Street’s arm. “Notice the lone man eating steak,” he said. “Take a good look at him.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “He’s sitting at a table all by himself, the chunky individual with the determined look. He has rather heavy eyebrows, coarse black hair, and …”

  “Yes, yes, I see him, but what about him?”

  “Notice the way he’s eating?”

  “What about it?”

  Mason said, “He’s eating his steak with strange regularity, swallowing his food as fast as he can. His jaws are in a hurry but his knife and fork are disciplined to a regular rhythm. He wants to get the job finished. Notice that he’s one of the few men who are paying absolutely no attention to what is going on at the table where the three are being questioned by the officers.”

  Della Street nodded.

  “He is, moreover, sitting within ten feet of the trio. He’s in a position to hear what’s being said if he wants to listen and yet he’s just sitting there eating. Notice the way his jaws move. Notice the way he keeps an even tempo of eating. He doesn’t want to seem to be in a hurry, and he doesn’t dare walk out and leave food on his plate, but he certainly wants to get out.”

  “He certainly is shoveling in the grub,” Della Street agreed.

  They watched the man for several seconds.

  “Does he mean something?” Della Street asked.

  “Yes.”

  “What?”

  Mason said, “Nine chances out of ten the police have the cart before the horse.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  “Look at it this way,” Mason said. “The waitress ran away just after she had filled three glasses with ice water, just after she had picked up three butter dishes with squares of butter on them, and proceeded as far as the serving table near the door to the kitchen.”

  Della Street nodded.

  “Therefore,” Mason said, “it is quite obvious that she had left the kitchen knowing she had to serve three people at a table.”

  “Naturally.” Della Street laughed. “Three water glasses and three butter dishes mean three at a table.”

  “And what happened?” Mason asked.

  “I don’t see anything wrong with the police theory,” Della Street told him, frowning. “As she got a better look at the three people seated at the table, she saw that she knew one or all of those people, and there was something in the association that filled her with panic, so she decided she was going to clear out fast.”

  “How did she know there were three people at the table to be waited on?”

  “She must have seen them when she went after the water glasses.”

  “From what point did she see them?”

  “Why, I don’t know. She must have—She must have seen them walk in.”

  “Exactly. She couldn’t have seen them from the kitchen.”

  “But she could have seen them when she emerged from the kitchen carrying an order to some other table.”

  “Her tables were all grouped together,” Mason pointed out. “There they are, the four tables, in that cluster. Now if she had first seen the three people while she was waiting on one of the other tables, she’d have been near the one where the three are sitting.”

  “Oh, I see,” Della said, “then you don’t feel that she left hurriedly because she got a closer look at the three people when she emerged from the kitchen.”

  “That’s what the police think,” Mason said, “but the facts don’t bear out that theory.”

  Della Street nodded.

  “Therefore,” Mason said, “why not assume that the three people meant absolutely nothing to her; that she saw them come in when she was delivering an order of food to another table; that when she returned to the kitchen she picked up a tray, put three glasses of water and three squares of butter on that tray, and started for the table. It was then, for the first time, she noticed someone who had just entered the restaurant, someone who did mean something to her.”

  “You mean the man eating the steak?”

  “It could very well be the man eating steak,” Mason said. “In a situation of this kind, where a girl is completely terrified over something, and dashes out the back of the restaurant into the alley, the assumption would be that she was more likely to have been terrified by one man who was looking her over, than by a social party that was wrapped up in its own problems and its own entertainment.

  “Now then,” Mason went on, “if that is the case, any individual who suddenly pushed back his plate, with food still on it, would arouse the suspicions of the police.”

  Della Street nodded.

  “On the other hand, if a man bolted his food hurriedly, the police might also become suspicious.”

  Again she nodded.

  “Therefore,” Mason said, “if the individual who was responsible for the flight of Dixie Dayton saw the police in the restaurant asking questions, he would be inclined to try to get out as quickly as he could without doing anything to arouse suspicion.

  “Therefore, Della, we should notice this man who is eating with such studied rapidity. Let’s watch to see if he orders dessert, or has a second cup of coffee. If he glances at his watch, acts as though he had an appointment, casually calls the waitress, gives her bills and doesn’t wait for his change …”

  “Good heavens, Chief, he’s doing all those things now,” Della Street exclaimed, as the heavy-set man pushed his plate back, glanced at his wrist watch, tilted up the coffee cup, draining the last dregs of the coffee, and held up his finger to get the attention of the waitress.

  The voice in which he said, “I have an appointment. Please get me a check. I won’t care for dessert, thank you,” was distinctly audible.

  “Do you,” Mason asked Della Street, “suppose you could play detective? Slip out there, Della, and see what happens to that man when he gets outside. Perhaps you can get the license number of his automobile. Follow him if you have the chance—but don’t run any risks. There may be some element of danger if he thinks you’re on his trail. He’ll perhaps suspect a man, but a good-looking woman might get away with it. I’d like to know a little more about that fellow…. It would be better if we both went, but the police will want to check up with me before they leave. They’re a little suspicious. My presence was too opportune.”

  “I’ll give it a try,” Della Street said, and then added, “You think there’s a lot more to this than what Morris told us, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Mason said, giving her the keys to his car.

  “What about the mink coat?”

  Mason hesitated.

  “If the police are asking questions,” Della went on, “they’ll find out about the fur coat and then they’ll want it.”

  “Well, let them have it,” Mason said. “After all, they’re trying to clear the case up to the best of their ability.”

  “I was just wondering about Morris Alburg. He’s looking to us, and he certainly didn’t want the police to know about that coat.”

  Mason said abruptly, “Okay, Della. Go ahead and wear it.”

  Della slipped into the coat, stood poised near the entrance to the booth.

  “You don’t think he’s spotted you, do you, Della?”

  “I doubt it. It’s hard to tell about him. He doesn’t seem to look around, doesn’t seem the least bit curious about what’s going on, and yet he gives you the impression of being completely, thoroughly aware of every move that’s made.”

  Mason said, “He’s getting ready to go now. Don’t take any chances, Della. Just sail on out as though you were a working girl who had just treated yourself to a good meal and were on your way home.”

  “A working girl in this coat?”

  “A working girl wore it before you did,” Mason reminded.

  “Darned if she didn’t,” Della Street admitted. “And look where she is now. Well, here I go, Chief.”

  “Now, remember,” Mason said, “don’t try to push your luck too far. Just get the license number of the automobile. Don’t try to play tag. You might get hurt. We don’t know what this is all about yet.”

  Della Street snuggled her neck back against the luxury of the fur collar, then, with chin up, eyes fixed straight ahead, marched demurely out of the restaurant.

  Mason, standing back by the corner of the booth, watched the police conference at the table draw to an end, saw the chunky man pause briefly at the checking concession, exchange a ticket for a heavy overcoat and a dark felt hat, then push his way out into the night.

  Morris Alburg led the officers back to the booth.

  “What happened to the jane who was here with you?” one of the officers asked.

  “Went home,” Mason said. “I’m on my way myself, Morris. I was only waiting long enough to pay the check.”

  “There isn’t any check,” Alburg said. “This is on the house.”

  “Oh, come,” Mason protested. “This …”

  “It’s on the house,” Alburg said firmly.

  His eyes flicked to Mason’s with a quick flash of meaning.

  “What did you find out over there?” Mason asked.

  “Hell,” one of the officers said, “the whole situation is screwy. This gal just took a powder, that’s all. Those three certainly didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  “Who are they?”

  “Out-of-town people; that is, two of them are. The girl’s here in town. Same old story. The girl is employed as a secretary in the sales department in one of the firms here. These two guys are out-of-town buyers. They’re trying to get a party organized. That is, they were. I guess they’re scared to death now.”

  “What sort of a party?” Mason asked.

  “They were asking this girl if she had a friend. The girl phoned her roommate. The trio were just killing time, having dinner, and waiting to go places and do things until the other girl joined them.

  “Now we’ve thrown a scare into the guys and they’re filled with a desire to get the hell back to their hotel, and write reports. They’re shivering so hard it’s a wonder their shoes don’t shake off.”

  “What about the girl?” Mason asked.

  “She’s okay. She didn’t know the waitress here—is absolutely positive of it. She got a look when the waitress put down the tray with the three glasses of water on it…. The girl is a nice enough kid, but she’s been around. She’s secretary in the sales department. We’ll check her tomorrow if we have to, up where she works.”

  “And what frightened the waitress?” Alburg asked.

  “How the hell do we know?” the officer said impatiently. “She may have seen a boy friend outside, or she may have thought she did, or she may have got a telephone call. Anyhow, we’ll investigate. Tomorrow somebody will check in at the hospital, see how she’s getting along, and if she’s conscious she’ll answer questions. Nothing else we can do here.”

  Morris Alburg’s face showed relief. “That’s the way I feel about it,” he said. “Nothing here that frightened her. It must have been a phone call…. People don’t like police to come in and ask questions about who they’re taking to dinner. I’ve lost three customers right now.”

  “We don’t like to do it,” the officer said, “but in view of the circumstances, we had to find out who they were. Okay, Alburg, be seeing you.”

  The officers went out. Alburg turned to Mason, wiped his forehead. “The things a man gets into,” he moaned.

  Mason said, “Della went out to get some information for me. She took the fur coat along. I didn’t know whether you wanted the officers to see it.”

  “Of course I didn’t want them to see it. I saw Miss Street go out. She was wearing the coat. I’m tickled to death. I wanted those officers out of here quick. I didn’t dare seem too anxious. Then they’d think I was trying to cover up something, and then they’d stick around, stick around and stick around. You are my lawyer, Mr. Mason.”

  “Anything you want me to do?” Mason asked. “I thought, perhaps, you had something in mind from the way …”

  “Keep that fur coat,” Alburg said. “If anybody shows up looking for the waitress, asking questions about her, about her check, about anything, I’ll send them to you. You represent me all the way. How’s that?”

  “What do you mean by ‘all the way’?”

  “I mean all the way.”

  “You shouldn’t be involved in any way,” Mason pointed out. “If you didn’t know her, and …”

  “I know, I know,” Alburg interrupted. “Then there’ll be nothing to do. You don’t do it and send me a bill. That’ll suit you, Mr. Mason, and it’ll suit me. But if anything happens, you’re my lawyer.”

  “All right,” Mason said tolerantly. “If you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to.”

  “Don’t have to tell you what?”

  “What you’re not telling me.”

  “What makes you think I’m not telling you something?”

  “Because I haven’t heard you say it—yet.”

  Morris threw up his hands. “You lawyers! You don’t take nothing for granted. Detectives are different. Lawyers I’m afraid of. A while back I hired detectives. A good job they did, too.”

  “Why detectives, Morris?”

  “I had trouble. Anybody can have trouble. Then I want detectives. Now I want a lawyer. The best!”

  “Fine,” Mason said, smiling at the other’s nervousness. “And now, Morris, since this is on the house, I’m going back and have some of your apple pie a la mode while I’m waiting for Della Street.”

  “She’s coming back?” Alburg asked.

  “Sure,” Mason said. “She just got out so the fur coat could get out of the door without having the officers ask a lot of questions.”

  “I am glad to see them go,” Alburg said. “You know, they could have saved me customers. The way they shake those people down, everybody is talking. I’ve got to go back now. I circulate around the tables, and reassure everybody.”

  “What’ll you tell them?” Mason asked.

  “Tell ’em?” Alburg said. “Tell ’em any damned thing except the truth…. I have to tell so many lies I get so I can pull lies out of the air. I’ll say these people parked their automobile and some drunk ran into it. He smashed in the rear end. Police were trying to find out who the car belonged to and whether to make charges against the drunk. That’s why they were looking at driving licenses.”

  Mason grinned. “That doesn’t sound very convincing to me, Morris. I doubt if it will to your customers.”

  “It will by the time I get done with it,” Morris said.

  Mason went back to the booth, waited an anxious ten minutes, then the curtain was pulled to one side and Della Street, with the fur coat wrapped tightly around her, her face somewhat flushed from exercise in the cold air, said, “I drew a goose egg.”