A red light flickered on and off, then glowed steadily. A cage came to a stop. Mason jumped in, said to the elevator operator, “Run it all the way down to the ground floor, buddy. Don’t stop. It’s important. Let’s go.”

  The elevator operator threw the control over, and the cage dropped rapidly.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked.

  “Want to catch a guy,” Mason said.

  The cage came to a smooth stop. The door slid open. An angry elevator starter said, “What’s the idea, Jim? You …”

  “I’ll take the responsibility,” Mason said, and dashed across the lobby to the street.

  He looked up and down the street, saw no immediate trace of the man he wanted but recognized that the crowded sidewalk offered a perfect opportunity for anyone to mingle with the pedestrians and vanish.

  Mason moved to the curb, looked down the street to see if a taxicab had recently pulled away from the curb, spotted one at the corner waiting for a stop light, and ran down halfway to the corner before the signal changed and the cab glided away.

  Back at the entrance of the building, Mason saw Paul Drake, Della Street and one of Drake’s operatives standing by the door.

  “No dice,” Mason said. “Not here. Let’s cover parking lots. Della, you know him. Take Drake’s operative and cover the parking lot down the street. Paul and I will take the one across the street. If you see him, stop him.”

  “How?” Della Street asked.

  “Stop him,” Mason said to Drake’s operative. “I don’t give a damn what you do. Pretend he ran over your toe, hit you, or anything else; just stop him. Claim he smashed a fender on your car. Demand to see a driver’s license.”

  “Get rough if I have to?”

  “Hell, yes,” Mason said. “Come on, Paul.”

  Paul Drake and Mason ran from the curb, threaded their way through traffic, regardless of the angry protest of horns, and crossed over to the parking lot across the street.

  “If he came in his own car,” Mason said, “we’ll catch him one place or the other. Watch here, and get everyone who’s coming out, Paul. I’ll signal Della.”

  Mason moved over to the curb, waved a signal, then said, “Come on, Paul, let’s take a look through and be sure he isn’t just sitting in a car.”

  Five minutes later Mason acknowledged defeat. He walked back across the street to where Della and the operative from Drake’s office were waiting, and said, “Well, I guess we’re licked. I still don’t see how he could have got down and vanished into thin air, but in that time …”

  “The taxicab?” Drake asked.

  “I think it was empty. I don’t think he could have made it, Paul. I had my elevator operator shoot all the way down without stops. I sprinted out to the curb. Remember, if this man had been ahead of me … Oh, well, let’s go talk to the elevator operators and see if they know anything.”

  They entered the building.

  One by one they checked the elevator operators as they brought their cages down. The fourth and last operator listened to their story, said, “My gosh, Mr. Mason, I remember him perfectly. He didn’t go down, he went up.”

  “Up?” Mason said.

  The operator nodded. “I remember there was both a down and an up signal on your floor, because just as I picked him up the cage going down stopped and the door slid back, but there was no one waiting to go down. What he’d done was to press both the up button and the down button…. Of course, sometimes fellows will do that when they want to go up. They’ll mechanically press the down button and then remember and change it to the up button, and …”

  “Not this guy,” Mason said. “He knew he was hot. He wanted to get away fast. He pressed both buttons and took the first cage that stopped. He wanted to get off that floor, Paul, there’s a damned good chance he’s still in the building.”

  “How was he dressed?” Drake asked.

  Della Street said, “He had on a dark, double-breasted suit, a red and blue necktie, white shirt.”

  “A hat?”

  “He had a black hat last night, and—Yes, I’m quite certain there was a black hat on the chair beside him.”

  Mason said to Drake, “Go on upstairs, Paul. Put one of your girls at my switchboard. Gertie saw him. Get her down here. He may have gone up a few floors, got off and just waited around, figuring he’d outwait us. We know now that he couldn’t have been ahead of us. I’ll go ask the girl at the cigar stand.”

  Drake said, “A couple of minutes more and I’ll have another operative here. Let’s check at the cigar stand, Perry.”

  The girl who was running the cigar stand and magazine rack flashed them a smile. “What was all the rush?” she asked.

  Mason said, “Trying to find someone. I wonder if you might have noticed him.”

  She shook her head and said, “Not unless he’s a regular tenant. People stream past here all day, and …”

  “This man must either be in the building, or must have come out very shortly after I left,” Mason said. “He may, or may not be wearing a black felt hat, a dark, double-breasted suit, blue and red necktie, about thirty-five years old, five feet seven inches tall, weighs about a hundred and eighty-five. His most noticeable feature is a pair of bushy eyebrows.”

  “Good heavens!” she exclaimed.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Why, he got off the elevator just after your secretary and Paul Drake and the other man reached the street.”

  “Go on,” Mason said.

  “He didn’t seem to be in a hurry at all. He was just sauntering out of the building when he abruptly veered over here to the counter and started looking at a magazine.”

  Mason exchanged glances with Paul Drake, said, “You see what happened, Paul? He saw Della Street standing out at the curb so he swung over and buried his face in a magazine.”

  “Then he bought a cigar,” the girl said, “and when you and Mr. Drake ran across the street he went out of the door and turned to the right…. I guess the only reason I noticed him was because I was so interested in seeing you dash across the lobby, and then your secretary and Mr. Drake and this other man came running out. Naturally, I wondered what was happening. He …”

  “Come on, Paul,” Mason said. “Della, Paul and I will grab the first taxi and go up the street. You take the next one that comes along, go to the corner and turn right. We’ll keep circling around the blocks, watching pedestrians and seeing if we can pick him up.”

  “What is this?” Drake asked. “A murder?”

  “Not yet,” Mason said grimly.

  “What’ll we do if we find him?” Drake’s operative asked.

  “Tail him,” Mason said. “Don’t try to stop him now. But one way or another, find out who he is.”

  Mason went to the curb, and by luck found a cruising cab almost immediately. He and Drake jumped in and went four blocks up the street, then turned right a block and came back down on a parallel street.

  “Like hunting for a needle in a haystack,” Paul Drake said.

  Mason nodded, but with his eyes intent on the sidewalk, studying the pedestrians, said, “Go slow. After you get down to the next street, turn right and then go five blocks on the cross street, then turn and start threading back and forth along the cross streets. Just keep moving.”

  “Are you the law?” the driver asked.

  Mason said, “Don’t worry about who I am. Just watch your driving and keep your eye on the meter.”

  “No rough stuff,” the driver said.

  “No rough stuff,” Mason promised. “Just keep your eyes on the road and your hands on the wheel.”

  They cruised slowly up and down the various streets until finally at a corner they picked up the cab in which Della Street and Paul Drake’s operative were also cruising.

  “Blow your horn,” Mason said. “Get the attention of the people in the other cab…. That’s right.”

  Mason flashed a signal to Della Street when she looked up at the sound of the horn.

  She slowly shook her head.

  Mason gestured back toward the office, turned and settled back against the cushions. “That’s it, Paul,” he said. “We give the guy the benefit of the first trick—actually, the first two tricks.”

  “Who is he?” Drake asked.

  “That’s what I was hiring you to find out.”

  Drake asked, “Am I hired?”

  “You’re damned right you’re hired,” Mason told him.

  “How strong do you want me to go?”

  “Shoot the works. I’m tired of having some cheap crook make a monkey of me.”

  “He may not be cheap.”

  “Perhaps, but I’ll give you ten to one he’s a crook. Della will give you all the information we have. You take it from there.”

  Chapter 4

  Back in Mason’s office the lawyer said, “Get Lieutenant Tragg on the line, Della. We’ll see what he knows. Perhaps we can interview the terrified waitress and solve at least part of the mystery.”

  Della Street put through the call, then said, “Hello, Lieutenant, how are you today? This is Della Street…. What’s that? … Well, Mr. Mason wants to talk with you. Just hang on, please.”

  Della Street nodded to Perry Mason. Mason picked up his telephone, said, “Hello, Lieutenant, how are you?”

  “What kind of a deal did you get me in on?” Tragg asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Getting that girl in a private hospital with special nurses … The next time I pull any of your chestnuts out of the fire, you can …”

  “Whoa, back up,” Mason said. “What’s eating you now?”

  “You know damned well what’s eating me,” Tragg said, irritably. “You knew that if we handled the matter ourselves we’d have it so she couldn’t take a powder. You pretended that you wanted her to be completely safe and then put her in a position where she could …”

  “You mean she’s gone?” Mason asked.

  “You’re damned right, she’s gone.”

  “Tragg, I give you my word the thing was on the up and up. It was just as I outlined it to you.”

  “Yeah,” Tragg said sarcastically. “Just wanted to cooperate with the good old police force, didn’t you, Mason?”

  “Look here, Tragg,” Mason said, “have I ever pulled a fast one on you?”

  “Have you?” Tragg said. “You’ve pulled so many fast ones on me that …”

  “I may have been on the other side of the fence a time or two,” Mason said, “but have I ever asked you for your cooperation on anything in order to take advantage of you?”

  “Well—no.”

  “And I won’t,” Mason said. “This is as much news to me as it is to you, and it bothers me. How did she work it?”

  “Nobody knows,” Tragg said. “She was there one minute, and five minutes later she was gone. She was lying apparently asleep. The special nurse stepped down the hall for a sandwich and a cup of coffee. She said, of course, that she’d only been out of the room five minutes. It probably was around half an hour. The patient was resting easily and sleeping, and the nurse was looking in and out.”

  “How seriously was the patient injured?”

  “Apparently she was just knocked out. Possibility of a concussion, some bruises, a couple of broken ribs that were taped up, and some scratches and abrasions. The doctor wanted to keep her under observation for a while.”

  “What about clothes?” Mason asked.

  “Oh, hell,” Tragg said, “her clothes were in the closet. She put ’em on and walked out.”

  “What about money?”

  “She didn’t have a dime. The contents of her purse had been inventoried and left at the desk.”

  “How could she have got away from the hospital without taxi money?”

  “You asked me,” Tragg said. “What do you think I am, a mind reader? I’m telling you what happened.”

  “Well, it’s all news to me,” Mason told him. “Now then, just to show you I’m on the up and up with you, I’ll put all of my cards on the table, if you want. I’ll tell you everything I know about the case, and …”

  “Not me,” Tragg said, “not me. I’ve got enough on my mind. Turn it over to Traffic Department…. I just tried to do you a favor, that was all.”

  “You did, and thanks a lot.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  “You don’t want me to keep you posted if there are any further developments?”

  “I was doing you a favor,” Tragg repeated. “I don’t give a damn where she goes or what she does. As far as I’m concerned, she could have got up and walked out of the front door any time. It just made me look like something of a sucker, that’s all…. When the case gets to murder, call me up. I’m in Homicide, remember?”

  “I’ll remember,” Mason said, and hung up.

  Chapter 5

  It was late afternoon when Paul Drake tapped out a code knock on the door of Mason’s private office.

  Mason nodded to Della Street, who opened the door.

  “Hi, Paul,” she said. “How’s the sleuth?”

  “Fine. How’s tricks?”

  Drake entered the office, placed one hip on the round of the arm of the overstuffed leather chair, balanced himself in a posture which indicated his intention of making this a flying visit.

  “How busy are you, Perry? Got time to listen to something?”

  Mason nodded.

  Della Street indicated the pile of unsigned mail.

  “Go ahead,” Mason said, “talk. And I’ll sign letters while you’re talking. Have you read these, Della?”

  She nodded.

  “All ready for my signature?”

  Again she nodded.

  Mason started signing letters.

  Drake said, “There’s something screwy about this case, Perry.”

  “Go ahead, Paul, what is it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How do you know there’s something screwy?” Mason asked, his pen dashing off signatures as Della Street handed him one letter after another then blotted the signatures as Mason signed.

  “The police are interested.”

  “They should be.”

  “Not from anything we know, Perry. It’s a deeper interest than that.”

  “Go ahead. What seems to be the angle?”

  “Well, in the first place, you gave us a pawn ticket on a Seattle hock shop.”

  Mason nodded.

  “Know what that was?”

  Mason shook his head and said, “It was an eighteen-dollar item. That was the amount stamped on the back of the ticket, and I figured that eighteen dollars plus one per cent a month, plus …”

  “I know,” Drake said. “You figured you couldn’t go wrong as far as value was concerned. Now I’ll tell you what the article was.”

  “What was it?”

  “A gun.”

  “Any good?”

  “Apparently so. A thirty-eight Smith and Wesson special.”

  “You picked it up?” Mason asked.

  Drake shook his head. “The police did.”

  “What police?”

  “The Seattle police.”

  “How come? You had the pawn ticket, didn’t you? I wanted you to mail it to Seattle, and …”

  Drake said, “When the police went to Alburg’s cafe last night, they naturally asked Alburg what he knew about the girl. Alburg told them he didn’t know a damned thing, that she’d applied for a job as waitress, that she needed money, that it was the first of the month, and …”

  “I know,” Mason said. “He told me all that.”

  “The officers looked around a bit and found this girl’s handbag had been picked up by the ambulance driver and taken to the hospital. Just as a matter of routine they made an inventory.”

  “That was the traffic detail?”

  “Yes—traffic accidents.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “They found lipstick, keys that don’t mean anything yet, a compact, and a ticket on a Seattle pawn shop.”

  “Another one?”

  “That’s right.”

  “So what did they do then?”

  “Sent a teletype to Seattle. The police went around to investigate. That pawn ticket was for a diamond ring. The pawnbroker remembered her. He said she’d hocked a gun at the same time. The police took a look at the gun. Then things began to happen.”

  “What sort of things, Paul?”

  “I can’t find out for sure, but it touched off a lot of activity down here. Police began to go places and do things. Alburg’s restaurant is crawling with detectives.”

  “Where’s Morris Alburg?”

  “Lots of people want to know,” Drake said.

  Mason quit signing mail. “I’ll be darned,” he said.

  Drake said, “Alburg could just be out on business.”

  “What else, Paul?”

  “Alburg never told the police anything about the fur coat, but one of the waitresses did. She told the police that Alburg had given the fur coat to you, and that your secretary had worn it out.”

  “Observing brats, aren’t they?”

  “Uh-huh,” Drake said. “And apparently there’s a certain amount of friction and jealousy on which I think we may be able to capitalize.”

  “How come?”

  “I think Alburg is giving you a bum steer.”

  “Alburg is?” Mason asked. “Good Lord, Paul, I’m doing this for Alburg.”

  Drake nodded.

  Della Street blotted the last of the letters, took them out to the stenographic room to be folded and mailed, then returned and seated herself at her secretarial desk.

  Drake said, “One of the waitresses is named Nolan, Mae Nolan. She just might have had an idea that Morris Alburg was noticing her a little bit.”

  “Does he play around with his waitresses?”

  “Apparently not,” Drake said. “And that may be part of the trouble. However, there are a lot of angles to be considered. There are certain tables that are choice, as far as tips are concerned, others that aren’t so good, and stuff of that sort.”

  “It goes on a basis of seniority?”

  “It goes on a basis of favoritism,” Drake said. “At least the girls seem to think so.”

  “What about this Mae Nolan?”

  “She’s in my office. I’ve just taken a statement from her. I thought perhaps you’d like to talk with her.”