look,” Mason said. “You say there’s a photograph?”
“A nice photograph. Mr. Baylor is not out here on business. Mr. Baylor is out here for a well-earned vacation and for his health. Mr. Baylor has been troubled with bursitis.”
“Bursitis, huh?” Mason said.
“Uh-huh. An infection of a capsule of fluid or something in the shoulder that—”
Mason laughed and said, “I know all about bursitis, Paul. That is, I know enough about it to cross-examine doctors. It can be stubborn and painful. We don’t have our morning papers at the moment. Tell me, how did Mr. Baylor look in the photos?”
“Influential,” Drake said. “He has many million dollars, and he looks like many million dollars. The photograph shows him holding a brief case in his left hand, his right hand waving his hat in greeting, a beautiful hostess on each side and a caption about the manufacturing and financial wizard who believes that the Pacific Coast is on the eve of an unpreced-ented growth. Baylor says that what has happened so far is merely scratching the industrial surface.”
“Radiating optimism, eh?” Mason asked.
“Radiating optimism.”
“Could I call him at the Vista del Camino Hotel?” Mason asked.
“No dice,” Drake said. “Trying to get a phone call through to him requires an Act of Congress and the unwinding of yards of red tape. But he’s there and, as nearly as I can find out, he’s in his suite.”
“What about his background, Paul?”
“Big manufacturer. Big financier. Big investor. Boards of directors and all that stuff. Who’s Who takes a whole column on him.”
“Find out anything about Katherine Baylor?” Mason asked.
“Postgraduate work at Stanford. Nice kid. Popular. For herself and not for her money. Unostentatious. A good scout. Something of a crusader, imbued with the idea of improving the administration of justice, safeguarding justice for rich and poor alike. A nice kid.”
“Entanglements?”
“Apparently not. Nothing formal. Very popular, therefore it’s hard to tell whether she’s playing the field or has her eye on some particular individual. Apparently, there was an affair back East, something that the folks were afraid might prove serious, and that’s the reason for postgraduate work at Stanford.
“I’m just beginning to get the dirt. Perry, and I’ll have more for you in a little while. But in the meantime I thought you’d like to know about Baylor.”
“That’s fine,” Mason said. “Keep digging and keep in touch with us. I think I’ll go out to the Vista del Camino Hotel and try for an interview.”
“No chance,” Drake said. “He had a press interview at the plane, then he ordered everything shut off. No phone calls, no interviews. Nothing.”
“Any exceptions?” Mason asked.
“I don’t know. The house dick over there is a friend of mine. I might be able to find out.” ‘Find out and call me back,” Mason said. “I’m interested.”
The lawyer hung up the phone and Della Street drew a cup of coffee from the electric percolator.
“Listen in on the extension?” Mason asked. She nodded. “Take notes?” Again she nodded.
Five minutes later Drake again called on the unlisted telephone. “Now look. Perry,” he said, “you’re going to have to protect me on this. I got it from my close friend, the house detective. It would cost him his job if anyone knew there had been a leak coming from him.”
“Go ahead,” Mason said.
“Baylor has shut off all telephone calls. Everything. His suite is completely isolated. There’s even a guard at the door. He has, however, left instructions that if a Mr. Howley tries to get in touch with him, the call is to be put through immediately, no matter what hour of the day or night.”
“Howley, eh?” Mason asked.
“That’s right.”
“Who’s Howley, do you know?”
“Can’t find a thing in the world about him. All I know is Baylor is sewed up tight except for Howley. And Howley is to be put
“A nice photograph. Mr. Baylor is not out here on business. Mr. Baylor is out here for a well-earned vacation and for his health. Mr. Baylor has been troubled with bursitis.”
“Bursitis, huh?” Mason said.
“Uh-huh. An infection of a capsule of fluid or something in the shoulder that—”
Mason laughed and said, “I know all about bursitis, Paul. That is, I know enough about it to cross-examine doctors. It can be stubborn and painful. We don’t have our morning papers at the moment. Tell me, how did Mr. Baylor look in the photos?”
“Influential,” Drake said. “He has many million dollars, and he looks like many million dollars. The photograph shows him holding a brief case in his left hand, his right hand waving his hat in greeting, a beautiful hostess on each side and a caption about the manufacturing and financial wizard who believes that the Pacific Coast is on the eve of an unpreced-ented growth. Baylor says that what has happened so far is merely scratching the industrial surface.”
“Radiating optimism, eh?” Mason asked.
“Radiating optimism.”
“Could I call him at the Vista del Camino Hotel?” Mason asked.
“No dice,” Drake said. “Trying to get a phone call through to him requires an Act of Congress and the unwinding of yards of red tape. But he’s there and, as nearly as I can find out, he’s in his suite.”
“What about his background, Paul?”
“Big manufacturer. Big financier. Big investor. Boards of directors and all that stuff. Who’s Who takes a whole column on him.”
“Find out anything about Katherine Baylor?” Mason asked.
“Postgraduate work at Stanford. Nice kid. Popular. For herself and not for her money. Unostentatious. A good scout. Something of a crusader, imbued with the idea of improving the administration of justice, safeguarding justice for rich and poor alike. A nice kid.”
“Entanglements?”
“Apparently not. Nothing formal. Very popular, therefore it’s hard to tell whether she’s playing the field or has her eye on some particular individual. Apparently, there was an affair back East, something that the folks were afraid might prove serious, and that’s the reason for postgraduate work at Stanford.
“I’m just beginning to get the dirt. Perry, and I’ll have more for you in a little while. But in the meantime I thought you’d like to know about Baylor.”
“That’s fine,” Mason said. “Keep digging and keep in touch with us. I think I’ll go out to the Vista del Camino Hotel and try for an interview.”
“No chance,” Drake said. “He had a press interview at the plane, then he ordered everything shut off. No phone calls, no interviews. Nothing.”
“Any exceptions?” Mason asked.
“I don’t know. The house dick over there is a friend of mine. I might be able to find out.” ‘Find out and call me back,” Mason said. “I’m interested.”
The lawyer hung up the phone and Della Street drew a cup of coffee from the electric percolator.
“Listen in on the extension?” Mason asked. She nodded. “Take notes?” Again she nodded.
Five minutes later Drake again called on the unlisted telephone. “Now look. Perry,” he said, “you’re going to have to protect me on this. I got it from my close friend, the house detective. It would cost him his job if anyone knew there had been a leak coming from him.”
“Go ahead,” Mason said.
“Baylor has shut off all telephone calls. Everything. His suite is completely isolated. There’s even a guard at the door. He has, however, left instructions that if a Mr. Howley tries to get in touch with him, the call is to be put through immediately, no matter what hour of the day or night.”
“Howley, eh?” Mason asked.
“That’s right.”
“Who’s Howley, do you know?”
“Can’t find a thing in the world about him. All I know is Baylor is sewed up tight except for Howley. And Howley is to be put
Similar Books
