Mason had lost the carefree mannerism of the cabaret. His face was thoughtful, his eyes half closed in concentration. 'What about the bishop, Paul?' he asked.
'The bishop is at present perfectly able to navigate under his own power,' Drake said. 'He's out of the hospital and back at his hotel. He can't wear a hat, though. His head is so covered with bandages that only one eye and the tip of his nose are showing. According to last reports, he's pursuing the even tenor of his ecclesiastical ways.'
'And how about the Seaton girl?'
'Still in her apartment on West Adams Street. She hasn't budged. Apparently she's waiting for a call from the bishop and isn't going to leave until it comes in.'
Mason frowned thoughtfully and said, 'That doesn't make sense, Paul.'
'It's one of the few things that does make sense,' the detective rejoined. 'She was packing up when we busted in on her. Evidently she was getting ready to go places. She admitted she was to travel with the bishop or with some patient he was to get for her. So she's waiting for the bishop to give her definite instructions. She hasn't stuck her nose outdoors since the bishop went to the hospital.'
'Hasn't been out to dinner?'
'Hasn't even opened the back door to dump out any garbage,' Drake said.
'You've got two men watching the front and back of the apartment?'
'That's right. The man who followed her to the apartment was watching the front, and I had an operative at the back within five minutes of the time we left there.'
Mason said, 'Della supplied a fact which may be important. Janice Alma Brownley came over on the Monterey from Australia.'
'Well,' Drake asked, 'what about it?'
'Bishop Mallory came over on the same ship. They were together for two or three weeks on shipboard. And, mind you, unless there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, the woman the bishop is inquiring about on the manslaughter business is the mother of the Brownley girl.'
Drake frowned thoughtfully.
Mason said, 'Della and I have been toying around with an idea, Paul. It may be goofy. I haven't dared to think about it out loud. I want you to listen to it and see what you think.'
'Go to it,' Drake told him. 'I'm always willing to punch holes in ideas.'
'Suppose,' Mason said, 'the Branner woman skipped out to Australia. Suppose, after Oscar Brownley went back to the States, she had a baby. Suppose Bishop Mallory, being at that time a Church of England minister, was given the child to put in a good home somewhere. Suppose he gave her to a family named Seaton, and then suppose when he came to the United States on the Monterey he found some girl on the ship posing as Janice Brownley and knew she was an impostor; but suppose he wanted to play his cards pretty close to his chest and get some definite proof before he started any fireworks, and among other things, wanted to dig up the real Brownley girl-now why wouldn't that fit with the facts?'
Drake thought for a moment and then said, 'No, Perry, that's goofy. In the first place, it's all surmise. In the second place, the girl couldn't have been received into the Brownley household without the mother knowing about it, and if it had been the wrong girl she'd have raised merry hell.'
'Suppose,' Mason interrupted, 'the mother was out of the state and didn't know about it but is just finding it out. Then she'd come on here to really raise some hell.'
'Well,' Drake said, 'she hasn't showed up. That's the best answer to that. Also, don't forget that good-looking gals change a lot from the time they're little pink morsels of humanity until they blossom forth into dazzling heiresses. Bishop Mallory is probably far more interested in ecclesiastical duties than tagging babies whom he has farmed out for adoption… No, Perry, I think you've got a wrong hunch. But this may be the case: Someone may be going to pull a shake-down and in order to work it they need a Bishop Mallory to lay the foundation, so if they had a fake Bishop Mallory call on a credulous but aggressive lawyer and spill a sob-sister story they might throw enough monkey wrenches in the Brownley machinery to get a rake-off.'
'So you think the bishop is a fake?' Mason asked.
'Right from the first,' Drake said, 'I figured this bishop was a crook. I don't like that stuttering business, Perry.'
Mason said slowly, 'Neither do I, when you come right down to it.'
'Well,' Drake said, grinning, 'we're right down to it.'
'So,' Mason said, 'I think we'll talk with Bishop Mallory again-that is, unless he gets in touch with me first. How long's he been at the hotel, Paul?'
'Around half an hour I'd say. They patched him up at the hospital, and after he recovered consciousness he was none the worse for wear, except for the headache and the flock of bandages on his head.'
'What did he tell the police?'
'He said he opened the door of his room and someone jumped out from behind the door and hit him, and that's all he remembers.'
Mason frowned and said, 'That wouldn't account for the broken mirror and the busted chair, Paul. There was a fight in that room.'
Drake shrugged his shoulders and said, 'All I know is that that's the story he told the police. Of course, Perry, sometimes when a man's been given a knock on the bean that way he forgets a good deal of what happened.'
'You've got a man trailing the bishop?' Mason asked.
'Two men,' Drake said. 'Two men in two separate cars. We're not letting him out of our sight.'
Mason said thoughtfully, 'Let's go talk with this Seaton girl again, and let's take Della along. The kid's a redheaded spitfire, but she may loosen up if Della talks to her.'
Drake's voice showed resentment. 'We'll never get anything out of her now,' he said.
'Why the accent on the now?' Mason asked.
'I don't like the way you handled it, Perry. I know her type. We should have kept her on the run, made her think the bishop had been murdered, pretended she was a logical suspect, and then she'd have told the truth in order to clear her skirts.'
'She told some of the truth, anyway,' Mason said, 'about getting in touch with him through an ad, for instance.' Mason motioned to Della Street, who handed over the ads she had clipped from the personal columns. Mason gave them to the detective who stared at them frowningly and said, 'What the devil's the idea, Perry?'
'I don't know, Paul, unless it's the way I outlined to you. Have you heard anything more from Australia, Paul?'
'No. I've wired my correspondents for a description and asked them to cable the bishop's present address.'
Mason said thoughtfully, 'I keep thinking that Seaton girl holds the key to this thing. We'll drop in on her, ask a few more questions, and then go see His Nibs, the Stuttering Bishop. And by that time I think we'll have an earful.'
Paul Drake said, 'Of course, Perry, it's none of my business but why go to all this trouble over a case which probably isn't going to amount to anything, which hasn't paid you any fee and where no one seems to be in particularly urgent need of your services?'
He shrugged and said, 'I'm afraid, Paul, you overlook the potential possibilities of the situation. In the first place, it's a mystery, and you know how I feel about mysteries. In the second place, unless all signs fail, what we're having so far is what is technically known as the 'build-up.''
'Build-up to what?' Drake asked in his slow drawl.
Mason looked at his wristwatch and said, 'My guess is the within twelve hours I'll receive a call from a woman who gives her name either as Julia Branner or Mrs. Oscar Brownley.'
The detective said, 'You may, at that, Perry. And she may be phoney. If she isn't-well, you might have lots of action.'
Mason put on his hat and said, 'Come on. Let's go.'
They went in Drake's car to the apartment house on West Adams. Behind the windshield of a battered car, a little spot of light marked the glowing end of a cigarette. A figure detached itself from the black shadows and proved to be that of Charlie Downes. 'All clear?' Drake asked.
'Everything's under control,' the man grinned. 'How long do I stay here?'
'You'll be relieved at midnight,' Drake said. 'Until then, stick on the job. We're going up. She may go out as soon as we leave. If she does, we want to know where she goes.'
They took the elevator to the third floor. Drake led the way to Apartment 328 and tapped gently on the panels. There was no answer. He knocked more loudly.
Mason whispered, 'Wait a minute, Paul. I've got an idea.' He said to Della Street, 'Call out, 'Open the door, Janice, this is I.''
Della Street nodded, placed her mouth close to the door and said, 'Open up, Janice. It's I.'
Again there was no sound of motion. Mason dropped to his knees, took a long envelope from his pocket, inserted it under the door, moved it back and forth and said, 'There's no light in there, Paul.'
'The devil!' Paul Drake said.
They stood in a silent, compact group for a moment. Then Drake said, 'I'm going down and make certain the back end of the place is covered, and has been covered ever since we left.'
'We'll wait here,' Mason told him. Drake didn't wait to use the elevator, but ran down the stairs.
'Suppose,' Della Street ventured. 'that she really couldn't have left the building.'
'Well?' Mason asked.
'Then she's in there.'
'What do you mean?'
'Perhaps she's… you know.'
'You mean committed suicide?'
'Yes.'
Mason said, 'She didn't look like that kind to me, Della. She looked like a fighter. But of course there's some chance she's wise enough to have gone into some friend's apartment here in the same building. That's one thing we may have to figure on. Or, she may be inside, playing possum.'
They stood in uncomfortable silence, waiting.
Drake came back, panting from his exertion in taking the stairs two at a time, and said, 'She's sewed up in the place. It's a cinch she hasn't left by either the front or the rear. She's bound to be inside. You know, Perry, there's just a chance…'
His voice trailed away into silence and Perry said, 'Yes, Della was wondering about that. But, somehow, I can't figure her for that sort of a play.'
Drake grinned and said, 'I know a way we can find out.'
'Speaking as a lawyer,' Mason observed, 'I'd say such a method would be highly illegal.'
Drake produced a folding leather tool kit from his pocket and took out some skeleton keys.
'Which'll it be,' he asked, 'conscience or curiosity?'
Mason said, 'Curiosity.'
Drake fitted a key in the lock and Mason said to Della. 'You'd better keep out of this, Della. Stand in the corridor and don't come in. Then you won't be guilty of anything in case there's a squawk.'
Drake clicked back the lock and said, 'If you see anybody coming, Della, start knocking on the door. We'll lock it from the inside. When we hear you knock that'll be our signal to keep quiet.'
'Suppose it should be the girl herself?' Della Street asked.
'It won't be. She can't have left. But if it should be, she's about twenty-one or twenty-two, with dark copper hair that's alive, eyes that have plenty of fire, and a peaches-and-cream complexion.
