'I'm sorry, Mr. Drake. I tried to give you a square deal.'

Mrs. Belgrade's voice was bitter. 'Don't give him anything, George. He pays you eight dollars a day and expenses, and expects you to give him your soul.'

'Shut up, Flo,' Belgrade said tonelessly.

'I won't either shut up. I think it's an outrage! You work day and night, take all sorts of chances, and are out in all kinds of weather, and what does it get you? The first time you…'

'You keep out of this, Flo,' Belgrade said, raising his voice. 'Don't you understand Mr. Drake can fix it so no other agency will ever employ me?'

'Well, what if he does? You got out of the detective business once, and you can get out of it again. There's lots of ways to make a living without working for a bunch of slave-drivers, who don't appreciate honesty when they see it.'

'Did you see Sylvia Oxman toss a gun overboard?' Mason asked Belgrade, interrupting.

'No, sir, I didn't.'

'Could she have done so without you seeing her?'

'I guess so. Yes. You see, I thought she'd taken a tumble to me. I wanted to get her off the gambling ship, and I wanted to be in the same speed boat she took; but I didn't want her to see me. I knew my only chance was to figure what speed boat she was going to take, and get aboard first. If I followed her down to the speed boat, I figured she might take a tumble. I just did the best I could, Mr. Mason.'

Mason nodded to Drake and said, 'I think that's all, Belgrade. Come on, Paul. Let's let Belgrade change his clothes.'

'They've served you with a subpoena?' Belgrade asked Mason.

The lawyer avoided the question, saying easily as he started for the door: 'You'll want to make a good impression with that Federal Grand Jury, George. I'm going to talk with Mr. Drake about you. The more I think things over, the more I realize you were placed in a very peculiar situation, one which wouldn't confront a detective once in ten years. I can understand just how you felt.'

Drake's fingers closed about the lawyer's elbow. 'Come on, Perry,' he said.

'You're one swell guy, Mr. Mason,' Belgrade said. 'Do you forgive me, Mr. Drake?'

Mason said, 'Don't press that question now, George. I'll have a chat with him and then we'll let you know the answer.'

'Thanks a lot, Mr. Mason. I can't begin to tell you how much I appreciate the way you're taking this.'

As the two men walked from the house, they could hear Florence Belgrade's voice rising in machine-gun rapidity. A door slammed shut, cutting off the sound. Drake remarked with feeling, 'I wish you'd let me cut loose on that rat.'

'No,' Mason told him, 'we can't afford to antagonize him now. He's important. He's going to be about the most important witness who'll appear before the Federal Grand Jury. It might be a lot better to have him feeling friendly toward our side of the case, Paul. He's already received his money from the newspaper. Personally, I don't blame him too much. I know just how he felt. He'd been working on a salary, and suddenly had an opportunity to make a wad of dough by telling something to a newspaper that he thought wouldn't make any particular trouble for anyone.'

Drake said, 'I wish to hell I knew why you're so damned anxious to stick up for Belgrade.'

'Because,' Mason told him, 'I make my living by dealing with people. Remember, Paul, if Belgrade was a man of outstanding ability, without any soft spots in his make-up, you couldn't hire him to work for you at eight dollars a day. You have to make allowances for people. Belgrade sold us out. That's admitted. He did it, not because he had anything against us, but because he needed the money. Now then, he's already received that money. He's facing the future. His ability to get work in the future depends a lot on placating you. If you let him feel, in advance, you're going to turn him down cold, he'll turn against you and be bitter. If you let him feel that you're holding his case under advisement, he'll do anything in the world to accommodate you. That means that when he gets in front of the Grand Jury he'll be trying to say what you want him to say-that is, as far as it's in accord with his recollection.'

'Well,' Drake admitted, 'I see your point. But, as far as I'm concerned, he can go to hell. He sold us out.'

The men walked to the corner in silence. Mason said, 'Well, here are the cars, Paul. I guess I hadn't better stick around this neighborhood.'

'Where are you going, Perry?'

'Oh, places,' Mason said casually.

Drake stared steadily at him. 'You're not going to the Christy Hotel, are you?'

'Why?'

'I have an idea you're figuring on calling on Frank Oxman.'

'So what?'

'Don't do it,' Drake said earnestly. 'That man's dangerous, and you're already in one hell of a hot spot, Perry.'

'It won't get any cooler if I stick around in that one spot,' Mason told him.

'Well, lay off Frank Oxman. He's dangerous… Oh, by the way, Perry, I think we've found out who's backing him.'

Mason, looking up and down the street to make certain there were no radio cars in sight, said, 'All right, Paul. Give it to me fast.'

'We're keeping a tail on Oxman, just as you instructed,' Drake said, 'and we find that he telephoned a man by the name of Carter C. Squires, at the Poindexter Hotel. Squires is the head of a gambling ring that dopes race horses, fixes prize fights, and bets on sure things. He spends most of his time in the lobby of the Poindexter and hanging around the bar. Incidentally, he has a police record somewhere, and he's crooked as a corkscrew, but he has money. He finances a lot of crooked schemes and takes a big cut. Oxman talked with Squires on the telephone. He seemed in an awful lather trying to get the call through.'

'You couldn't get in on the conversation?' Mason asked.

'No, I couldn't. But Oxman was talking for almost ten minutes.'

'That was after he went to the Christy Hotel?'

'Yes.'

'Well,' Mason said slowly, 'I think I'll take a chance on Oxman, at that… I have a little surprise for Oxman… I want to see how he can take it. So far, he's only been dishing it out.'

CHAPTER 13

MASON ENTERED the lobby of the Christy Hotel, and paused to take mental inventory. Sylvia Oxman was nowhere in sight. Mason walked to the elevators, went to the fifth floor, walked rapidly down the corridor to Room 519, and tapped on the door. After a moment he heard motion, the sound of a bolt sliding back, and the door opened.

A thin, almost foppishly dressed man in a double breasted gray suit stood on the threshold and surveyed Mason with hostile eyes.

Mason said simply, 'I'm coming in, Oxman.'

Oxman hesitated a moment, then stepped to one side, and held the door open. After Mason went in, he kicked the door shut and twisted the bolt.

'You left your hotel rather suddenly,' Mason remarked affably.

Oxman indicated a chair with a well-manicured hand, on the third finger of which appeared a huge diamond. His hair, neatly waved back from his forehead, reflected glinting highlights from the window. His suit was spotless and freshly pressed, his shoes burnished to a resplendent shine. After Mason had seated himself, Oxman perched on the edge of the bed and propped pillows between his back and the wall. After a moment he said, 'I wanted to dodge newspaper reporters.'

'Any chance you wanted to dodge the police?' Mason asked.

A slight smile flirted about the corners of Oxman's mouth. 'No,' he said, 'I'm not dodging the police.'

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