THE parrot, in the back of the car, squawked from time to time slumberous noises of parrot protest as the lurching of the car forced him to fight for his balance.
Drake, at the wheel, seemed particularly pessimistic as to the probable outcome of their mission, while Mason, settled comfortably back against the cushions, smoked cigarettes and stared in meditative silence at the unwinding ribbon of moonlit road which flashed past beneath the headlights of the speeding car.
“Don’t overlook the fact that Reno isn’t so very far away — not by airplane,” Drake said. “If Mrs. Sabin was in Reno, and if she was the one who employed private detectives to tap Sabin’s telephone line, then you’d better forget this Monteith woman.”
“How much do you charge for tapping telephone wires?” Mason asked.
Drake was sufficiently startled to take his eyes momentarily from the road. “Me?” he asked.
“Uh-huh.”
Drake said, “Listen, Perry, I’ll do darn near anything for you, but tapping a telephone line is a felony in this state. I’m certainly not going to do that for you.”
“That’s what I figured,” Mason observed.
“What’re you getting at?” Drake wanted to know.
“Simply this, Paul; those telephone lines were tapped. You don’t think the gamblers did it. It doesn’t look as though the police did it. You think a private detective agency did it. It’s my guess a detective agency would think twice before it went in for wire-tapping.”
“Some of ’em would,” Drake said, “some of ’em wouldn’t. There are some chaps in this game who would do anything for money. However, I get your point, Perry, and you may be right. Remember this, that most of the wire-tapping these days is done by the police.”
“Why the police?” Mason asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. Of course, they figure that laws don’t apply to them. You’d be surprised to know how extensively they do tap telephone lines and listen in on conversations. It’s almost a matter of investigative routine.”
“Well, it’s an interesting subject for speculation,” Mason agreed. “If the telephone lines were tapped by the police, Sergeant Holcomb must have known about it. And if that’s the case, the police must have records of the conversations which took place over that telephone... You check up on those divorce records first thing in the morning, Paul.”
“I’m going to,” Drake said. “I have two men waiting in Reno. They’re going through the records just as soon as they become available.”
They drove for several miles in thoughtful silence, until a sign announced the city limits of San Molinas.
“Want to go directly to Helen Monteith’s house?” Drake asked.
“Make certain we’re not being followed,” Mason said, sliding around in the seat so he could look through the back window.
“I’ve been checking pretty carefully on that,” Drake told him.
“Well, make a figure eight, just for the sake of being absolutely certain,” Mason said.
When Drake had completed the maneuver, Mason nodded his satisfaction. “Okay, Paul, drive right to the bungalow.”
“That’s rather a snoopy neighbor,” Drake observed thoughtfully. “We’d better switch out the lights a block or so before we get to the house... How about parking a few doors away, Perry?”
“No,” Mason said, “I want to make it fast. You can drive around the block once, and I’ll size up the situation, then switch off your lights, and swing in to the curb as near the screen porch as you can make it... I hope this damned parrot doesn’t squawk when I start moving him.”
“I thought parrots slept at night,” Drake said.
“They do,” Mason told him. “But when they’re being dragged around the country in automobiles, they get nervous — and I don’t know how much of a squawk Casanova will make when I steal him.”
Drake said, “Now listen, Perry, let’s be reasonable about this thing. If anything goes wrong, don’t get pigheaded and keep trying to make the switch. I’ll be all ready to make a getaway. For God’s sake, drop that parrot and make a run for it.”
“I don’t think anything will go wrong,” Mason told him, “—not unless the house is being watched, and we should be able to find that out by swinging around the block.”
“Well, we’ll know in a minute,” Drake said, turning the wheel sharply to the left. “We’re within two blocks of the place now.”
He ran two blocks and swung once more to the left. Mason sized up the bungalow as they glided past. “The house is dark,” he said. “There are lights in the house next door, and lights across the street. The screen porch looks easy.”
Drake said, “Maybe you think it won’t be a relief to me when this is over, Perry.”
He circled the block, swung in to the curb, with lights out and motor off.
Mason glided out of the car, the cage and the parrot in his hand, and vanished into the shadows. He found it a simple matter to cut the screen, snap back the catch on the screen door and effect an entrance to the porch. The parrot he had brought with him was restive, moving about on the perch in the cage, but Casanova, apparently drugged with sleep, barely stirred when Mason gently lowered the cage from its hook, and substituted the cage he had brought with him.
A few moments later, Mason had deposited Casanova in the back of the automobile. “Okay, Paul,” he said.
Drake needed no signal. He lurched the car into motion, just as the door of the adjoining house opened and the ample figure of Mrs. Winters stood framed in the doorway.
As Paul Drake skidded around the corner, with the lights out, the parrot in the back of the car mumbled sleepily, “My God, you’ve shot me.”