Chapter 1
As the first big drops of rain splashed to the sidewalk, Perry Mason cupped his hand under Della Street’s elbow and said, “We can make it to the department store — if we run.” She nodded, held up her skirt with her left hand, and ran lightly, her weight forward on the balls of her feet, her stride long and easy, with lots of knee action. Perry Mason, long-legged as he was, did not have to hold back on her account.
The first forerunners of the shower had caught them on a side street where there were no protecting awnings. By the time they reached the corner, the eaves were sluicing rain. The portico of the department store was twenty yards from the corner. They sprinted for it, while raindrops, pelting like liquid bullets, hit the sidewalk so hard they seemed to rebound before exploding into mushrooms of water. Mason guided Della Street straight through the revolving door. “Come on,” he said, “this rain’s good for half an hour, and there’s a restaurant on the top floor where we can tea and talk.”
Her laughing eyes regarded him from under long lashes in sidelong appraisal. “I didn’t think I’d ever get you into a department store tea room, Chief.”
Mason regarded the drops of water on the brim of his straw hat. “It’s Fate, Della,” he laughed. “And remember, I’m not going to squire you around while you shop. We get in the elevator and go to the top floor. I pay no attention when the attendant says, ‘Second Floor... Women’s fur coats and lingerie, third floor, diamonds, pearl necklaces and gold earrings, fourth floor, wrist watches, pendants, and...’ ”
“How about the fifth floor?” she interrupted. “Flowers, candies and books. You might stop there. Can’t you give a working girl a break?”
“Not a chance,” he told her. “Straight up to the sixth floor — tea, biscuits, baked ham and pie.”
They crowded into the elevator. The cage moved slowly upward, stopping at each floor while the girl called out the various departments in a tired monotone. “We forgot children’s toys on the fifth,” Della Street pointed out.
Mason’s eyes were wistful. “Some day, Della,” he said, “when I’ve won a big case, I’m going to get a railroad track with stations, tunnels, block signals and side tracks. I’ll lay out an elaborate electric railway through my private office, out into the law library, and...” He broke off as she tittered. “Matter?”
“I was just thinking of Jackson in the law library,” she said, “looking up some legal point in beetle-browed concentration, and your electric railroad train rattling and swaying through the door, heading for the library table.”