“I don’t know. She’s uptown somewhere. I think she’s shopping.”
Cullens turned briefly to Mason, surveying the lawyer with swift appraisal. Then his incisive eyes swung back to Virginia Trent. A huge diamond on his left hand glittered in a coruscating arc as his hand grasped her shoulder. “Come on, Virgie,” he said, “out with it. What the devil’s the idea of running up to see a lawyer?”
She said in a thin, small voice, “I wanted to talk with him about Aunt Sarah.”
“And what about Sarah?”
“She’s been shoplifting.”
Cullens drew back and laughed. It was a deep-chested, jovial, booming laugh which seemed somehow to clarify the atmosphere. He turned, then, to Perry Mason, extended his hand and said, “You’re Mason. I’m Cullens. I’m glad to know you. Sorry to butt in this way, but it’s important.” He turned back to Virginia Trent. “Now, Virgie, come down to earth and give me the low-down. What’s happened to Mrs. Bedford’s diamonds?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, who does?”
“Aunty, I guess.”
“All right, where is she?”