Tremont faced him abruptly. “How about the diamonds, Mason?”
“What diamonds?”
“You know what diamonds I mean.”
Mason shook his head slowly and said, “Diamonds are a little out of my line, Sergeant. I specialize in murders and retainers. The retainers, thank Heaven, are usually cash. The murders the inevitable by-products of the hatreds and rivalries engendered by a competitive civilization. You know, Sergeant, I’ve always been fascinated by the knowledge that there’s never a period of more than forty-five days in the city without a homicide. Imagine waiting, say on the forty-fourth day, in police headquarters, knowing that within a matter of minutes someone somewhere is going to be murdered, or that there’ll be a new record hung up. It’s uncanny...”
“It’s also an attempt on your part to spar for time and get a little information out of me,” Tremont interrupted. “It’s not going to work. I want to know about those diamonds.”
“Diamonds?” Mason echoed.
“Yes. Diamonds. You know, Mason, women wear them in rings and things. They’re polished gem stones which reflect the light. They’re hard. They cut glass. Sometimes they call them ice, sometimes rocks. If that description doesn’t serve to give you a rough idea of what they are, there’s a dictionary in headquarters which you can consult.”
“Oh, the diamonds,” Mason said. “Come to think of it, I believe she did mention that she had some diamonds, or was to get some diamonds, or something of the sort — I can’t remember just what. Her brother, you know, is a dealer in stones.”
“Yes,” Tremont told him, “we know all about her. The minute your office became so insistent trying to find out what had happened to her, we decided it might be a good plan to look her up. So many of the people you take an interest in get mixed up in murder cases sooner or later.”
“Thanks for the tip,” Mason said. “I’ll bear it in mind when I’m inclined to ask for information in the future.”