Mason said, “I resent that as an attempt at intimidation. Drake has been entirely courteous throughout this entire matter. Both of us have answered every question you’ve asked.”
“Yeah, I know,” Holcomb said, “but somehow I have a feeling I haven’t asked the right questions.”
“Then go ahead and ask the right questions,” Mason told him.
“How the hell can I when I don’t know what they are?”
“Well,” Mason said irritably, “how the hell can I answer them when you don’t ask them?”
Holcomb jerked his thumb to the door. “On your way,” he said, “and don’t just happen to stumble on any more corpses before morning. There is such a thing as a private detective being altogether too damned efficient, if you get what I mean, Drake.”
Drake started to say something, but Mason interrupted. “Is it your pleasure,” he asked, “that in the future Drake refrain from notifying the homicide department of any corpses he may stumble on?”
Holcomb’s face darkened. “You know what I mean,” he said. “Get started.”
The officers ushered them past a corridor, which, by this time, was well filled with newspaper photographers, a representative from the coroner’s office, and half a dozen plain-clothes officers. Half way to the car, Drake said vindictively, “Damn him! He’ll try to give me a black eye with the Board of Prison Directors when my license renewal comes up.”
Mason laughed. “He’s just being nasty on general principles,” he said. “He can’t block your license except for cause, and he can’t get any cause. Try to be respectful to a man like that, and he keeps pushing you around. Stand up to him and tell him where he gets off at.”