“ I like it,” Golding said.
“Why not turn that switch,” Mason said, “and listen to some music?”
“I’m not demonstrating radios, thank you.”
“The reason I asked,” Mason went on, in a conversational voice, “is because I notice that it’s turned over to the short wave dial and the hand points to police calls. Perhaps you heard the announcement that Cullens had been murdered.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Golding said.
Mason maintained his calmly conversational tone. “Cullens stopped to telephone while he was on his way up here. Perhaps that will change the situation some.”
“You’re nuts!” Golding said.
“Of course,” Mason went on, “I can appreciate your position. Running a place of this kind, you’re not anxious to attract any publicity. With the police investigating the murder, you’d prefer to be dealt out.”
“Go on,” Golding said with a sneer, “you’re singing a solo. Don’t think I’m going to make it a duet.”
“Of course,” Mason remarked, “if you wanted to be friendly, we could talk things over. If you didn’t, I could telephone my friend, Sergeant Holcomb, on Homicide, and give him a tip. He’s accused me of holding out lately. This would square things a lot.”