“Oh, just a minute, Mr. Mason.”
She threw back a bar and opened the door. Mason entered a room fitted up as an office, a small desk at one side of the room, filing cases, a stenographer’s desk and chair on the other. A door opened from the side of the room, another from the back. Virginia Trent was wearing a light tweed overcoat with deep side pockets. Her hands were encased in light weight tan kid gloves. A brown hat was pulled down low, to slant slightly over her right ear, balancing a bird wing of bright colors.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
Mason watched her as she closed the door and slipped the bar into place. “Just dropped in to have a chat with you,” he said.
“What about?”
Mason looked around for a chair. She indicated the chair at the desk. Mason looked across to where her large dark brown purse reposed on the stenographer’s desk. “Been typing?” he asked.
“I just got here.”
“Where’ve you been?” Mason asked casually. “I’ve been trying to get you.”
“I went to a picture show,” she told him, “I wanted to get my mind off Aunt Sarah. You know, when you continually brood over anything, you lose your mental perspective. I think it’s better to go to a picture show and give your mind a rest. Don’t you ever do that when you’re working on a case, Mr. Mason?”
“No,” he said grinning, “I don’t dare to take the time for fear someone might steal a march on me. Was it a good show?”