It was instantly apparent from the expression on the man’s face that it meant a great deal to him. “What’s more,” Mason went on, “you’re laying your store wide open to a damage suit. Try using force on this woman and you’ll be a very much sadder and perhaps a wiser individual.”
The young woman again indicated her checkbook. “I’m quite willing to pay for anything Aunt Sarah has taken,” she said.
The detective was undecided. His eyes showed surly rage. “I’ve a notion to drag you both down to the office,” he said.
Mason’s voice was quiet. “Put a hand on that woman, and I’ll advise her to sue the store for twenty thousand dollars’ damages. Put a hand on me, my burly friend, and I’ll break your damn neck.”
An excited assistant manager, who had evidently been summoned by the telephone, bustled into the room. “What’s happening here, Hawkins?” he asked.
The detective indicated the woman. “I caught this woman red-handed,” he said, “shoplifting. I’ve been following her around for half an hour. Look at the pile of stuff she had under her clothes. She must have had a hunch I was on the job, because she ditched the take in the restroom.”
“Evidently,” Mason said, “your detective is somewhat green at the game.”
“And who the devil are you?” the manager demanded.
Mason presented his card. The manager glanced at the card, then his head jerked back and up, as though pulled with a string. “Come down to the office, Hawkins,” he said, “I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake.”
“I tell you there hasn’t been any mistake,” Hawkins said. “I’ve been following her...”