Mason started to reach for his pocket, but checked himself as Della Street kicked his shins under the table. Dance music started. One of the men said, “You’ll excuse me, I’m dancing this one with a girl from San Francisco.” Della Street caught the waiter’s eye. Mason heard the scraping of chairs in a general exodus. Della Street grinned delightedly and pulled a roll of bills from her purse.
Mrs. Bedford said, “Now, was that nice.”
“I had to get rid of them some way,” Della said, “The boss wants lo talk business.”
“Who were they?” Mason asked.
“Just table lizards,” Della Street said. “They come over and dance, and drink and go away, and come back. It’s a racket, you know, circulating around and looking ‘em over, but not getting stuck for anything.” She returned the bills to her purse.
“You could have been more tactful about it,” Lone Bedford said to Della Street. “One of the men hadn’t had a chance to ask for my telephone number yet.” She giggled.
Mason said, “That’s what comes of letting you two girls get on the loose. Come on, Della, we’re going places.”
The waiter moved over to the table. “Something?” he asked.
“Yes,” Della Street said, “my check.” She fumbled around in her purse. “I just can’t find those bills,” she said. “I guess I came away without them.”
The waiter gravely slid the check over in front of Perry Mason. Mason grinned, pulled his billfold from his pocket, left a twenty-dollar bill on top of the check, looked at the amount of the check again and said to the waiter, “The change will just about make up your tip.”