The waiter bowed thanks. Lone Bedford said, “Where’re we going?”
“Down to the police station,” Mason said.
“The police station!”
“Uh-huh. There are some diamonds down there I want you to identify.”
“My diamonds?”
“I think so... Just a minute, I have to put in a phone call first.”
“Well, I can use a little powder,” Mrs. Bedford told him, “and by the time we get our coats and our noses powdered, you should be finished with your telephoning. Come on, Della, and give me moral support.”
Mason called Drake’s office “Now listen, Paul,” he said, “this is important, Lone Bedford, Della Street and I are going down to police headquarters. I’m going to try to get a look at those diamonds. Then I’m going to make a few comments and turn Mrs. Bedford loose. I want to know where she goes and what she does after she leaves headquarters. I want you to have men there who know me and know Della. They’ll see us go in and that will put the finger on Mrs. Bedford. She may go out alone.”
“Okay,” Drake said, “I’ll have the men on the job.”
Mason hung up, loitered around the checking counter until the girls emerged from the restroom. He helped them on with their coats, tipped the attendant, and led the way toward his car. “What makes you think they’re my diamonds?” Mrs. Bedford asked.