“I don’t,” Mason said. “I just want you to look at them.”
“Where were they discovered, and how do they happen to be at police headquarters?”
“Mrs. Breel,” Mason said, “was hit by a motorist. She was taken to the emergency hospital. Among other things which were found in her bag, were these diamonds, done up in paper.”
“But they couldn’t have been my diamonds,” Mrs. Bedford said, “because Aussie was getting those diamonds from The Golden i Platter.”
“Did he,” Mason asked casually, “telephone you to say he had the diamonds?”
“Not after that first time. He said he’d located them, that they’d been hocked for six thousand, and he could get them for three. I told him to pay the three thousand.”
Mason said, “You’ll pardon me, Mrs. Bedford, if I seem to hold out on you, but there’s one angle of this case that I’d prefer not to comment on until after you’ve seen the diamonds.”
She nudged him playfully and said, “Go on, Big Boy, be mysterious. I like it.”
Della Street said, “You should know, Chief, that you mustn’t be so serious on my birthday. The trouble with you is you’re cold when you’re sober.”
Mason glanced surreptitiously at his wrist watch. “Well,” he said, “it’s not an incurable disease.”