She was walking with a brisk step, but her gait was not sufficiently hurried to destroy the easy swing of perfectly co-ordinating muscles. Her hips moved in graceful rhythm as she strode easily but rapidly, very apparently headed toward some definite objective.
Mason followed her to a drugstore where she went into a telephone booth and remained long enough to dial a number and engage in swiftly rapid conversation with some unknown party. She hung up, swept past the counter where Mason was buying a toothbrush, and again reached the sidewalk. Once more, she flashed a quick glance at the car which the operative was driving, but it was no more than a mere flicker of the eyes.
Out in the street, she seemed to lose much of her former haste. Her step became more leisurely. Twice she paused to look in at store windows. The second time she seemed to tear herself reluctantly away from the inspection of a black velvet dinner dress, which was draped on a model in the window. She walked half a dozen steps, then abruptly turned to come back and once more study the dress, giving Mason an opportunity, after an uncomfortable second or two, to wander past, noticing as he did so, that her eyes were only interested in the department store window.
Mason stepped into the doorway of the department store and waited for her to walk past.
Instead she marched swiftly through the doorway, and mingled with the crowd which was moving slowly through the aisles. She branched off toward the elevators, then abruptly turned, walked around a staircase, back to the ready-to-wear department, and out of the door to another street.
Mason, following behind, was entirely unprepared when she suddenly stopped. He was faced with the necessity of making himself conspicuous by also stopping or else trying to saunter casually past. He decided to keep moving.
A well-modulated voice said, “Good morning, Mr. Mason. Was there something you wished to say to me?”
Mason raised his hat, and looked into intense black eyes in which there was just a twinkle of mocking humor.
“I don’t think I know you,” he said.
She laughed up into his face. “That’s the line a woman falls back on when she’s trying to make up her mind whether to fall for a pick-up,” she said. “Surely the great Perry Mason should be expected to do better than that! Why are you following me?”