The officer said, “Say, buddy. You’re acting kinda funny about this.”
“I fail to see anything strange about it,” Mason said with dignity. “Permit me to introduce myself, officer. I’m Perry Mason, the attorney. I…”
“Say,” the officer exclaimed, “you are for a fact! Pardon me, Mr. Mason. I didn’t recognize you. I’ve seen you in court some, and seen your picture in the papers a lot.”
Mason bowed and smiled acknowledgment, then said to the young woman, in his most conciliatory manner, “You can appreciate my position. I think this is your purse. I certainly can’t turn it over to you unless you can at least identify it.”
“Oh, very well,” she said. “The name on the driving license is Adelle Hastings. The address is 906 Cleveland Square. There’s even a fingerprint of my thumb on the driving license in case you want any further identification.”
Mason said, “It’s quite all right, Miss Hastings. I’m satisfied it’s your purse. That’s the name and address on the driving license.”
The officer looked past them to the curious onlookers who had stopped to listen. “On your way,” he growled. “This is an intersection, not a club-room. Keep moving. Don’t be blocking the traffic.”
Mason raised his hat, bowed to the officer, and said to Adelle Hastings, “Are you going my way, Miss Hastings?”
She blinked back the tears. “Yes,” she said, and then added after a moment, “I am now,” and fell into step at his side.
Mason said, “I was sorry I didn’t have an opportunity to make a more detailed investigation of your coin purse.”