“N-n-no. Not exactly that, but I’d want you to be very definite before I — before I said anything at all.”
Mason tossed off his drink, pulled a bill from his pocket, and dropped it on the table. “Now listen,” he said, “we’ve played ring-around-the-rosy and button-button-who’s-got-the-button until I’m sick of it. You can either talk to me now and talk to me frankly and fairly, or I’ll walk out, and you can chase me around.”
“But why should I want to chase you around, Mr. Mason? It’s the other way around. You were following me.”
“Forget it,” Mason said. “I’m tired of playing horse. Do you want me to walk out, or don’t you?”
Her eyes showed a quick flash of some baffling expression. “Mr. Mason,” she said, with feeling, “if you’d get up from this table, walk out of that door, and not ask me any more questions, I’d think — I’d think it was one of the biggest breaks I’d ever had in my whole life.”
Without a word, Mason pushed back his chair, picked up his hat, and started for the door. He turned midway to glance back at her surprised features and said, “You know where my office is,” — then walked out and left her.
Chapter 7
Della Street looked up as Mason unlocked the door of his private office and came striding into the room.
“Oh — oh,” she said. “Was it as bad as all that?”
“Worse,” Mason told her, taking off his hat and throwing it on a chair. “I’m getting fed up with things. I’ve bought a pig in a poke, and it’s the last time.”