“Something tells me,” Della Street grinned, as she made for the door, “that things are going to move fast.”
Paul Drake’s voice from the corridor said, cheerfully, “Against the light, your legs are swell, Della. They’d get by in front of any window.”
“Sometime when you’re not too busy, tell Perry all about them, will you, Paul?”
Drake, in a rare good humor, circled Della Street and edged in at the open door. “Gosh, Perry,” he said, “that was a slick stunt you pulled with that purse. I thought I’d die laughing. When she called the officer and said you were annoying her, I thought I’d have to appear in the police court to give you a good character reference.”
“What’s all this about?” Della Street asked.
“Your boss,” Drake said, “has become a purse-snatcher.”
Mason said, “Come in here and close that damn door. I don’t want all the tenants in the office listening in on my conferences.”
“If Paul’s through admiring my figure, I’ll be going,” Della observed.
Drake clicked the door shut behind him.
“What the devil was that last crack about?” Mason asked.