“Do you suppose she’ll deny it?”
“Not now,” Mason said. “I’m only hoping that I can get there before Holcomb figures it out.”
“You think he’ll figure it out?”
“Yes.”
They drove in silence up the winding road. The house in which the body of Albert Tidings had been found glistened white and clean in the sunlight, giving no evidence of the sinister background of gruesome murder which had attached itself to the cozy bungalow.
“Well,” Mason said, “here we go.” He opened the car door, slid out to the pavement, and he and Della Street walked up the short space of cement which stretched from the porch to the street.
Mason pressed his thumb against the bell button.
Almost instantly the door was opened by Mrs. Tidings who was dressed for the street. “Why, good morning, Mr. Mason,” she said. “I thought I recognized you when you got out of the car.”
“Miss Street, Mrs. Tidings,” Mason introduced perfunctorily.
“How do you do?” Mrs. Tidings said to Della Street. “Won’t you come in?”