“Please,” he said.
Della Street asked Adelle Hastings, in her most polite manner, “May I use the phone?”
“You may not,” Miss Hastings said. “I’m not going to have the police brought into this.”
Mason said, without looking around, “You’ll find a telephone at the drugstore on the comer, Della. You have a dime?”
“Yes.”
She arose, put her cigarette in an ash tray, said, “Excuse me, please,” and opened the door.
It was not until she had stepped out into the corridor and was about to close the door behind her that Adelle Hastings called, “Stop,” in a voice that was harsh with strain.
Della Street stopped.
“Come back,” Adelle Hastings said. “I’ll tell Mr. Mason what he wishes to know.”
Della Street stepped back into the apartment, closed the door, and stood with her back against it, her hands still holding the doorknob. Adelle Hastings tried unsuccessfully to blink back tears. She said to Mason, “Don’t you ever give an adversary an opportunity to save her face?”