“All right,” Mason said. “You don’t have to see. I’ve got you dead, and all I want you to do is to stay dead.”
Mason turned to Della Street. “Della,” he said, “this man is dead. Take him out and bury him where I’ll know where he is.”
“Where,” she asked, “do you want him taken — and when?”
Mason said, “You’ve got to get him out of this office building. Once out, you can use your ingenuity. You…”
The telephone on Mason’s desk rang. Mason frowned irritably at the interruption, but Della Street picked the receiver off the hook, and said, “Don’t ring us, Gertie, unless it’s something… Oh, it is?”
She looked up at Mason. “Paul Drake on the line,” she said. “He says it’s important.”
Mason picked up the receiver.
Drake said, “I haven’t time to talk, Perry. This is a hot-tip. You’re getting the double cross.”
“How do you mean?”
“Your own clients,” Drake said, “are giving you the double cross. They’re going to drag all of us up to the D.A.’s office. They… Here they come now, Perry.”