Mason heard the receiver slam up at the other end on the line.
Mason whirled to Della Street. “They’re in the building. You’ll have to sneak Peltham out of this office while they’re getting me… You and Peltham stand by that door to the corridor. When you hear the officers coming in, you slip out into the corridor. I’ll hold them here. Let’s hope they’re not watching the entrance to the building. They…”
Mason heard a commotion in the outer office, heard Gertie’s voice raised in shrill protest. “You can’t go in there. Mr. Mason can’t be disturbed. You…”
Mason nodded to Della Street. She grabbed Peltham’s arm, rushed him to the door of the corridor, and held it open.
The door leading to the outer office opened an inch and then was slammed closed. From the other side of the panels came the noise of a struggle.
Mason nodded to Della Street. “Now,” he said.
She and Peltham slipped out into the corridor. Della Street closed the door silently behind her.
The door from the reception room jerked open. Sergeant Holcomb said, “You little hell-cat, get away from there,” and wrestled Gertie’s ample figure away from the door. A plain-clothes man grabbed her shoulders, spun her around, and the two men pushed their way into the office.
Mason, sitting at his desk, apparently engrossed in studying a law book, looked up, frowning at the interruption. “What the devil’s the meaning of this?” he asked.
Sergeant Holcomb said triumphantly, “It means that you’ve skated on thin ice once too often. Now, you’ve broken through.”