“What does it give me?” Mason asked, his eyes twinkling.
“My thanks for handing me a tip on a silver platter and for bringing a murderer to justice. Any cop worth his salt will respect a man who can do that.”
Mason clapped Sergeant Holcomb on the shoulder. “Spoken like a man, Sergeant. Go to it.”
Once more Sergeant Holcomb strode across the office. Just before he jerked the door closed, he turned back to say to Mason, “I still don’t like your methods.”
“I understand,” Mason said.
Sergeant Holcomb’s glittering eyes held the lawyer. “And I don’t think,” he went on, “that I like you.”
The door slammed.
Mason turned to grin at Della Street. “That,” he announced, “is that.”’
“Why,” she asked, “did you give Holcomb a break like that?”
“Because I think he’s the one to corner Byrl Gailord and make her tell the truth.”