The door of Paul Drake’s office opened, and Della Street, thrusting out her head, came running after him down the corridor.
Mason turned and looked down at her with smiling eyes. “Hi, Della,” he said. “What’s the rush?”
“I was waiting for you,” she said. “I’ve been trying to get you.”
“What’s the excitement?”
She looked up and down the corridor, slipped her hand through his arm, said, “Come on into Paul Drake’s office.”
Slowly the smile faded from Mason’s eyes. He walked back the half dozen steps which took him to Drake’s office, and Della Street piloted him past the girl at the switchboard, down the glassed-in partition to Paul Drake’s private office.
Drake looked up as Mason entered, said to Della Street, “See you got him.”
She nodded.
Mason perched a casual hip on the edge of Paul Drake’s desk. “What is the excitement?” he asked.
Drake said, “They found out something about that telephone, Perry.”