“And this is the short cut?”
“Yes.”
Mason settled his head back against the chair cushions and closed his eyes. Della Street studied his profile for a few moments. Then she, too, settled back in her chair. Mason’s hand came over to fold over hers. “Good girl,” he said, and drifted off into dozing slumber.
The plane settled swiftly down on the San Francisco field, gliding in just over the tops of coarse brush grass to settle on the runway and taxi up to the place where passengers were scheduled to disembark. A man in dark blue, wearing a chauffeur’s cap, touched two fingers to the celluloid visor and said, “Mr. Mason?”
Mason nodded.
“The car’s ready.”
Mason said, “We’ll get in it and wait right here. Be ready to start at any minute.”
The man held the door open for them to get in.
Mason said to Della Street, “Well, I guess we have a while to wait.”
“How long?”