“Just a little organ music, if you can find any.”
The driver moved the car. Mason settled back to the relaxation of a cigarette. The driver, after some dial twisting, found a program in which organ music was blended with that of a steel guitar. The furrows ironed themselves from Mason’s forehead as he sat back and gave himself up to the music.
Half an hour passed. The program changed. The driver looked back at Mason for instructions. Mason said, “Try and find more organ music or some Hawaiian music. Perhaps... hold it.”
A quick change came over the lawyer’s face. He moved forward, dropping to one knee so that he could study the plane which was coming in from the south, a compact monoplane with retractable landing gear.
“Start your motor,” Mason said to the driver as the lowered wheels of the plane slid smoothly on to the cement runway.
The driver obediently stepped on the starting switch. The motor purred into life.
“Switch off the radio,” Mason said.
Della Street turned to look at Mason, then back to the plane again. The relaxation had vanished from Mason’s face. He was as tense now as a runner awaiting the starting gun.
“Neat job that,” the driver said, noticing Mason’s interest in the plane.
The lawyer didn’t even hear him.