“No, thanks. We’re visiting friends in the neighborhood after that, so it won’t pay to wait.”
The cabby touched his hat and drove off.
Della Street said, “Here we go! Embarking on a career of crime! If I’m going to be an accomplice, I may as well learn crook jargon and talk out of one side of my mouth. What am I, a steerer?”
Mason said, “No. You’re a moll. You’re going to case the lay.”
She walked with an exaggerated swing to her hips, said out of one side of her mouth, “Cripes, Chief, I’m the moll who can give you de office in case a harness bull tries to queer de act. I’ll stroll on past an’ give him de eye, an’...”
“And get yourself arrested for soliciting a self-respecting police officer on the street,” Mason interposed.
“Well, what of it? Ain’t you de mouthpiece that can spring me? Why should I take a rap when I got de swellest mouthpiece of ’em all on my string? Maybe you could slip the beak a grand an’ square the pinch. But right now we got a crib to crack. We can’t waste time...”
She stopped as she heard a distinctly startled gasp behind her. Looking up, she saw Mason grinning broadly, saw an elderly gentleman who had noiselessly approached from behind on rubber-soled shoes, regarding her with shocked consternation. Then, with a muttered, “Pardon me,” he had pushed on past, walking so rapidly that his feet seemed to be hardly touching the sidewalk.
Della Street muttered under her breath, “Good heavens, did he get an earful!”
“Did he get an earful!” Mason chuckled. “He acted as though he had two ears full.”