Mason beamed. “I’m very proud of him. I think he’s making a splendid record from all I can hear. Occasionally he sends me some newspaper clippings.”
“He’s a good man,” the officer agreed. “Well, so long. If you have any trouble, or see anybody prowling around, just give headquarters a ring. Probably nothing to it, but this guy said there was a couple talking about casing a lay in the neighborhood. He said he was trying to get past them on the sidewalk, and heard ’em distinctly. Well, good night, Tragg. Good night, Miss Garland.”
“Good night,” Della Street said graciously.
Perry Mason closed the front door, turned and bowed to Della Street. “It would be a pleasure to subscribe to a paper through such an attractive and poised young woman,” he announced. “I can appreciate how badly you need the money on account of your sister, but really, you know, if I were to subscribe just through sympathy...”
“Don’t mention it,” Della Street interrupted. “I know the approach already. We run into it so often. But I hardly expected that the brother of a police lieutenant would stoop to such a thing.”
They both laughed. Mason switched out the big indirect light, leaving the room illuminated only by the floor lamps. “That was a close squeak,” he announced.
“Are you telling me!” Della Street asked.
Mason got up from the chair, said, “Well, we’ll take a look around.”
“Think it’s safe?”
“Oh, sure. Those officers will go on down the car tracks for three or four blocks, find no trace of the woman they’re looking for, report to headquarters, and by that time have a call to investigate something else. But let’s not stick around here any longer than we have to.”