Cuff said, “Do you mean by that, Mr. Mason, that you’re going to try to pin the murder on Driscoll?”
“If I think Driscoll’s guilty, yes.”
“Do you think he’s guilty?”
“I don’t know.”
“If he’s guilty, your client is guilty.”
“Not necessarily,” Mason said.
Abner Dimmick brought the head of the cane close to the chair, pulled himself slowly to his feet. Rodney Cuff said ominously, “Don’t think we’re going to sit back and let you pin this thing on Driscoll, Mr. Mason.”
“I don’t,” Mason told him.
Dimmick said irritably, “Well, I’ll tell you frankly, I don’t like this sort of thing. I don’t like courtrooms. I don’t like juries. I don’t like criminal cases, and I’m too old a dog to learn new tricks. But Rodney likes it. Rodney’s father’s an old friend of mine. I promised him I’d take the boy in. He doesn’t like our practice. He’s a great admirer of yours, Mason. All he talks about is trying cases, how things will look to a jury. All right, Rodney, this is your chance to do your stuff”
Cuff drew himself up and said, “Please don’t think I’m completely inexperienced, Mr. Mason. I did quite a bit of trial work in one of the outlying counties. My father wanted me to get started in the city, and Mr. Dimmick promised to take me on. I think you’ll find I know my way around in a courtroom.”