“Glad to hear it,” Mason said. “Glad to have met you both.”
Dimmick started stamping toward the doorway, paused to wait for Rodney Cuff to open the door. “Well,” he said, “I don’t like it. What’s more, the doctor tells me I mustn’t get excited. Keep calm. Take it easy. Don’t get angry. Don’t get excited. That’s what they tell me. Bah! Here I am, seventy-one, thrown into a criminal case, and if I get excited, it may kill me. Come on, Rodney. No need to take up more of Mason’s time. Glad I met you, Mr. Mason. Good-by!”
He stormed out of the door, and the sound of his cane banging down the corridor was distinctly audible until he reached the elevator. Della Street looked at Perry Mason and burst out laughing. “Now that,” she said, “is a situation.”
“I’ll tell the world it’s a situation,” Mason said, grinning, “and one not very much to my liking.”
“Why didn’t you agree to play ball with them?”
“Because I’m not going to tie myself up to Jimmy Driscoll — not until I know a lot more about where he fits into the picture. He shows too much natural aptitude to hide behind a woman’s skirts to suit me.”
“Emil Scanlon, the coroner, telephoned and left a message,” she said. “The inquest is going to be held tonight at eight o’clock and Scanlon says he’ll give you an opportunity to ask an occasional question if you want. He says as far as he’s concerned, he’s going to throw the whole case wide open.”
Mason nodded thoughtfully.
“Won’t that irritate the district attorney’s office?” Della Street asked.
“Ordinarily it would,” Mason told her, “but I have an idea the district attorney may be back of the move this time. He’s in something of a spot. He must smell a rat, or he wouldn’t have grabbed the canary as evidence. If Rosalind took the gun instead of Rita, he’d hate to charge Rita with murder. If the evidence gets mixed up, and he prosecutes the wrong person, he’s going to have a hard time backing up and going after the right one. It would suit him just as well if we all started fighting.”