“Then you’re playing right into his hands?” she asked.
“Doing what?”
“Refusing to co-operate with Driscoll’s attorneys?”
“That,” he told her, “remains to be seen. I’m not going to let anyone tie my hands.”
“Well,” she said, “right now you have an appointment to go down and have your passport pictures taken. There’s a Mr. Smith over in the Federal Building who was on one of your juries once. He’ll rush through the application.”
Mason nodded, grinned, and said, “Okay, Della, I’m going down to have my picture taken and get my passport.”
“I’ll let you see my passport picture if you’ll let me see yours,” she promised.
“Maybe we should get enlargements and hang ’em side by side in the office so the clients could have a treat,” Mason suggested.
She shook her head. “You know how passport pictures are. We’d look like a couple of crooks.”
Mason paused with his hand on the knob of the door and grinned across at her. “Well,” he asked, “aren’t we?”