Mason nodded, said, “I gathered as much. You know, Cuff, there’s just one disadvantage about having your client stage this cards-on-the-table act.”
“What’s that?” Cuff asked.
“God help him if he’s lying,” Mason said grimly.
Chapter eleven
Rita Swaine sat across from Perry Mason in the visitor’s room in the county jail. A long row of heavy wire mesh divided the table into two parts. Rita sat on one side, and Mason on the other.
“Can I talk here?” she asked.
“Keep your voice low,” Mason said, “and, above all, don’t get excited. People are watching us. Make your manner casual. No matter what you tell me, shake your head once or twice emphatically, as though denying your guilt. Now, go ahead and tell me the truth.”
“Rosalind killed him,” she said.
“How do you know? Did she say so?”
“No, not in so many words. Oh, it’s awful. She’s my own sister, and now she’s turned against me. She and Jimmy Driscoll did it and she’s willing to have Jimmy make me the goat because she loves him so much she can’t bear the thought of anything happening to him, and he’s pushing it all over on me just to save his own skin.”