“Well,” she said, “I was over at Rosalind’s house this morning, cutting the canary’s claws with a nail clipper. You know, a canary in a cage has to have the tips clipped off his claws every so often. And while I was doing that, Jimmy came — and told me he loved me, and took me in his arms, and the canary got away — and then two automobiles smashed into each other right in front of the house— And I looked up at the window, and there was Mrs. Snoops watching us, and a man was hurt in the automobile accident, and Jimmy ran out, and the officers got his name and license number, and Jimmy will be called as a witness when they try the automobile damage case, and Walter will say that Jimmy came to his h-h-h-house without his c-c-consent, and— And— Dammit! I hate to b-b-b-bawl, and you’ve made me c-c-cry.”
She snapped open her purse, fished out a square of scented lace and jabbed furiously at the tears which oozed from her eyes.
Mason settled back in his chair with a deep sigh of contentment. “An automobile accident, a love story, a lame canary, and Mrs. Snoops. What could be better? Something seems to tell me that I’m going to take your sister’s case. At any rate, I’m going to hear all about it. Now quit crying and tell me about Mrs. Snoops.”
Rita Swaine blew her nose, tried to smile away her tears, and said, “I hate to cry. Usually I take things on the chin. Don’t think I put on an act to impress you, Mr. Mason, because I didn’t.”
He nodded and said, “Who’s Mrs. Snoops?”
“We call her Mrs. Snoops because she’s such an old busybody. Her name’s Stella Anderson. She’s a widow who has the house next door, and she’s always snooping and prying into other people’s business.”
“And Jimmy told you he loved you?”
“Yes.”
“And this was over at Rosalind’s house?”
“Yes.”