“Okay,” Mason told him, “drive back slowly. We’ll get out on the other side of the railroad track.”
The cab-driver ventured a suggestion. “If you folks wanted to get a license,” he said, “I could—”
Della Street laughed and shook her head. “Why speak of love,” she asked, “when there’s work to be done?”
She tucked her arm through Mason’s, and, together, they walked a block to the left, turned to the right, and started making a survey of the bars and gambling houses. The third place they entered was The Bank Club. Here, faro, roulette, wheels of fortune, craps, and twenty-one furnished the main attraction to the Goddess of Chance, each having its little circle of devotees ringed by curious spectators.
Della Street clutched Mason’s arm. “There she is!” she exclaimed.
“Where?” Mason asked.
“Over at the Wheel of Fortune. See her with that good-looking beige wool coat over the brown print dress?”
Mason nodded and said, “She’s changed her clothes since she was in the office.”
“Of course she has. She must have come up here by plane. That couple is with her.”
“You mean the ones over on the left?”