Holcomb said, “Try and make that stick.”
“And,” Mason went on, “as soon as I found out the true facts, I determined to surrender her to the police.”
Holcomb said, “Don’t make me laugh. My side hurts. I’ve heard some wild stories in my time, but that’s the wildest.”
Mason nodded toward the telephone. “If you’ll kindly call the operator you’ll find that I asked her to notify the police several minutes before you arrived.”
Holcomb stared at Mason, said, “I’ll just nail you to the cross on that one before you have a chance to bribe the telephone operator to commit perjury,” picked up the telephone receiver and said, “Did anyone from this room try to call police headquarters?”
The receiver made squawking noises. Holcomb’s face showed chagrin as he listened. He said, “All right, forget it! The police are here,” and slammed the receiver into place. He glowered at Mason. “There’s something fishy about this. We’ll pass it for the moment, but I’m not done with it — not by a long ways. You’re representing Rosalind Prescott, Mason?”
“Yes.”
“Representing Driscoll here?”
“No.”
“Representing Rita Swaine?”