Drake said, “Maybe you think it won’t be a relief to me when this is over, Perry.”
He circled the block, swung in to the curb, with lights out and motor off.
Mason glided out of the car, the cage and the parrot in his hand, and vanished into the shadows. He found it a simple matter to cut the screen, snap back the catch on the screen door and effect an entrance to the porch. The parrot he had brought with him was restive, moving about on the perch in the cage, but Casanova, apparently drugged with sleep, barely stirred when Mason gently lowered the cage from its hook, and substituted the cage he had brought with him.
A few moments later, Mason had deposited Casanova in the back of the automobile. “Okay, Paul,” he said.
Drake needed no signal. He lurched the car into motion, just as the door of the adjoining house opened and the ample figure of Mrs. Winters stood framed in the doorway.
As Paul Drake skidded around the corner, with the lights out, the parrot in the back of the car mumbled sleepily, “My God, you’ve shot me.”
Chapter eight
Mason unlocked the door of his private office, and then suddenly stood motionless, staring in surprise at Della Street.
“You!” he exclaimed.
“None other,” she told him, blinking back tears. “I guess you’ll have to get a new secretary, Chief.”