“Yes, I did too. You told me to keep her where no one could find her, and...”
“What happened?” Mason asked. “Did they find her, or did she take a run-out powder?”
“She took a p-p-p-powder.”
“All right, how did it happen?”
Della Street dabbed at her eyes with a lace-bordered handkerchief. “Gosh, Chief, I hate to be a b-b-bawl-baby,” she said. “... Believe it or not, this is the first tear I’ve shed... I could have wrung her neck with my bare hands... She started in and told me a story that tore my heart inside out.”
“What was the story?” Mason asked, his face without expression.
“It was the story of her romance,” Della said. “She told it... Oh, Chief, you’d have to be a woman to understand... It was all about her life. She’d been romantically inclined when she was young. There’d been a high school, puppy-love affair, which had been pretty serious with her... But it hadn’t been so serious with the boy... that is, it had at the time, Chief. I don’t know if you can get the sketch, I can’t tell it to you the way she told it to me.
“This boy was just an awfully nice boy. She made me see him just the way she saw him — a nice, clean, decent chap, with something of the mystic, or spiritual, in him... something that a woman really wants in every man she loves, and this was a real love affair.
“Then the boy went away to get a job, so he could make enough money to marry her, and she was all thrilled with pride. And then, after a few months, he came back, and...”
“... And he was in love with someone else?” Mason asked as she hesitated.