Mason got up, nodded to Della Street.
“You going?” Wallman asked.
Mason said, “I’ve done everything I can here.”
Wallman got up from the chair, bent over to kiss his wife, then came over to grip Mason’s hand. “I guess,” he said, “from all I hear, you did a pretty good job, Mr. Mason.”
“I hope I did,” Mason told him. “and I don’t mind telling you, I never had a more satisfactory case, or a more satisfactory client. Come on, Della.”
They walked down the creaking staircase to the street. As Mason climbed in his car Della Street said, “Chief, I’m so happy, I’m b-b-bawling.”
Mason said thoughtfully, “He does leave a clean taste in your mouth, doesn’t he, Della?”
She nodded. “It must be wonderful to have happiness like that, Chief.”
They drove through the moonlight, along the ribbon of road, lined with palm trees on either side. They were silent, wrapped in thought, bathed in that perfect understanding which comes to people who have no need for words.
At length Mason turned on the car radio. “Della,” he said, “I don’t know about you, but I’d like to find a nice waltz program somewhere... or perhaps the tinkle of some Hawaiian music, with...”