The radio screamed into violent sound in the midst of a news report. Mason heard the tail end of an announcement concerning himself, as the announcer said, “... Perry Mason, the noted trial attorney.” There was a short pause, then the flash news reports continued, “Sheriff Barnes said merely that he had been covering dozens of places, that finding Richard Waid up at the mountain cabin which he had used as headquarters when listening in on Sabin’s telephone was partly routine, partly luck. Sergeant Holcomb, of the Metropolitan police, gave a long interview to newspaper reporters. ‘I knew Waid would head for that cabin,’ he said. ‘I can’t tell you all the evidence which pointed to that conclusion, but there was enough to send me up there. Waid put up a terrific fight, but he was taken alive.’ ”
Mason switched the radio into silence. “We’ve had enough of police and murders and evidence for a while, Della. I can’t get Wallman and his philosophy out of my mind... I should have suspected the truth long before I did. The evidence was all there. I just didn’t see it... That’s quite an idea, to go through life doing your best work and letting the man-made tokens of payment take care of themselves, Della.”
“Yes,” she said, then added after a moment, “Well, that’s about what you do, anyway, Chief.” She slid down on the seat so the cushion was against her neck. The reflected moonlight bathed her features with soft illumination. “Lord, think of the people who live to bless you!”
He laughed. “Let’s think of moonlight instead, Della.”
Her hand slid over to the steering wheel, rested on his for a moment. “Let’s,” she said.