“You’ve always managed to get your clients acquitted,” Sergeant Holcomb pointed out.
“Exactly,” Mason said. “It happened that the police were trying to convict innocent parties. It remained for me to prove my clients innocent by finding the real murderers.”
Sergeant Holcomb flushed, stepped forward, and started to say something, but Sheriff Barnes interposed what was apparently an unintentional shoulder. “Now listen, boys,” he said, “there’s nothing to argue about. I’m the sheriff of this county. This thing is just a little bit high-powered for me. I ain’t got the facilities to make an investigation on this the way I’d like to, and I asked the city police to loan me a man who could help out with fingerprint work, and give me some suggestions. As far as I’m concerned, I’m going to be glad of any assistance I can get, and I don’t care who gives it. I’ve read about some of Mason’s cases in the newspapers. To my mind, when a lawyer proves his client innocent of crime by showing that someone else is guilty, he’s done society a darn good turn, and the police have no kick coming.”
“Well,” Sergeant Holcomb said to the sheriff, “it’s your funeral. His methods are enough to give you gray hairs.”
Sheriff Barnes tilted back the sombrero and ran his fingers through sweat-moistened hair. “I’ve got gray hairs now,” he said. “How about it, Mason, you going up?”
“I’ll follow you,” Mason told him. “You know the way?”
“Sure, I was up there nearly all day yesterday.”
“How much has been touched?” Mason asked.
“Not a thing. We’ve taken the body out, and cleaned out the remains of a string of fish, which had gone pretty bad. Of course, we took the parrot. Aside from that, we ain’t touched a thing, except to go over everything for fingerprints.”
“Find any?” Mason asked.