Sheriff Barnes shook hands. “This is Sergeant Holcomb,” he said, “and this is Mr. Mason.”
Waid shook hands with each in turn. “I’ve followed your instructions to the letter, Sheriff,” he said. “I got off the plane at Las Vegas. I traveled under an assumed name. I’ve ditched all the newspaper reporters and...”
“Just a minute,” Sergeant Holcomb interrupted. “Don’t do any talking right now, Waid. Mr. Mason is a lawyer, not an officer. He’s just leaving.”
Waid suddenly turned to regard Perry Mason with wide eyes. “You’re Perry Mason, the lawyer,” he said. “Pardon me for not recognizing the name. I’ve read of your cases, Mr. Mason. I was particularly interested in that one where you acquitted...”
“Mason is leaving,” Sergeant Holcomb interrupted, “and we’d prefer that you didn’t talk with anyone, Waid, until you tell us your story.”
Waid lapsed into silence with an amused smile flickering at the corners of his mouth.
Mason said, “I’ll talk with you some other time, Waid. I’m representing Charles Sabin. Does he know you’re here?”
Sergeant Holcomb stepped firmly forward. “That,” he said, “is all. There’s the door, Mason. Don’t let us detain you.”
“I won’t,” Mason assured him with a grin. “The atmosphere here is just a trifle stuffy — or don’t you think so, Sergeant?”
Sergeant Holcomb’s only retort was to slam the door as Mason stepped out into the glare of the mountain sunlight.