“I don’t care, just so it’s gum.”
When she had gone, Mason said, “You have to admit, Paul, Leeds makes a good host.”
Drake said, “Well, a two-bit cigar would have been equally acceptable.”
The lawyer shook his head. “You’re going calling on a lady,” he said. “A cigar on top of this dinner would make you feel at peace with the world, generous, kindhearted, and impulsive. I want you to be your own sweet self, nervous, gum-chewy, and deceptive.”
Drake said, “Well, come on then. Let’s go and get it over with.”
“How,” Della Street asked, as they drew up in front of the apartment house, “will you find out what apartment she’s in, Chief?”
Mason said, “Oh, that’s routine to Paul. Just let him worry about it.”
Drake said, “Let’s go,” and led the way up to the entrance of the apartment house.
Mason pressed the button marked “Manager” and, a moment later, an electric buzz announced that the latch was released. The three pushed their way into an ornate little lobby, across from which a mahogany door bore the legend, “Manager.” Drake crossed and rang the bell. A few moments later, a tall, thin woman who had once had fire and charm in her wide brown eyes inquired, “Did you wish an apartment?”
“No,” Drake said. “We’re collecting a bill.”