“Helen Reid.”
“What’s her number?”
“Twelve B.”
“What floor?”
“Second floor.”
Mason said, after the manner of one pouring oil on troubled waters, “Why don’t you go and have a frank talk with her, Paul? After all, the bill isn’t large. You don’t want to make a mistake. A lawyer will cost you money, and cause her a lot of trouble. You might make her lose her job.”
Drake hesitated.
“Go ahead. Talk with her, Paul,” Della Street pleaded. “I’m satisfied that’s the only way.”
“What’s the use of talking with her?” Drake said. “She’d lie out of it. We’ve got all the stuff we need. Let her prove she isn’t the one. I think she is.”
“I’m not so certain, Paul. Come on, let’s talk with her.”