“Okay, Inez,” Drake said, pushing his way into the room and taking care not to remove his hat. “The jig’s up.”
Perry Mason tilted his own hat a little farther back on his head and nodded.
Della Street glanced about her in swift appraisal, taking in little details which only a feminine eye would observe.
Drake dropped into a chair, crossed his long legs, lit a cigarette, and said, “So you thought you could get away with it, eh?”
Mason said, “Now wait a minute, Paul. Let’s give her a break. Let’s hear her side of the story before we do anything rash.”
“Hear her side of the story!” Drake exclaimed scornfully. “She walks out of her apartment, tries to disguise her appearance, takes an assumed name. I suppose all that was just because her delicate nerves couldn’t stand the idea of living in an apartment house where a man had been murdered.”
“You don’t think she did it, do you, Paul?” Mason asked.
“Her boy friend did,” Drake said, with the complete detachment of one who is discussing a problem which holds no personal interest for him.
Inez Colton said indignantly, “This is an outrage! What do you mean by tricking me in this way? You said you wanted matches.”
“Forget it, sister,” Mason said. “I’m trying to do you a favor. This guy,” indicating Drake with a sideways gesture of his head, “is hard. If you don’t think he’s hard, just cross him. I claim you didn’t know what you were getting into, that you were in love, and that it’s up to us to give you a chance to come clean before we do anything drastic.”