“Well,” Mason said, on the ride down, “I’ve played right into the D.A.’s hands. Apparently, Milicant really was Hogarty.”
“I thought you knew he was,” Drake said.
Mason twisted his lips into a lopsided grin. “I wanted the police to think I thought he was,” he said. “Let’s get to a telephone where I can put through a long distance call.”
“Want me any more?” Drake asked.
Mason said, “No. Get to work and try to plug some of these other loopholes.”
“Looks as though you’d bitten off a little more than you can chew, Perry,” Drake said, dropping a hand on the lawyer’s shoulder. “Take it easy this time. Remember this isn’t your funeral. If your client’s guilty, he’s guilty. Evidently he’s lied to you. Don’t throw yourself into the case and leave yourself wide open.”
Mason said, “He isn’t guilty, Paul — at least not the way they claim.”
Drake said, “Okay, Perry. I’ll take a taxi back to the office.”
He walked over to the curb, gave a shrill whistle, and sprinted for the corner to stop a cruising cab.
Della Street glanced at Perry Mason. “Well, Chief,” she said, “we seem to be taking it on the chin.”