The officer seemed taken aback. “What’s burning?” he asked.
“My office.”
“Say, are you kidding me, or on the square?”
“I don’t know,” Mason said. “All I know is what I heard on the telephone. My important papers are in danger. Naturally, I want to get there.”
“Let’s see your card, buddy.”
Mason handed him a card. “Perry Mason, eh? Okay, let that ticket go, Jim. Let’s take this guy up to his office. If it’s a stall, we’ll see that he gets the limit. You follow me.”
The prowl car took the lead, siren screaming. Mason fell in behind.
“As I was observing,” he said to Della, as they flashed through an intersection where traffic was frozen into inactivity by the screaming siren of the police car, “I take ’em in my stride.”
“You’ll get the limit for this,” she warned.
“At any rate, we’ll get to the office,” he said.