“You move around rather rapidly,” Dail observed.
“I don’t let any grass grow under my feet when I’m working on a murder case,” Mason admitted.
“I’ll say you don’t,” Dail said. “I suppose you know what I want to see you about, Mr. Mason. I must confess, you stole a march on me.”
“In what way?” Mason asked.
Dail laughed nervously. “You move too fast for me, Mr. Mason. I can’t keep up with you.”
“Did you,” Mason asked, “intend to keep up with me?”
“Well,” Dail said, “I think you’ll agree that I had every reason to think Carl Moar was guilty of embezzlement.”
Mason lit a cigarette. “ I don’t see that you had any reason to think so.”
“Surely,” Dail said, “when a man has been in your employ, suddenly leaves without a word of explanation, and there’s a shortage of twenty-five-thousand dollars, it’s at least a reasonable inference he’s guilty of embezzlement.”
“That’s the weakest sort of circumstantial evidence,” Mason retorted. “It might justify you in auditing the books. It certainly wouldn’t justify you in making a bareface accusation.”