Dail said, “All right, you have me. Fix up an agreement.” He stepped out into the corridor and pulled the door shut behind him.
Della Street regarded Mason’s grinning countenance with anxious eyes. “When you come right down to it, Chief, why did Moar want to return any money?”
“He didn’t. Mrs. Moar did.”
“Well, why did she want to?”
“She thought he’d embezzled it.”
“Do you think she really thought that?”
Della turned to stare out of the window, her eyes focused on the gray, low-flung clouds which sent a drizzle of cold moisture trickling down the windowpanes. Abruptly, she turned back to Perry Mason. “Chief,” she said, “you’re clever when it comes to figuring evidence. You’re usually good when you figure character. But there are some things about this woman I don’t think you’ve taken into consideration.”
“What?” Mason asked.
“She’s attractive,” Della Street said, “and you can see by the way she throws her personality around that she’s been accustomed to rely on it. A woman who uses her charm to get the things she wants out of life becomes dangerous when she reaches the late thirties and early forties. I’m telling you, Chief, that woman is shrewd, clever and designing. She trapped Moar into marriage, not because she cared anything about him, but because she wanted a home for her daughter and a veneer of respectability for herself. Moar was sufficiently unsophisticated to be easy. You never did hear Moar’s side of this thing. Now you never will. It’s my opinion that if you’d ever heard Moar’s story, you’d have an entirely different slant on the whole thing. I think Belle realized that when she wanted you to talk with her father, and I think Mrs. Moar realized it and was willing to do absolutely anything to keep you apart.”
Mason, studying her patiently, said, “Go ahead, Della. Tell me the rest of it.”