The lawyer turned from the detective to the driver.
“Won’t this car make any better speed than this?”
“I’m doing fifty right now, Mr. Mason.”
“All right,” Mason told him, “do sixty.”
Drake flashed a glance back through the window and said, “That sure is a prowl car, Perry. They’re dishing out jail sentences for doing sixty.”
“I’ll take the responsibility,” Mason told the driver. “Go ahead and step on it.”
They dashed through Berkeley, came to the outskirts, and the driver swung the car sharply to the left. He braked the car to a stop in front of a long line of cabins in an auto camp. A man jumped to the runningboard. “Okay?” Drake asked.
“Okay,” the man said.
“You show us the way,” Drake said.
“Straight down here. The second cabin on the left.”