There was a commotion on the outside of the cabin. One of Drake’s operatives said, “Beat it, you,” and a man’s voice answered, “Take a look at this, smart guy. ” Then two men pushed into the room.
Mason whirled to face them. “What the devil, ” he asked, “are you two trying to do?”
“Take it easy. Mason,” one of the men told him, flashing a badge. “We’re taking this young woman into custody as a material witness in the case of The People of the State of California versus Anna Moar.”
Consternation showed on Mason’s face. One of the men took Della Street’s arm and said, “Come on, sister, you’re going places. ” The other, huskier of the two, stood with his arms swinging free. “Don’t start anything, boys, ” he warned.
Mason said, “You can’t get away with that stuff.”
“The hell we can’t,” the other man said. “You just think we can’t. This is a material witness. She ducked out when we were trying to serve a subpoena on her and she’s been a fugitive ever since, living under an assumed name. We’re taking her into custody right now, as a material witness on an indorsed subpoena and as an accessory after the fact. If you have any kick to make, go get a writ, and if you want to talk with her, you’ll talk with her on the witness stand in San Francisco.”
Mason stepped forward, ominous purpose in his face. Della Street said, “Please don’t. Chief! It’s bad enough, the way it is...”
The men hurried her through the door. Drake, looking at Mason, said, “What do you say, Perry? Do we take her away from them?”
Mason slowly shook his head. “This is the pay-off, Paul. Let her go.”
The two officers hustled Della Street to an automobile which roared into speed. Mason sat dejectedly down in the chair which Della Street had just occupied. He stared about him, at the furnishings of the shabby cottage, the new suitcase, the underwear drying on a clothes line which had been stretched from the shower bath to one end of the bed.