“Your grammar’s all shot to hell,” Drake said mournfully. “You mean to say, ‘Well, Paul, this isn’t as bad as you think it will be, is it?”’
Mason said, “I think we’re in the clear now, Paul.”
“You mean the district attorney’s going to quit?” Della Street asked.
“Lord, no!” Mason told her. “He’s just starting. That was the idea back of all this, to get the district attorney started.”
“Well,” Drake said, “you’ve got him started now.”
Charles Whitmore Dail was waiting for Mason at his hotel. “May I see you for a few moments. Counselor?” he asked.
“You can if you have that ten thousand dollars,” Mason told him, grinning.
“I have it,” Dail said, “and there’s another matter I wish to take up with you.”
“Come on up,” Mason invited.
When they were seated in the lawyer’s room, Dail looked significantly at Della Street and said, “In addition to this settlement I am making with Mrs. Moar, Mason, I had another matter I wanted to discuss with you.”