Dail hesitated a moment, then said, “I wouldn’t bargain with a crook. Neither would I bargain with anyone who was representing a crook.”
Mason said, “I take it your company would welcome the return of twenty thousand dollars?”
“It might.”
Mason turned to Celinda, asked, “Mind if I smoke?” and took a cigarette from his pocket.
“Not at all,” she said. “I’ll have one with you, Mr. Mason.”
Mason lit her cigarette, lit his own. Charles Whitmore Dail regarded him appraisingly. “You haven’t told me, Mr. Mason, whom you’re representing.”
“I’ve told you I’m not representing Mr. Moar,” Mason said.
“How can you guarantee the return of any money if you’re not representing him or some confederate?”
“I’m not representing him. I’m not representing any confederate. I’m not guaranteeing the return of any money. I’m asking questions.”
“Specifically, what is your question?”