“I don’t like that,” Mrs. Moar said. “I don’t like that girl. She’s nursing a deadly hatred for Belle.”
“All right,” Mason told her. “The thing to do now is to get some quick action. Find out how much money your husband has left, and get it in my hands. You can tell your husband what’s being done, but don’t tell him who’s representing you.”
“You won’t want him to talk with you?”
“No, I want to have no connection with him whatsoever. My connection is with you.”
“Ant’ how’ll you get the money?”
“He’il give it to you and you’ll give it to me. And when I get it, I don’t want to know that it’s embezzled money. It’ll simply be money which you have given me to pay over to the Products Refining Company under certain conditions. It must be your money, as between you and me. Do you understand that? I don’t want it to come from your husband. I don’t want it to be money which was embezzled from the Products Refining Company. I want it to be your money which you are giving to me to accomplish a certain specific thing. Do you understand?”
“I think so,” she said. “Look, Mr. Mason, there’s Celinda Dail watching us.”
Mason laughed heartily, picked up his cocktail glass, tilted the brim slightly toward Mrs. Moar as though proposing a toast and said in a low voice, “All right, don’t look so businesslike, and above all, don’t look apprehensive. Laugh and act as though we were having a casual cocktail.”
Mrs. Moar raised her glass. Her smile was patently forced.
“Have you,” Mason asked, “discussed this any further with your husband?”