“There’s no use arguing with him, Paul,” Della Street said. “His mental system is deficient in mystery vitamins, and fighting calories, and he’s out to balance his diet all at once.”
Mason looked at his wrist watch and said to the cab-driver, “Squeeze a little more speed out of it, buddy.”
Drake said dejectedly, “This is a hell of a time to try a murder case in San Francisco, Perry. Baldwin Van Densie had a hung jury the other day which looked suspicious to the district attorney. He started men working on a couple of chaps who held out for acquittal, and it looks as though he’s going to get enough evidence to hook Van Densie on jury bribing, it’s thrown a scare into jurors and you can’t get a juryman to vote not guilty now, even on a tentative first ballot. He’s afraid someone will think he’s been bribed. The district attorney is rushing all of his important cases to trial and getting convictions in one-two-three order.”
“That’ll blow over in a week or so,” Mason said. “It always does.”
“Not this time it won’t,” Drake said. “The Bar Association is after Van Densie. They’re having a clean-up on all criminal lawyers. They’re investigating Van Densie’s hung juries and—”
“They can investigate my juries as much as they damn please,” Mason said. “If I can’t get a client acquitted by using my wits, I’ll let him rot in jail.”
“Van Densie hasn’t any wits to use,” Drake said.
“Has anyone said anything about me?” Mason asked.
“Well,” Drake said, “the district attorney has made some remarks about spectacular methods used by an attorney with a statewide reputation which have turned the administration of justice into a burlesque.”
Mason grinned and said, “In other words, Paul, you’re trying to talk me out of making a fast play on that wrist watch.”