Mason slipped his arm around Della Street’s waist as they walked down the driveway toward the main highway, where the headlights of automobiles streamed past. Just beyond the highway a bright red electric sign bore the legend, “HOT DOGS.”
“Have a hard day?” Mason asked.
“Pretty much. She went all to pieces when she broke.”
“I was afraid she was going to.”
“Did you know you were going to get Sarah Breel acquitted?”
“I felt pretty certain of it. I knew it was a cinch unless Sergeant Holcomb broke down and told the truth on cross-examination.”
“And you didn’t think he’d do that?”
“No. When you come right down to it, you can’t blame him. Almost anyone would have done the same thing under similar circumstances. Particularly, anyone who regarded attorneys for the defense as natural enemies.”
“Will they try to arrest Virginia Trent now, Chief?”
“I don’t think so,” he said. “I injected Pete Chennery into the case so that the police will grab him as an alibi. They’ll claim Chennery was the one who did the shooting, that he must have deliberately entered George Trent’s office, secured possession of the gun, killed Cullens, stolen a bunch of gems, returned the gun, and skipped out.”
“Then what’ll happen when they catch Chennery?” she asked.
“They won’t catch him,” Mason said, with a grin. “Chennery reads the newspapers, and he knows, the ropes. You see, Della, it’s one of those cases where a lawyer has to remember that the ultimate goal of every good attorney is to see that justice is done. There are times when methods must be subordinated to results.”
“You mean when you have to fight the devil with fire?”
“Not exactly. Of course Sergeant Holcomb was distorting the facts — not to deliberately distort them, but under the mistaken impression that he was keeping them straight. I had to take that into consideration.”
They walked in silence for a bit, then Mason asked, “How about Virgie? Is she going to snap out of it?”
“I think so: she put in a long distance call for her boyfriend.”
“One of those disinterested, academic conversations,” he asked, “about the ballistics of pistol bullets, and...”
She interrupted him with a laugh, and said, “You’d be surprised about Virginia.”
“You mean she was mushy over the telephone?” Mason asked incredulously.
“Well, she was pretty sugar-coated, and just before she hung up, she...”
“She what?” Mason asked.
Della Street laughed. “I couldn’t tell you,” she said, “it would be betraying a sacred confidence.”
“Could you,” Mason inquired, “ show me?”
She paused long enough to make certain there was no one else on the driveway. “Well,” she conceded, with a throaty laugh, “I might bend over so I can reach...”