“It’ll take us two hours’ hard driving.”
“I’ll telephone the office and tell Gertie,” she said. “When shall I tell her we’ll be back? How long will it take to get the dictation done in the will contest?”
Mason squinted his eyes thoughtfully, looked up at the cloudless blue of the Southern California desert sky, felt the welcome touch of the sunlight which bathed the metropolis in brilliant warmth.
“You tell Gertie,” he said, “that we’ll be back when she digs up a good murder case for us — and not before. Tell her that just any old ordinary murder case won’t do. We want...”
Della Street started toward the hotel, Mason striding along at her side, people on the streets craning their necks, turning to watch them.
Della Street looked up at Perry Mason. “Well,” she said, “you’ve contributed to the education of an agricultural community. You’ve shown them how to drown a duck. City slicker! Now, what else do you know?”