Della Street reached for her pencil. “A good title for the filing jacket, “The Case of the Negligent Nymph.’”
Mason laughed aloud. “And incidentally, Della, as Corrine’s heir, that nymph is going to come into something of a fortune.”
“How come?” Paul Drake asked. “I thought the money was tied up in a trust and that on Conine’s death the property vested in…”
“It’s against the policy or the law,” Mason said, “to permit a murderer to profit by his crime. Therefore, George Alder couldn’t have acquired anything through Corrine’s death. And while the point so far as Dorley Alder is con - cerned might be debatable, he has agreed to a compromise which will give Dorothy Fenner a very comfortable fortune—although I think I should give her a spanking along with it.”
Paul Drake raised his glass, caught Della Street’s eye. “And here’s a toast, Della, to die greatest courtroom strategist of them all.”
Della Street got up and touched her glass to Drake’s. They solemnly drank the toast.
The End.