She nodded.
Hungerford said, “Just a moment, if you please. I have an announcement to make. It won’t be made public for some time because of the tragic circumstances which have gripped us all, but... Well...”
Della Street raised her glass. “You don’t need to tell us the rest of it, Roy,” she said, laughing. “It’s a toast we’ll gladly pledge.”
In the plane flying southward, Della Street snuggled close to Perry Mason, slipped her hand down into his. “Didn’t she look beautiful, Chief?”
“Belle?” he asked.
“Yes. Her eyes were all starry and she was so Radiantly, quietly happy, so sure of her love — and of his.”
“She’s a mighty fine girl,” Mason said. “There’s only one I know of who can beat her. I’m hoping that sometime she’ll—”
She withdrew her hand from his. “Now wait a minute, Chief,” she protested. “Let’s not get too sentimental. You know as well as I do that you’d hate a home if you had one. You’re a stormy petrel flying from one murder case to another. If you had a wife you’d put her in a fine home-and leave her there. You don’t want a wife. But you do need a secretary who can take chances with you — and you have another case waiting in Los Angeles.”
Mason’s eyes squinted thoughtfully. “I wonder,” he said, “just what that case is. Jackson said it had an unusual angle he thought would interest me.”