Mrs. Newberry started to cry.
Mason placed a reassuring hand on her arm. “Take it easy,” he said. “Tears won’t help. After all, nothing’s apt to happen while you’re on shipboard. Why not let this matter wait until you reach the Mainland? By that time your daughter will have had an opportunity to become better acquainted with young Hungerford and...”
“I’m afraid,” she said, “it’s too late for that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Someone stole Belle’s picture.”
Mason raised his eyebrows in silent interrogation.
“Someone stole her picture from my husband’s suitcase sometime after three o’clock this afternoon and before ten o’clock tonight.”
“Well,” Mason said, “what if they did? I don’t see what your daughter’s picture—”
“Can’t you see?” she interrupted. “The Clipper leaves Honolulu at daylight tomorrow morning. Someone could have stolen my daughter’s picture, sent it to the Mainland by air mail, and had detectives trace her, and find out everything about her.”
“But surely,” Mason said, “you don’t think Miss Dail would resort to any such tactics?”