“You can have it any time,” Scudder told him. “However, I deem it only fair to advise you, Mr. Mason, of what you may not know at this time. The San Francisco papers are carrying a story to the effect that Mr. Moar had embezzled twenty-five thousand dollars from the Products Refining Company. The money in the money belt which was recovered by the captain was undoubtedly a part of that embezzled money which Mrs. Moar had removed from Moar’s body before pushing him overboard. It, therefore, can’t even be used by Mrs. Moar to defray any legal expenses.”
“That doesn’t change my position in the least,” Mason said. “I want an immediate hearing, and you’re holding Belle Newberry. I want her released.”
“I’m afraid,” Scudder said, “that will be impossible.”
“All right,” Mason told him, “I’m getting out an application for a writ of habeas corpus and flying to San Francisco with it tonight. Either put a charge against her or release her.”
He snapped the receiver back into position, looked up at Hungerford and said, “How do you know?”
“About Miss Whiting?”
“Yes.”
“One of the room stewards saw Miss Whiting slip a note on the glass-covered shelf in front of the purser’s window. He feels certain it was the same note that was delivered to Moar.”
Mason frowned thoughtfully. “How was she dressed?” he asked. “Did the room steward say anything about that?”
“No,” Hungerford said, “he didn’t. He merely mentioned he saw her putting the envelope there. His name is Frank Bevins. I don’t think he’s said anything to the officers. In fact, I gathered from what he told me, he didn’t want to have any contact with the officers. I think the man may be wanted himself. He told me he had some information he’d give me for fifty dollars.”