“Of course it has.”
“It doesn’t make sense,” Mason said.
“Think it over,” she told him. “It makes plenty of sense.
It makes the facts all fit together. She knew that Evelyn Whiting knew Carl Newberry was really Carl Moar. She had reason to believe Celinda Dail also knew. By setting the stage with you, she thoroughly convinced you Moar had been guilty of embezzlement. Under the circumstances, if he’d gone on deck, shot himself, and gone overboard, it would have looked like suicide.”
“That,” Mason said, “doesn’t coincide with my idea of Mrs. Moar’s character.”
“I know it doesn’t,” Della Street said quietly, “but it coincides with mine.”
“Look here,” Mason told her, “has it ever occurred to you that if the testimony of Aileen Fell doesn’t stand up, the Prosecution hasn’t a leg to stand on?”
“There’s the circumstantial evidence that Mrs. Moar had been on deck with her husband — her wet dress, wet shoes, and the money belt.”
“All right, suppose she did go on deck with her husband. That doesn’t mean she killed him.”
Della Street stared thoughtfully at the carpet. “Chief, if you can break down Aileen Fell’s testimony, can you get her off?”