Mason said in a low voice, “This photograph shows the license number on the automobile, Paul. It’s a recent photograph, and the car’s a late model. Let’s run around to your San Francisco branch office and chase it down.”
“Good idea,” Drake said, “they may have something on Evelyn Whiting by this time.
In the taxicab Drake said, “How about the chap she married, Perry? Was he on the boat coming over?”
“No,” Mason said, “he wasn’t. And I can’t get this stall over the Honolulu end. She must have written letters ahead and left them to be mailed to her sister.”
“What’s the idea?” Drake asked.
“Damned if I know,” Mason said, “unless she’s trying to build up an alibi of some kind.”
“That might be an idea. Perry. Two or three months from now the sister would swear up one side and down the other that Evelyn was over in Honolulu, and could produce her letters to prove it.”
“The only trouble with that is that she sailed back under her own name,” Mason said. “She’s on the passenger list as Evelyn Whiting. How do you account for that?”
“She may have had a round trip ticket,” Drake said, “or... oh, shucks, Perry. I don’t know. We haven’t enough to go on yet. What do you suppose happened to the husband?”
Mason shrugged his shoulders.