Mason said, “I don’t buy testimony, Eves.”
“Well, why the hell should we come into court and get panned by the newspapers just in order to help you?”
“Probably,” Mason said, “because it’s the right thing to do. I understand you’ve been up on a murder rap yourself. You know what it feels like.”
“Who was telling you?” Eves asked savagely.
“A little bird,” Mason said.
Eves smoked in thoughtful silence for several seconds, then said, “Okay, Mason, I’ll shoot square with you. I’d told Evelyn to keep out of it, but I’ll give you a break. Here’s the dope. Evelyn knew Moar before he was married. She spotted him on the ship. Moar gave her the office to keep quiet until he could see her. He waited for her on deck Sunday. He told her he was dough-heavy, but the money was hot and that the bulls were going to pinch him on an embezzlement charge he hadn’t committed, but before he got done beating that rap they’d find out something he had done which was just as bad. He said he was crazy about Belle and he was going to give the dough to his wife and take a powder.”
“Did he say what he was going to do?”
“He was despondent,” Eves said, “so low he could walk under a snake’s belly on stilts. He said he was going to give himself the works if he had to.”
Mason strove to keep excitement from his voice. “You know,” he said, “that’ll rip the murder case wide open. Eves.”
“I’m not so certain,” Eves said. “That’s what Moar intended to do. His wife didn’t know he intended to do it. She wanted him out of the way. He went up on deck to do a Brodie, and she came along and gave him the works first.”