“Just about as soon as the statement is released to the press. They—”
He broke off as the telephone rang, and said, “That must be it now.”
He held the receiver to his ear, said, “Drake speaking,” then looked across at Mason, nodded, and said, “This is it.” After a few moments he said, “All right. Thanks, and thanks particularly for that tip on the bullet.”
He hung up the telephone and said to Mason, “Well Perry, there it is. The body’s that of Moar all right. A bullet was fired into his back, just below the right shoulder blade. It ranged downward and lodged near the left hip. Death apparently wasn’t instantaneous. He’d managed to keep afloat for some few minutes. He’d stripped himself down to his underwear and managed to swim to one of the life rings which had been thrown out. He’d wedged himself inside that life ring, and died within a few minutes. Death was caused by the gunshot wound, and not by drowning.
“Apparently, he was a strong swimmer, and had removed his coat, shirt, collar, tie and pants. He couldn’t get off his shoes because they were high-laced shoes. The knot on one was jammed as though he’d tried to get it off. He evidently died within fifteen or twenty minutes of the time he reached the life ring. It’s funny they didn’t see him from the ship.”
Mason said, “There was such a sea running and such a driving rain it was impossible to make any thorough search. The ship was bobbing around like a cork, and the rain was coming down in torrents. It seemed to bolt up the light from the searchlights.”
“Well, Drake said, “here’s something else: He was shot with a thirty-eight caliber bullet, but that bullet wasn’t fired from the revolver they found on deck.”
Mason snapped to startled attention. “It wasn’t?”
“The ballistics expert says it wasn’t.”
“And he was only shot once?”