“All right,” Mason said, “go ahead and discuss it. I have no secrets from Della. Let’s get this ten thousand dollars out of the way first.”
“You have an agreement prepared?” Dail asked.
Mason nodded, and passed over a typewritten paper which contained Mrs. Moar’s signature. Dail studied it a moment, then folded it, slipped it in his pocket, opened a wallet, took out ten one-thousand-dollar bills and passed them over to Mason.
“Go ahead,” Mason told him.
“It’s about my daughter, Celinda.”
“What about her?”
“She has been subpoenaed as a witness in this case. It’s rather a minor matter. She happened to see Mrs. Newberry running down the stairs from the upper deck. Mrs. Newberry was carrying a chamois-skin money belt in her hand, and her gown was soaking wet.”
“How long was this after the whistle sounded its five blasts?” Mason asked.
“Celinda doesn’t remember clearly,” Dail said.
“What did you want to see me about?” Mason asked. “If the district attorney has subpoenaed Celinda, she should talk with him, not me.”