“Here come Belle’s mother and father,” Della Street said. “I suppose they’ll want to be introduced.”
Mason turned to observe a slight, small-boned man of about fifty-five, with high forehead and piercing gray eyes. The woman at his side appeared much younger. She had retained a slender, graceful figure and walked with long, easy strides. Her dark brown eyes studied Mason’s face with interest, then swung to Della Street. She bowed and smiled. The man, hatless, did not so much as shift his eyes.
Mason watched them as they walked past, the man staring with preoccupation at the dark curtain of night beyond the ship, the woman frankly sizing up her fellow passengers.
“You’ve met her?” Mason asked.
“Yes. They were in the cabin for a few minutes.”
Mason once more stared down at the couple on the lower deck. “Celinda Dail,” he said, “had better hurry up and record her location notice or she’ll find someone’s jumped her claim — funny I can’t place that girl. I’ve seen her before somewhere.”
Della Street laughed. “You said that last night, Chief, and after you mentioned it I thought I’d seen her before. So I asked her about it tonight.”
“Has she ever been in the office?” Mason asked. “Or, perhaps, on one of my juries?”
“No,” Della Street told him. “It’s simply a case of a remarkable resemblance to—”
“To Winnie Joyce, the picture actress!” Mason exclaimed.