Mason, dining with Della Street, looked across to where Carl Newberry and his wife and daughter were entertaining Roy Hungerford.
“Isn’t it about time you were getting something definite from them?” Della Street asked.
“Yes, ” Mason said, “I’ve warned Mrs. Newberry I must know where I stand before ten o’clock tonight. She told me to be in her cabin at nine-thirty and she’d have the money for me. Then I can go to Dail and make my proposition.”
“Moar — or I guess I should remember to call him Newberry — doesn’t seem particularly concerned,” Della Street said.
“No,” Mason admitted. “He seems to be having a good time. It’s fortunate for him that Evelyn Whiting has all of her meals in the stateroom with her patient.”
“Chief,” she said, “I have an idea Newberry’s reached an understanding with that woman.”
“What makes you think so?”
“I saw him coming out of her stateroom yesterday afternoon, and he was smiling.”
“You’re certain it was Newberry?”
She nodded.