“Certainly not.”
Once more, the captain exchanged glances with the purser. “I remember when your party left the table, Mrs. Newberry. It was about eight-fifty, wasn’t it?”
“A little later than that, I would say,” she said. “About eight-fifty-five.”
“I think I can help you there, Captain,” Della Street interposed. “Mr. Mason left the dining room at eight-thirty-five. I then went over to the Newberry table. I was there for fifteen minutes. When the party broke up, I glanced at my watch, and it was eight-fifty-two.”
“Any particular reason for looking at your watch?” the captain asked.
“Yes. Mr. Mason was on deck, and I was to join him at nine o’clock.”
“Did you leave the dining saloon with the Newberrys?”
“No,” Della said, “I chatted with them for a while, then Mr. Newberry received a note from a bellboy. He said he had to see a man on a business matter. The party broke up then. I went to my stateroom.”
“What did you do?” the captain asked.
Her eyes showed surprise. “Why,” she said, “I put on a ram coat and beret, and went up to try and find Mr. Mason.”