Mason said, “Captain, will you please tell us what you expect to find in that closet?”
The captain shook his head. “It’s something I’m not going to discuss until I’ve seen if it’s in there.”
“Let’s get it over with,” Mason advised Mrs. Newberry.
Slowly, and reluctantly, she moved away from the door, and came to stand at Mason’s side, her right hand resting on his arm. Mason, watching the captain, could feel her hand tremble. “He’d have done it anyway,” Mason said in an undertone. “It looks better this way. What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” she said defiantly. “I hate to be shoved around, that’s all.”
The captain opened the closet door, fumbled around for a moment, then dropped to his knees to look on the floor. A moment later he backed out of the closet, straightened, and held up a wet black lace evening gown in one hand, a pair of wet black satin shoes in the other.
“This is the gown you wore at dinner, Mrs. Newberry?” he asked. “And these are your shoes?”
She hesitated a moment, then said, “Yes.”
“And since you didn’t go out on deck, how did these articles get wet?”
Mason stepped forward and said, “You’ll pardon me, Captain, but here’s where I take a hand. What difference does it make whether she went up on deck or whether she went to her stateroom? As I see it, there’s no reason why she should be called upon to account for her actions.”