“I’m sorry, Mr. Mason,” the captain said, his eyes never shifting from Mrs. Newberry’s countenance, “but there are things about this you don’t know about.”
“Would it,” Mason inquired, “be asking too much if I asked you to tell me what they are?”
“Yes,” the captain said, “it would. Will you kindly explain, Mrs. Newberry, how it happened that your dress became soaking wet?”
Mason said, “All right, Captain, you were supreme in your field, I’m supreme in mine. As master of this ship, you took the responsibility of searching that closet. Now then, as Mrs. Newberry’s attorney, I’m taking the responsibility of telling you this has gone far enough. If you want Mrs. Newberry to cooperate with you, you’ll tell her exactly what you’re after and why you’re after it.”
“I’ve asked a question,” the captain said, his eyes fixed on Mrs. Newberry, “I’m going to have an answer.”
Mrs. Newberry, standing very erect, said, “I haven’t the slightest intention of answering.”
The captain nodded to the purser. “We’ll look the place over, Mr. Buchanan.”
“I take it,” Mason observed, “that means you’re going to make a further search.”
“It does,” the captain said shortly.
Mason circled Mrs. Newberry with his arm, the fingers gripping her wrist. Her flesh was cold to his touch. “Take it easy,” he cautioned.