“You—!” she began, but Mason’s palm slid across her lips.
“Shut up,” the lawyer said.
For a moment they stood motionless, the woman’s body rigid. Then Mrs. Newberry clutched her fingers about Mason’s wrist, pulled his hand away from her mouth. Mason said, “Shut up.”
She controlled herself by an effort.
The captain said, “Come, Mr. Buchanan,” and led the way from the stateroom. He paused in the door, to turn and say to Mrs. Newberry, “I’m doing everything humanly possible to find your husband.”
He stepped into the corridor and pulled the door shut after him. Belle put her arms around her mother. “Mumsy, ” she pleaded, “what does this mean! What is it?”
Her mother shook her head. Her lips quivered. Mason guided her to the bed. She sat down, suddenly whirled, buried her face in the pillow, and started to sob. Belle knelt by her side, her hands stroking her mother’s hair. “Mumsy, Mumsy,” she pleaded. “Can’t you tell me?”
Mason nodded to Della Street. Together, they slipped from the stateroom.
Outside in the corridor, Della Street turned to Perry Mason. The ship, with the propellers turning only fast enough to give her steerage-way, rode slowly up the waves, then slid down to the troughs creaking with protest.
“Why didn’t you want me to help her?” Mason asked.