Chapter 1

Perry Mason stood leaning against the rail as an inky ribbon of black water widened between the side of the ship and the dock. The hoarse whistle bellowed into noise as spectators on the pier waved hats and handkerchiefs in farewell. Propellers churned the water into moisty foam, then subsided.

The strains of Aloha Oe, sung by the soft voices of Island women, reached the ears of suddenly silent passengers.

Minutes later, as the shore noises drifted astern, Mason, watching the Aloha tower shrinking into the background of city lights, could see the black outlines of the mountains rising in silent silhouette against the stars. The hiss of water streaming past the ship’s side became increasingly audible.

Della Street, his secretary, clasped strong fingers over the back of his hand where it rested on the rail. “I’ll never forget this, Chief. It’s big and quiet and solemn.”

He nodded, fingering the flowered leis which circled his neck with bands of red, white and purple.

“Want to stay?” he asked.

“No — but it’s something I’ll never forget.”

Mason’s voice showed his restlessness. “It’s been a wonderful interlude, but I want to start fighting. Over there,” — waving his arm in the general direction of Waikiki Beach — “is something which civilization has commercialized but can’t kill, a friendly people, a gentle warm climate, where time drifts by unnoticed. I’m leaving it to go back to the roar of a city, the jangle of telephones, the blast of automobile horns, the clanging of traffic signals, clients who lie to me and yet expect me to be loyal to them — and I can hardly wait to get there.”

She said sympathetically, “I know, Chief.”

The engines throbbed the big ship into vibrant speed. A breeze of tropical air ruffled the flower petals around their necks. Mason watched the fringe of lights along the dark shoreline, glanced down at the churned white of water where it streamed along the side of the boat.

From the lower deck, leis sped outward, to hang poised for a minute in circular color against the black of the water, then collapse and drop rapidly astern, as passengers sought to comply with the age-old Hawaiian custom.

Mason said, with the tolerance of one who has long since learned to accept human nature as an established fact, “Those are the newcomers, the malihinis. Those leis drift right back into the harbor. Passengers should wait until they’re opposite Diamond Head.”

Elbows on the rail, they looked down on the heads and shoulders of people leaning over the rails on the lower decks.

“There’s the couple we saw last night in the Chinese restaurant,” Mason remarked.

Della Street followed the direction of his gaze. “I’m to have her for a roommate,” she said. “She was in the cabin when my baggage came aboard.”

“Who is she, Della?”

“Her name’s Belle Newberry. Her father and mother are in three twenty-one.”

“Who’s her boyfriend?” Mason asked.

“Roy Amboy Hungerford,” Della Street said, “and he’s not her boyfriend.”

“Don’t fool yourself,” Mason told her. “I saw the expression in his eyes when he was dancing with her last night.”

“You’d be surprised at what men can do with their eyes in the tropics,” she told him, laughing. “Have you noticed the tall, brown-haired girl with blue eyes and the white sharkskin dress, who was weighted down with leis — the one who was standing with her father up there on the...”

“I noticed her,” Mason said. “What about her?”

“I think she has some claim on Hungerford,” Della Street said. “She’s Celinda Dail. Her father’s C. Whitmore Dail — if that means anything. They’re wallowing in wealth, have a big suite on A deck.”

“Well,” Mason said, smiling at her, “you do get around, don’t you? How about dropping our leis, Della?”

She nodded. “I’m going to save one for the night of the captain’s dinner. I’ll have the room steward put it in the ice box.”

They performed the ceremony of consigning their flowers to the dark waters. “Why is it,” Della Street asked, as Mason’s last lei vanished into the darkness, “that all of these things we’d consider superstitions on the Mainland seem so real here?”

“Because so many people believe them,” he told her. “Mass belief is a tangible psychic force. Notice the authenticated stories of persons who have violated Island beliefs and come to grief. Thousands of people have known of the violated tabu. Thousands of minds have believed some evil was going to befall the violator.”

“Like hypnotism?” she asked.

“You might call it that.”

“Here come Belle’s mother and father,” Della Street said. “I suppose they’ll want to be introduced.”

Mason turned to observe a slight, small-boned man of about fifty-five, with high forehead and piercing gray eyes. The woman at his side appeared much younger. She had retained a slender, graceful figure and walked with long, easy strides. Her dark brown eyes studied Mason’s face with interest, then swung to Della Street. She bowed and smiled. The man, hatless, did not so much as shift his eyes.

Mason watched them as they walked past, the man staring with preoccupation at the dark curtain of night beyond the ship, the woman frankly sizing up her fellow passengers.

“You’ve met her?” Mason asked.

“Yes. They were in the cabin for a few minutes.”

Mason once more stared down at the couple on the lower deck. “Celinda Dail,” he said, “had better hurry up and record her location notice or she’ll find someone’s jumped her claim — funny I can’t place that girl. I’ve seen her before somewhere.”

Della Street laughed. “You said that last night, Chief, and after you mentioned it I thought I’d seen her before. So I asked her about it tonight.”

“Has she ever been in the office?” Mason asked. “Or, perhaps, on one of my juries?”

“No,” Della Street told him. “It’s simply a case of a remarkable resemblance to—”

“To Winnie Joyce, the picture actress!” Mason exclaimed.

Della Street nodded. “There’s a natural resemblance,” she said, “and Miss Newberry accentuates it by the way she does her hair. I think she more or less consciously imitates Winnie Joyce in her manner. She’s a bit hypnotized by Hollywood.”

“Everyone is,” Mason grinned, “including Hollywood.”

“Well,” Della told him, “I’m going to hunt up a steward and have him put my lei in the refrigerator. See you in the morning, Chief.”

She walked rapidly forward, leaving Mason standing at the rail, watching the intermittent flashing of signal lights, inhaling the scents of the warm tropical air. The decks became silent and deserted, as passengers, fatigued by a strenuous last day in the Islands, the night sailing, and the strain of farewells, sought their cabins.

Mason turned abruptly as a woman mentioned his name.

“I’m Mrs. Newberry, Mr. Mason,” she said. “My daughter’s sharing the cabin with your secretary, so I know all about you. I saw you standing at the rail as we walked past— I— I want to consult you.”

“Professionally?” Mason asked.

She nodded.

Mason studied her with patient, appraising eyes. “What about?”

“About my daughter, Belle,” she said.

Mason smiled. “I’m afraid you misunderstood, Mrs. Newberry. I don’t handle a general law practice. I specialize in trial work, mostly murder cases. Surely Belle hasn’t done anything which would require my services.”

“Please don’t refuse,” she pleaded. “I feel certain you can help me. It wouldn’t take much of your time and it might make all the difference in the world to Belle.”

Mason noticed a hint of nervous hysteria in her voice and said, “Go ahead. Tell me about it. I’ll at least listen. Perhaps I can make some suggestions. What’s Belle been doing?”

“Nothing,” she said. “It’s my husband who’s been doing things.”

“Well, what’s Belle’s father—”

“He’s not Belle’s father,” she interrupted to explain. “Belle is the child of a former marriage.”

“She goes by the name of Newberry, however?” the lawyer asked, puzzled.

“No,” the woman said, “ we do.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s this way,” she went on, speaking rapidly “my husband’s name is Moar. Up until two months ago I was Mrs. Moar. Overnight, my husband changed his name. He ceased to be C. Waker Moar, and became Carl W Newberry. He simply walked out of his position as bookkeeper in the Products Refining Company. We hurriedly moved to another city, lived under the name of Newberry, then went to Honolulu, and have been there for six weeks. My husband gave strict orders that under no circumstances were any of us ever to mention the name of Moar.”

Mason’s eyes showed his interest. “He left his job rather suddenly?”

“Yes, without even going back to the office.”

“That,” Mason said noncommittally, “is rather peculiar.”

The woman came closer to him. Her hand rested on his wrist, and slowly the fingers tightened until the skin was white across her knuckles. “Belle,” she said, “suspected nothing. She’s a modern young woman, a strange mixture of sentiment and cynical acceptance of life. For more than a year she’d been wanting to take the name of Moar. She said that it was embarrassing to introduce her mother as Mrs. Moar and then explain that Carl was her stepfather. So when my husband said we’d take her name, she was overjoyed.”

“She gets along well with your husband?” Mason asked.

“She’s very, very fond of him,” the woman said. “Sometimes I think she understands him better than I do. Carl has always been something of an enigma to me. He’s undemonstrative and very self-contained. But he worships the ground Belle walks on. He never started complaining about any lack of opportunities in life until recently. Then he began to grumble. He couldn’t get enough money to give Belle a chance to meet the right sort of people. She didn’t have the clothes he thought she should have. She couldn’t travel...”

“You’re traveling now,” Mason observed with a smile.

“That’s just the point,” she said. “About two months ago we suddenly became affluent.”

“And that was when he changed his name?”

“Yes.”

“How affluent?” Mason asked.

“I don’t know. He carries his money with him in a money belt. I’ve never seen the inside of that money belt, but occasionally he goes to a bank and gets a thousand-dollar bill changed.”

She continued to clutch at the lawyer’s wrist, and now her hand was trembling with nervousness. “Naturally,” she went on rapidly, “I’m not a fool. I haven’t lived thirty-nine years for nothing.”

“Did you ever ask him any specific questions about the reasons for his actions, about where the money was coming from?” Mason asked.

“Yes, of course.”

“What did he say?”

“He told me he’d won a sweepstakes — some lottery... But I don’t think he had. The newspapers publish the names of the winners, don’t they?”

Mason nodded. “Only sometimes persons buy tickets under fictitious names.”

“Well, he told me he’d won one of the sweepstakes. He said that environment had made our friendships, rather than natural selection. He said he wanted to begin life all over, take a new name, travel and have Belle meet people of the right sort.”

“You didn’t believe what he told you about winning the lottery?” Mason asked.

“I believed him at the time. Recently I’ve started to doubt him. Over in Honolulu someone from Los Angeles mentioned in my hearing that the Products Refining Company had employed auditors to go over its books. I’m worried... I feel certain... And then Belle...”

“All right,” Mason said gently, “tell me about Belle.”

“She took to this life like a duck takes to water. She’s naturally happy, vivacious, impulsive, and a good mixer. It gave her a great thrill to be thrown in contact with wealthy tourists, the people she calls ritzy. A few days ago she met Roy Hungerford at the Royal Hawaiian. He’s, the son of Peter Coleman Hungerford, the oil millionaire. It seems that he’s been dancing constant attendance on a Miss Dail, but since he’s met Belle he’s been putting in more and more time with her.”

“What does Miss Dail have to say to that?” Mason asked.

“She doesn’t say anything,” Mrs. Newberry said. “She’s far too clever for that. She’s apparently taken quite an interest in Belle — you know, some women do that. They become very friendly with their rivals.”

“And you think she considers your daughter a rival?” Mason asked.

“Yes, I think she does, Mr. Mason.”

“And,” Mason went on, “I suppose Miss Dail has been asking your daughter something about her background, where she has lived, and something about her father’s occupation?”

Mrs. Newberry said, “Yes. So far, Belle’s been clever enough to laugh it off. She says she’s only a Cinderella, playing at the party until midnight, and then she’ll disappear.”

“That might get by with young Hungerford,” Mason said, “but I presume it’s merely made Miss Dail more curious.”

“It has,” Mrs. Newberry assured him.

“How does your husband feel about that, now that his background and occupation have attracted so much interest?”

“My husband,” she said, “has almost gone into hiding, I had an awful time dragging him out for a single turn around the deck. He’s gone back to his cabin now and is staying there.”

Mason said, “Now let’s get this straight. You suspect that your husband has embezzled money from the Products Refining Company?”

“Yes.”

“Does your daughter have any suspicions?”

“No, of course not.”

“Where does she think the money came from?”

“She thinks my husband won it in a lottery, but that she must never mention that fact because the lottery was illegal and it might make trouble for him. She’s been too busy having a good time to do very much thinking about financial matters.”

“And,” Mason said, “I presume that nothing would suit Miss Dail better than to do a little amateur detective work and expose Belle as the daughter of an embezzler.”

Mrs. Newberry started to cry.

Mason placed a reassuring hand on her arm. “Take it easy,” he said. “Tears won’t help. After all, nothing’s apt to happen while you’re on shipboard. Why not let this matter wait until you reach the Mainland? By that time your daughter will have had an opportunity to become better acquainted with young Hungerford and...”

“I’m afraid,” she said, “it’s too late for that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Someone stole Belle’s picture.”

Mason raised his eyebrows in silent interrogation.

“Someone stole her picture from my husband’s suitcase sometime after three o’clock this afternoon and before ten o’clock tonight.”

“Well,” Mason said, “what if they did? I don’t see what your daughter’s picture—”

“Can’t you see?” she interrupted. “The Clipper leaves Honolulu at daylight tomorrow morning. Someone could have stolen my daughter’s picture, sent it to the Mainland by air mail, and had detectives trace her, and find out everything about her.”

“But surely,” Mason said, “you don’t think Miss Dail would resort to any such tactics?”

“I don’t know what tactics she’d restort to,” Mrs. Newberry said. “She’s selfish, spoiled, rich, and ruthless.

“Why, she’s just a kid,” Mason exclaimed.

“She’s twenty-five,” Mrs. Newberry pointed out, “and she’s done lots of living. She’s a good polo player, holds an aviator’s license, has a yacht of her own, shoots par golf and... Well, a young woman of twenty-five these days is quite apt to have done a lot of living. I’d consider her capable of almost anything.”

“Tell me some more about the theft of the picture,” Mason said.

“We packed early,” she said. “I packed my husband’s suitcase. Belle had given him a picture inscribed, ‘To Daddy, With Love from Belle.’ I don’t know, Mr. Mason, whether you’ve noticed that my daughter resembles Winnie Joyce, the actress, but—”

“I’d already noticed and commented on the resemblance,” Mason said. “I believe she tries to accentuate that resemblance, doesn’t she?”

“Of course she does,” Mrs. Newberry agreed promptly. “People comment about it and it tickles her pink. She sent to the studio for a fan-mail photograph of Winne Joyce. Then she had a photographer take her picture in the same pose and with the same lighting effects. It was one of those pictures she inscribed and gave to my husband. It was in an oval desk frame. I personally packed that picture in his bag a little before three o’clock this afternoon. After the bag was packed, he locked it. It wasn’t unlocked again until ten o’clock tonight, half an hour before the ship sailed. I was unpacking the baggage in the stateroom and he took the keys from his pocket and unlocked it.”

“And the frame was gone?” Mason asked.

“No,” she said. “Belle’s picture had been taken from the frame and a picture of Miss Joyce substituted.”

She opened her purse, took out an oval desk frame and handed it to Mason. Mason held it so that the light from one of the deck lamps showed the photograph. “Notice the inscription, ” Mrs. Newberry said.

Mason deciphered, “Sincerely yours. Winnie Joyce.”

“Perhaps the photograph had been substituted before you packed,” Mason suggested.

“No. I noticed particularly. You see, my daughter’s happiness has been on my mind ever since I heard this about the Products Refining Company. I looked at her picture when I packed it and hoped that she’d always be happy and smiling as she was in that picture.”

“Well,” Mason said, “there’s no use beating around the bush. Go to your husband. Call for a showdown. After all, Mrs. Newberry, you may be alarming yourself needlessly. He may have won the money in a lottery.”

“But I have talked with him. It doesn’t get me anywhere. He simply says he won some money in a lottery. That’s all I can get out of him.”

“Did you ever accuse him of embezzling money from the Products Refining Company?” Mason asked.

“Not in so many words, but I intimated that I thought he might have.”

“And what did he say?”

“Told me I was crazy, that he’d won a lottery.”

“You don’t know what lottery?”

“He said something about a sweepstakes once, and the other times he said lottery.”

“Well, call for a showdown,” Mason said impatiently. “Ask him just what lottery it was. After all, you’re his wife. You’re entitled to know.”

She shook her head emphatically. “It would never do any good to talk with Carl that way. He’d lie out of it and it would simply make matters worse. When I have another talk with him, I want to have all the cards in my hand so I can play them. I want to know.”

“What do you want to know?” Mason asked.

“I want to be absolutely certain,” she said, “that he did embezzle that money. That’s where I want your help.”

“What did you want me to do?” Mason asked.

“Get in communication with your office,” she said. “Have your associates make a quiet investigation and find out whether Carl really embezzled the money.”

“And if he did, then what?”

“Then,” she said, “I’m going to take steps to protect Belle and safeguard her happiness as much as I can.”

“How?” Mason asked.

She started to say something, then checked herself. After a moment, she said, “I don’t know — yet. I’d want your advice.”

Mason leaned over the rail and looked down at the deck below. The figures of Belle Newberry and Roy Hungerford had moved close together until they appeared as one dark silhouette.

“Very well,” Mason promised. “I’ll see what I can find out,” and cut short her thanks to go to the wireless room.

Using his confidential code, Mason sent a wireless to Paul Drake, of the Drake Detective Agency in Los Angeles, asking him to investigate a C.W. Moar who had worked for the Products Refining Company to investigate the winners of all sweepstakes within the past four months, and find out if any might have been C.W. Moar, using either his own or a fictitious name, and added as an afterthought a request to ascertain if Winnie Joyce, the picture actress, had a sister.

Chapter 2

Sun sparkled from the crested tops of restless waves as Perry Mason paced the deck, enjoying the fresh air and the morning sun. His hands were thrust deep in the pockets of a double-breasted coat, his rubber-soled shoes trod lightly along the teakwood deck. The warm breeze ruffled his wavy hair. He had circled the deck for the third time when the heavy door from the forward social hall was pushed open an inch or two. Della Street shouldered it open, to stand with wind-whipped skirts while Belle Newberry stepped across the high threshold.

As they released the door and the wind pushed it against the automatic door check, Mason, walking up behind them, called “Ship Ahoy!” and, as they turned, said to Della Street, “The other side is less windy.”

Della nodded, the warm wind blowing tendrils of hair across her face. “Belle,” she said, “this is the boss. Chief, I’d like to have you meet Belle Newberry, my roommate. We’re working up an appetite for breakfast.”

“Let’s go,” Mason suggested.

With a girl on each arm, he started forward along the deck. Rounding the bow, the wind pushed them on down the sloping incline, into the lee of the deck. Belle Newberry put her hair back into place, laughed, and said, “That’s what’s known as a wind-blown bob. I’ve been hearing a lot about you, Mr. Mason.”

“If it’s bad,” Mason told her, “you can believe it, if it’s good, it’s slander.”

She faced him with laughing, dark eyes, full red lips, parted to reveal teeth which glinted like whitecaps in the sun. The silk blouse, open at the neck, disclosed the sweep of her throat, the rounded curve of her firm breasts. “I saw you and Moms talking last night,” she said. “I’ll bet Moms told you all about the family mystery.”

“Mystery?” Mason asked.

“Uh huh,” she said. “Don’t stand there and act innocent.”

Della Street flashed Mason a quick glance. “What’s the family mystery, Belle?” she asked.

“The disappearing portrait,” she said. “Mother packed my autographed picture in Dad’s bag and locked the bag. When they unpacked, my picture was gone from the frame, and someone had inserted one of Winnie Joyce, my double. Now, what do you know about that?”

“I,” Della Street said, glancing reproachfully at Perry Mason, “know nothing about it. What does your mother think about it?”

“She’s making it darkly mysterious,” Belle said. “Don’t deprive her of her thrill. If she tells you about it, look frightened.”

“You don’t take it seriously, then?” Mason inquired.

“Me?” she told him, raising her chin and laughing up into his face. “I don’t take anything seriously — life, liberty, or the pursuit of love. I’m the flippant younger generation, Mr. Mason — born without reverence — yet reared without guile, thank Heaven.”

“And how about your father?” Mason inquired. “How does he take it?”

“Oh, Dad takes it right in his stride,” she said. “Pops is a Thinker, carries the world on his shoulders. Only occasionally can I get him to set it down long enough to play with me.”

“That,” Mason said, “doesn’t answer my question.”

“Ooh, the Big Bad Lawyer!” she laughed. “I forgot I was being cross-examined. What shall we call this, Mr. Mason — ‘The Case of the Purloined Picture’?”

“It wasn’t purloined,” he said, “so much as substituted.”

“All right, then. ‘The Case of the Substitute Face.’ How will that do?”

“All right,” he said, “at least temporarily. What does your father say about it — and, incidentally, what are your theories?”

She shook her head. “I don’t have theories. I’m too young... You don’t mind being kidded a bit, do you, Mr. Mason? Because if you do, you only have to say so and I get worse... No, seriously speaking, Dad and I both think it’s just a joke someone in the hotel played. You know Moms. She swears that it was my picture in the frame when she was doing the packing, but Moms gets excited when we travel. You see. Miss Joyce and I look alike, even if Miss Joyce wouldn’t admit it. Ever since I started traveling, people in restaurants and night clubs have been staring at me, nudging each other and whispering.”

“You might capitalize on it,” Mason said. “A stand-in or something.”

“That’s what I claim,” Belle Newberry said, the banter instantly leaving her eyes, and her voice slightly wistful. “I think it would be a swell chance for me to go to Hollywood and look around, but Dad says nothing doing, that I stay with him until after I’m twenty-three, and that’ll be six months. My Lord! It seems as though I’ve been twenty-two forever... there I go, telling my age!”

Mason laughed. “You liked Honolulu?”

“Crazy about it,” she said. “Lord, how I hated to leave! I’d never even dreamt of such a glamorous, thrilling experience. I suppose I shouldn’t indulge in all those enthusiasms, but should be more like the society bud at the hotel who raised her eyebrows and made her face look like a stifled yawn whenever anyone asked her how she enjoyed the Islands. Then, after just the right interval, she’d say, ‘Oh, they’re quite nice, thank you.’ You know, that world-weary sophistication which comes to us blase twenty-year-olds.”

“Yes,” Mason laughed, “I’ve encountered it.”

“I’ve wallowed in it,” she said. “It surrounded me all through college.”

“Your first ocean voyage?” Mason inquired.

“Going to the Islands was not only my first ocean voyage,” she told him, “but positively and absolutely the first time I’ve ever been... well now, wait a minute, I hadn’t better make any confessions. After all, there’s nothing so disillusioning as a woman with a drab past, and you know, I...”

She broke off as the door on the lee side opened, and Roy Hungerford, attired in white flannels, stepped out to the deck and looked eagerly to the right and left. He caught sight of them, smiled, and came swiftly toward them. Belle Newberry hooked her arm through his and performed introductions.

Della Street said, “You two go walk up that appetite. I see that I have to go into a huddle with the boss. He has a businesslike look on his face. You shouldn’t have mentioned mysteries, Belle. Now you’ve reminded him that he’s returning to the office.”

Belle Newberry flashed her a grateful glance, and nodded to Roy Hungerford. They pushed forward into the wind, and Della Street looked up at the tall lawyer and said, “Okay, Chief, spill it.”

“Spill what?” Mason asked.

She laughed and said, “Go on, don’t pull that stuff on me. Tell me all about the family mystery — The Case of the Substitute Face.”

“You know about all there is to know about it,” Mason told her. “The photographs were switched.”

“Who did the switching, and why?” Della asked.

“I don’t know,” Mason admitted. “There are complicating factors. Come on up on the boat deck and I’ll tell you about them.”

They climbed the stairway, walked past the gymnasium, across the deck tennis court, and found a sheltered spot in the lee of the rooms used as ship’s hospital. Mason told Della Street of his conversation with Mrs. Newberry. “So,” she said when he had finished, “you sent a radiogram to Paul Drake.”

He nodded.

She laughed. “Well, that’ll be a good preliminary training for Paul. He’s had a rest while you were batting around the Orient. I’ll bet he missed the wild scramble of your work. How about breakfast?”

He nodded. “In a minute. What do you think of her?”

“Of whom?”

“Of your cabin-mate.”

“Oh, she’s a kick. She’s an observing kid, and chuck full of life. She’s modern, impatient of all sham and pretense, and isn’t too affected to show enthusiasm. She’s as full of bounce as a rubber ball.”

“Did she say anything about young Hungerford?”

“No. It’s really deep and serious with her. She treats the world in that light, flippant manner, but this is something she won’t treat that way. Come on. Chief, let’s eat. I’m starved.”

They were half through breakfast when Drake’s first radiogram was received. It read simply:

PRODUCTS REFINING COMPANY ASSETS SHORT TWENTY-FIVE GRAND. PRIVATE DETECTIVES MAKING QUIET SEARCH FOR MOAR — VANISHED EMPLOYEE. NO COMPLAINT FILED AS YET. APPARENTLY NIGGER SOMEWHERE IN WOODPILE AND AUDITORS LACK SUFFICIENT PROOF TO MAKE DEFINITE ACCUSATIONS.

Della, taking the cablegram from Mason, said, “That’s fast work, Chief.”

“Uh huh. But remember, it’s later there than it is here. He’s been on the job for two or three hours.”

They were strolling the promenade deck, snapping colored photographs with Mason’s miniature camera, when Drake’s second message came. It read:

NO SWEEPSTAKE OR LOTTERY WINNERS NAMED MOAR. WINNERS LAST FOUR MONTHS ALL ACCOUNTED FOR.

And his third radiogram was received about noon:

WINNIE JOYCE HAS NO SISTERS. BETTER FORGET ROMANCE PERRY AND STICK TO BUSINESS. COME HOME. ALL IS FORGIVEN.

Mason, folding the message, said, “Damn him, I’ll get even with him for that.”

“Here comes Mrs. Newberry,” Della Street Said.

Mason returned Mrs. Newberry’s good-morning, and said, “I have some information for you.”

“Can you tell me now?” she asked, glancing dubiously at Della Street.

Mason said, “I have no secrets from Della. Do you want me to beat around the bush, or do you want it straight from the shoulder?”

“Straight from the shoulder.”

“All right. The Products Refining Company is about twenty-five thousand dollars short. Private detectives are looking for your husband. He didn’t win any sweepstakes.”

She kept her profile turned toward them, her eyes staring far out over the ocean. Weariness was stamped on her features. “It’s what I expected,” she said.

Mason said, “I think you’d better have a talk with your husband, Mrs. Newberry.”

“It won’t do any good,” she said.

“Perhaps,” he suggested, “if I sat in on the conference it would help.”

“Help what?” she asked.

“Help to make him tell the truth.”

“Well,” she said dejectedly, “suppose he tells the truth. What then?”

Mason was silent for several seconds. Then he said, “Look here, Mrs. Newberry, I won’t represent your husband in this business.”

“I don’t want you to.”

“You’re certain of that?”

“Yes.”

“Then,” Mason went on, “we may be able to reach an understanding. I would try to protect Belle if it were definitely understood I wasn’t representing your husband.”

She faced him then, her eyes showing a glint of hope.

“Your husband,” Mason pointed out, “has sailed under the name of Newberry. No one on board this ship knows him except as Newberry. On the other hand, he embezzled money from the Products Refining Company under the name of Moar. No one in the Products Refining Company knows him except as Moar. I might be able to capitalize on that. Now then, if I were representing your husband, and tried to patch matters up with the Products Refining Company, someone might claim I was trying to compound a felony. But if I had nothing to do with your husband and was representing you on behalf of Belle, I might be able to work out a deal by which he could make restitution of whatever money he has left and receive in return some concessions. In other words, the company might be willing to cooperate with us, perhaps to the extent of joining in an application for probation, and they would probably agree to keep you and your daughter free from any publicity. If we could do that, do you think your husband would be willing to surrender, confess and make what restitution he could?”

“He’d do anything to help Belle,” she said. “That’s the only reason he took the money in the first place.”

Mason said, “If I’m going to handle it that way, I want it distinctly understood I’m not representing your husband. I’m representing you, and you alone. Do you understand that?”

She nodded.

“And until I’ve brought matters to a head, I don’t want your husband to even know that I’m working on the case. I don’t want to talk with him. I don’t want him to try to talk with me.”

“That would be all right,” she said.

“Have you any idea how much money he has left?”

“No. He carries it all in a money belt.”

“Assuming that the original embezzlement was twenty-five thousand dollars, how much do you suppose you’ve spent?”

“In the last two months we’ve spent more than five thousand dollars,” she said. “I know that for a fact.”

“We could do a lot of trading with twenty thousand dollars,” Mason observed, staring out at the blue horizon.

Mrs. Newberry said, “There’s one other element of danger, Mr. Mason, something you’ve got to guard against.”

“What’s that?” Mason asked.

“Have you noticed the man with the broken neck?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “What about him?”

“It isn’t him,” she said. “It’s his nurse. Carl knows her.”

“Well?” Mason asked.

“Don’t you see what that means? He knew her before he married me. She knows him as Carl Moar. If she should see him and recognize him, she’d be sure to call him by the name of Moar.”

“Just what do you know about her?” Mason asked.

“Her name’s Evelyn Whiting. She’s... here she comes now.”

A young, attractive nurse, in a stiffly starched uniform, pushed a wheel chair along the promenade deck. A man lay in the wheel chair, his head cradled in a padded steel harness which was strapped to his shoulders. His eyes were protected from the sun by a huge pair of dark goggles.

Mrs. Newberry’s lowered voice was sympathetic. “Poor chap, he was in an automobile wreck. His neck’s broken. He may have to wear that harness for two or three years. He can’t turn his head, isn’t even supposed to talk. She asks him a question and then puts her hand in his. He squeezes once for yes and twice for no. He can’t use his legs. Think of not being able to even turn your head to avoid the glare of the sun.”

Mason studied the nurse. She was in the early thirties, attractive, well-figured, auburn-haired. She felt his gaze and turned eyes to his which showed a frank interest before they shifted solicitously back to her patient. She stopped the chair and said, “Is it a little too sunny for you here, Mr. Cartman? Would you like to go around on the other side of the deck?”

She pushed her hand under the light blanket which covered the thin figure, and Mason saw the blanket move as the man squeezed her hand once. She turned the wheel chair and sought the shady side of the deck.

“How does your husband expect to avoid her?” Mason asked.

“I don’t know,” Mrs. Newberry confessed. “He’ll only come on deck when she’s in the cabin. The fact that she’s nursing that man makes it easier for Carl.”

“Couldn’t he go to her and explain that he was using another name and—”

“I’m afraid not,” Mrs. Newberry said. “He tells me that he handled some money for her once on an investment. The investment didn’t turn out well and he thinks she might feel a little bitter about it-particularly if she saw that he seemed to have plenty of money now.”

Mason turned to Della Street. “Encode a wireless to my office, Della. Tell Jackson to find out what concessions the Products Refining Company would be willing to make if Moar should surrender and return intact approximately twenty thousand dollars of the embezzled money. Tell Jackson to have it definitely understood that he’s merely asking questions on behalf of an interested party, is not representing Moar, does not know where Moar is, and is at present only asking for information. Tell him to handle it diplomatically and report progress.”

Mrs. Newberry gripped his hand in thanks. After a moment she said, “I’ll go now. It’ll be better if I’m not seen with you too frequently. If you’re not going to have any contact with Carl... Well, I wouldn’t want Belle to suspect that I was consulting you professionally.”

Mason said, “It’ll probably take my office two or three days to get anything definite. In the meantime, you sit tight and don’t worry.”

He left her, to circle the deck. Celinda Dail, clad in a sun suit which showed her long, sun-browned limbs to advantage, was playing ping-pong with Roy Hungerford.

Chapter 3

The ship was scheduled to arrive in San Francisco late Sunday night, docking early Monday morning. On Saturday, Mason received a wireless from his office lawyer which read:

C. DENTON ROONEY HEAD AUDITOR OF PRODUCTS REFINING COMPANY IN CHARGE OF LOS ANGELES OFFICE HAS AGREED TO CABLE PRESIDENT NOW IN HONOLULU. ROONEY TEN DEGREES COLDER THAN FREEZING. OUTLOOK DISTINCTLY UNFAVORABLE. WILL KEEP YOU POSTED.

“Isn’t that rather an unusual attitude, Chief?” Della Street asked, when Mason had finished reading the message.

“I’ll say it is,” Mason said. “It’s the first time I ever knew a corporation to snub twenty thousand dollars.”

“But still. Chief, there’s the question of ethics. Perhaps they don’t want to establish a precedent—”

Mason laughed. “Don’t worry, Della. They usually hook the embezzler in the long run. But when he offers to make restitution they unhesitatingly make glittering promises. Even the police do it. Let them arrest an embezzler who has a few thousand dollars cached away and they’ll promise him probation, or a light sentence, or a chance to escape, or even that the charges will be dropped, if he’ll only show that he’s properly repentant by disclosing the hiding place of the money. Then, after they once get their hands on the money, they sing a different tune. It seems that the officer the crook was talking with had no authority to make the promises, or the judge refuses to cooperate, or something of that sort.”

“Then why did you give the Products Refining Company a chance to trap Moar that way?” Della Street asked.

“Because,” Mason said, “after they once make promises in this case, I’m going to see these promises are kept.”

“How?” she asked.

“You’d be surprised. I have a few tricks up my sleeve I can always use on chiselers.”

“Is that why you didn’t want to represent Moar?”

“That’s partially it,” he told her. “The other reason is that I don’t like to represent persons who are guilty. Of course, every person is entitled to a fair trial. That means he’s entitled to a lawyer. But I’d prefer that chaps like Moar would get some other lawyer. Of course, I can’t always pick innocent ones. For one thing, I have to reach snap judgments. I’m like a baseball umpire who has to call the plays as he sees them.”

“So what are you going to do now?” she asked.

“Right now,” he said, “you can encode another wire to Jackson, reading as follows:

“‘HAVE DRAKE DETECTIVE AGENCY PUT OPERATIVE ON ROONEY. DIG UP SOME DIRT WHICH WILL ENABLE ME TO BRING PRESSURE TO BEAR. QUIT PULLING YOUR PUNCHES AND GET RESULTS.’”

Mason grinned and said, “That’ll make Jackson hopping mad.”

“After all,” Della Street pointed out, “you can’t blame him. He’s doing the best he can.”

Mason shook his head. “Jackson’s a rotten fighter. He’s tagging along, taking what Rooney hands out. That’s not the way to get anywhere. A good scrapper keeps the other man on the defensive, trumps the first ace he plays, and after that never lets him get a chance to lead with the others.”

“I’m afraid,” she told him, tucking her shorthand notebook back in her purse, “that you’re simply spoiling for a fight.”

“I am,” he admitted, “but with bigger game than Rooney.”

“It’s too bad you didn’t know the president was in Honolulu.”

Mason said, “ That’s a thought. However, he’ll undoubtedly tell Rooney to go ahead and make any promises necessary to get the twenty thousand. Rooney is probably an officious nincompoop who wanted to put Jackson in his place— How’s the romance going, Della?”

“Well,” Della said, “outwardly it seems to be pretty much of a draw. He divides his time about evenly between Celinda Dail and Belle Newberry, but if you ask me, I think he has a lot better time with Belle than with Celinda. Celinda’s more of a duty. She’s in his social set. They have a lot of friends in common, and, above all, he doesn’t want to appear to be dropping Celinda simply because he met some girl for whom he cares more.”

“You’re biased,” Mason told her.

“Probably I am,” she admitted.

“How does Celinda Dail treat you, Della?”

Della Street smiled. “At first she didn’t know I was alive. Then when she found out I was Belle’s cabin-mate, she became very cordial. Whenever I’m with her, she tells me how much she likes Belle and what a fascinating girl she is, and then takes occasion to add it’s funny she’s never met her and wants to know if Belle doesn’t care for polo or yachting.”

“Trying to pump you about her background?” Mason asked.

Della nodded.

“Okay,” Mason told her, “put that message in code and send it to Jackson. We’ll have Paul Drake start work on Rooney. However, I don’t think we’ll have to exert much pressure. My best guess is the president will fall all over himself promising anything we want. Then, after he gets his hands on the twenty thousand he’ll step out of the picture and Rooney will gloatingly march into court and ask the judge to give Moar the limit.”

Mason was reclining in his stateroom reading a book when Della Street brought him Jackson’s reply late that afternoon.

ROONEY ADVISES CORPORATION WILL NOT MAKE TERMS WITH CROOK STOP INSISTS WILL PROSECUTE MOAR TO LIMIT WITHOUT ACCEPTING OR OFFERING ANY CONCESSIONS STOP CLAIMS HAS TAKEN MATTER UP WITH PRESIDENT BUT I THINK HE IS LYING STOP ROONEY ARROGANT SELF-IMPORTANT DETESTED BY ENTIRE FORCE HOLDS POSITION BECAUSE OF RELATIONSHIP BY MARRIAGE TO PRESIDENT OF COMPANY STOP PRESIDENT NOW ON VACATION IN HONOLULU NAME CHARLES WHITMORE DAIL ADDRESS ROYAL HAWAIIAN HOTEL SHALL I GET IN TOUCH WITH HIM THERE STOP HAD PAUL DRAKE PUT OPERATIVES TO WORK ON ROONEY SO FAR NO SUCCESS STOP WIRE INSTRUCTIONS

Mason finished reading the message, to reach for his telephone. “Get me Charles Whitmore Dail, ” he said to the operator. “He has a suite on A deck.”

While Mason held the line, waiting for the call to be completed, Della Street said, “Chief, have you stopped to consider that Celinda Dail may have found out Moar’s aboard and been in touch with Rooney?”

He nodded and said, “I’m calling for a showdown, Della— Hello — is this Mr. Dail? This is Mr. Perry Mason, Mr. Dail. I want to see you on a matter of business... sometime at your early convenience... I would prefer an earlier appointment if possible... Very well, at six o’clock then... In your stateroom. Thank you, Mr. Dail.”

Mason dropped the receiver into place, grinned at Della Street and said, “You never get anywhere postponing a fight, Della.”

“You mean if he knows all about Carl Moar and has found out who Belle really is you’re still going to try and help Moar?”

“Not Moar,” Mason said. “Belle.”

“Is there anything you can do, Chief?”

“I don’t know,” he told her. “One thing’s certain, I can smoke them out into the open.”

Della Street said dubiously, “I’m not certain that you can, Chief. Celinda Dail is nobody’s fool, if she was the one who got possession of Belle’s picture and sent it to Rooney, and they know about...”

“Why to Rooney?” Mason asked.

“Because Jackson’s wire says Rooney is related to the president by marriage. That means Celinda would have confidence in him and he’d probably be the one to whom she’d appeal. That would explain why Rooney is so set against allowing Moar to obtain any concessions by making a partial restitution.”

Mason grinned and said, “Well, we’ll find out within a couple of hours. Wireless Jackson that Dail’s aboard and that I’ll handle it from this end. Tell him to have Paul Drake keep a couple of operatives on Rooney and let me know if they uncover anything interesting.”

Charles Whitmore Dail, looking ponderously dignified in his tuxedo and stiffly starched shirt, said, “Come in and sit down, Mr. Mason. I believe you have met my daughter?”

Celinda Dail wore a dark evening dress, which revealed the long, slender lines of her athletic figure. The black coral bracelets which circled her right wist emphasized the creamy smoothness of her skin. She smiled at the lawyer with her lips. Her eyes were blue, wary and watchful.

Mason bowed, said, “I’ve had that pleasure. Good evening, Miss Dail,” and dropped into a chair. He had not as yet dressed for dinner, and his double-breasted suit of tropical worsted, opposed to the formality of the other’s attire, served as a reminder that his call was a business one, made his approach seem direct and aggressive.

He glanced casually about him at the furnishings of the palatial suite, stretched out his legs in front of him, crossed his ankles and said, “You’re the president of the Products Refining Company.”

Dail nodded.

“You have a man in your employ by the name of C. Waker Moar,” Mason went on.

Dail’s face became an expressionless mask. “I’m not familiar with all of the employees of the Products Refining Company,” he said.

Mason regarded him with steady, patient eyes. “I didn’t ask you that,” he said. “I have reason to believe that the name of C. Waker Moar may have impressed itself upon your mind during the last few weeks.”

Dail gave no faint flicker of expression. “What was it you wished to see me about?” he asked.

Mason glanced at Celinda Dail. “If you were planning to go in for cocktails,” he said, “and it’s not convenient to discuss the matter now, I can see you some time after dinner.”

“That’s all right,” Dail said. “You can trust to my daughter’s discretion. What did you wish to say?”

“I understand,” Mason said, “there’s a substantial cash shortage in your company, Mr. Dail, a matter of some twenty-five thousand dollars, and this shortage was, well, shall we say coincident with the departure of Mr. Moar from your employ?”

“Go on,” Dail said. “I’m listening.”

“I have reason to believe,” Mason went on, “that it might be possible for your company to get back some twenty thousand dollars of the missing money.”

“You’re representing Moar?” Dail asked.

“No.”

“Whom are you representing?”

“Interested parties,” Mason said.

“Would you mind telling me just who they are?”

“Would it,” Mason inquired, “make any difference in your attitude in the matter?”

“It might,” Dail said.

“May I ask in what way?”

Dail hesitated a moment, then said, “I wouldn’t bargain with a crook. Neither would I bargain with anyone who was representing a crook.”

Mason said, “I take it your company would welcome the return of twenty thousand dollars?”

“It might.”

Mason turned to Celinda, asked, “Mind if I smoke?” and took a cigarette from his pocket.

“Not at all,” she said. “I’ll have one with you, Mr. Mason.”

Mason lit her cigarette, lit his own. Charles Whitmore Dail regarded him appraisingly. “You haven’t told me, Mr. Mason, whom you’re representing.”

“I’ve told you I’m not representing Mr. Moar,” Mason said.

“How can you guarantee the return of any money if you’re not representing him or some confederate?”

“I’m not representing him. I’m not representing any confederate. I’m not guaranteeing the return of any money. I’m asking questions.”

“Specifically, what is your question?”

“Would your company be willing to make some concessions in order to get back approximately twenty thousand dollars of the embezzled money?”

“I feel that my company would naturally like to have the spending of its own money,” Dail said. “I feel quite certain that we would be willing to make some substantial concessions.”

“How substantial?” Mason asked.

“What do you want?”

“For one thing,” Mason said, “I want it definitely understood that no attempt whatever will be made to arrest Moar until he has surrendered of his own accord. That he will be permitted to plead guilty under any name he may choose, and be sentenced under that name.”

“Do I understand,” Dail asked, “that you want us to guarantee we won’t take any steps to apprehend Moar merely on your suggestion that the money may be paid?”

Mason shook his head. “You’d have my word in return for yours. I’d have approximately twenty thousand dollars paid into my bank. When that money was in my hands, I’d ask you to agree to hold off any attempt to apprehend Moar for a definite period, say two weeks.”

“I think that could be arranged,” Dail said, slowly.

“I understand there is as yet no warrant issued for Moar?” Mason asked.

“I’m not qualified to give you a definite answer on that.” Dail replied cautiously.

“But you could give me your definite assurance as to what you would be willing to do in order to get this money?”

“Yes,” Dail said, “we’d be willing to grant your request. We’d go farther. We’d do everything in our power to see that Moar received probation, with the understanding, of course, that he would repay the rest of the money. By the way, Mr. Mason, why do you say approximately twenty thousand dollars?”

“Because I don’t know just how much money remains in Moar’s possession.”

Suspicion showed in Dail’s eyes. “Your offer was predicated on twenty thousand dollars.”

“It wasn’t an offer, it was a question, and I said approximately twenty thousand dollars,” Mason corrected.

“Well, I would take approximately to mean within a thousand dollars of that sum.”

“I’m not making any definite proposition,” Mason said. “I’m merely asking a question. The proposition will come later. At that time I’ll know exactly what I have to offer. At the present time my understanding is there is approximately twenty thousand dollars available.”

“Very well,” Dail said, “you know my attitude, Mr. Mason.”

Celinda Dail said, “It seems strange that you’ve been on board ship with us for four days, Mr. Mason, and have just come to Father with this proposition.”

Mason shifted his eyes to her. “I didn’t know your father was president of the Products Refining Company.”

“Are we to understand that the clients whom you represent are aboard the ship?” Celinda asked innocently.

“I think,” Mason said, smiling, “that so far I have carefully avoided answering any questions about my client, other than to state that I am not representing Mr. Moar.”

“Then your client isn’t aboard,” Celinda Dail asked.

Mason said, “You really should have been an attorney.”

Dail said, “That doesn’t answer my daughter’s question, Mr. Mason.”

Mason stared at him with amused eyes. “No,” he said, “it doesn’t, does it?”

There were several seconds of silence. Then Dail got to his feet. “Very well, Mr. Mason, you understand my attitude.”

Mason stood looking down at the other man. “All right,” he said, “now let’s not misunderstand each other. Don’t make any promises to me on behalf of your company which your company won’t carry out to the letter. If we go through with this thing, I’ll shoot square with you and I’ll want your company to shoot square with me.”

“Just what do you mean, Mr. Mason?” Dail asked coldly.

“I mean,” Mason said, “that your auditor, C. Denton Rooney, doesn’t seem to have the interests of the corporation as much at heart as you have. If we reach an agreement I wouldn’t want to have him misunderstand the terms of that agreement. In fact, I would take steps to see that he didn’t.”

“Don’t worry,” Dail said. “Rooney married my wife’s sister. He owes his position to that relationship and to me.”

“I want to make certain there won’t be any misunderstanding with Rooney,” Mason insisted.

“There won’t be,” Dail assured him.

As Mason reached for the knob of the door, Celinda Dail said, “Don’t you think, Father, it would be well to have some time limit with Mr. Mason? Some time within which he’d make you a definite offer?”

“Yes,” Dail said instantly. “Let’s put a time limit on this. Mason.”

“Unfortunately,” Mason assured him, smiling at Celinda Dail, “that is impossible. I will have to both send and receive wireless messages before I’m in a position to make any definite offer.”

“But you think you can do so before the ship docks?” Dail asked.

“I hope to be able to do so before the ship docks,” Mason said, opening the door.

Mason dressed for dinner, strolled into the cocktail lounge and found Mrs. Moar seated at a corner table.

“Well,” he said, raising his voice for the benefit of any passenger who might be listening, “while you’re waiting for your family may I invite you to join me in a cocktail?”

She nodded.

Mason dropped into the chair at her side.

“What’s new?” she asked, in a low voice.

“Della told you about Dail being the president of the Products Refining Company?”

“Yes. She said you were going to see him. I’ve been waiting here, hoping you’d show up.”

“Dail,” Mason said, “wants to get his hands on the money. He’s willing to promise anything. After he gets the money he’ll pass the buck to the board of directors and let them assume responsibility for the double-cross.”

“How can we prevent that?” she asked.

Mason said, “Let me get my hands on the money and I’ll handle it in such a way there won’t be any double-cross. Since I’m not representing your husband I’ll have more latitude than I otherwise would.”

“Was Celinda present when you talked with her father?”

“Yes, Celinda was there.”

“I don’t like that,” Mrs. Moar said. “I don’t like that girl. She’s nursing a deadly hatred for Belle.”

“All right,” Mason told her. “The thing to do now is to get some quick action. Find out how much money your husband has left, and get it in my hands. You can tell your husband what’s being done, but don’t tell him who’s representing you.”

“You won’t want him to talk with you?”

“No, I want to have no connection with him whatsoever. My connection is with you.”

“Ant’ how’ll you get the money?”

“He’il give it to you and you’ll give it to me. And when I get it, I don’t want to know that it’s embezzled money. It’ll simply be money which you have given me to pay over to the Products Refining Company under certain conditions. It must be your money, as between you and me. Do you understand that? I don’t want it to come from your husband. I don’t want it to be money which was embezzled from the Products Refining Company. I want it to be your money which you are giving to me to accomplish a certain specific thing. Do you understand?”

“I think so,” she said. “Look, Mr. Mason, there’s Celinda Dail watching us.”

Mason laughed heartily, picked up his cocktail glass, tilted the brim slightly toward Mrs. Moar as though proposing a toast and said in a low voice, “All right, don’t look so businesslike, and above all, don’t look apprehensive. Laugh and act as though we were having a casual cocktail.”

Mrs. Moar raised her glass. Her smile was patently forced.

“Have you,” Mason asked, “discussed this any further with your husband?”

“No.”

“Does your husband realize that Dail is president of the Products Refining Company?”

“Apparently not. Carl has made no attempt to avoid him. We’ve walked right past Mr. Dail and Celinda several times when we’ve been promenading the deck. But Carl’s taken every precaution to avoid that nurse. I think he has someone paid to watch her and let him know whenever she’s coming on deck because he always goes into hiding somewhere and doesn’t come out until after she’s gone.”

“Well,” Mason said, “the Products Refining Company is a big concern. It’s not surprising that the president of that company wouldn’t know a bookkeeper, but you’d think Carl would have had seen his picture, or heard his name mentioned often enough to know who he was.”

“Perhaps he does,” she said, “but feels safe because he knows Dail doesn’t know him except by name, whereas that nurse knows his real name is Moar, and would probably blurt it out if he met her.”

“Don’t look so businesslike,” Mason warned. “Celinda’s watching you. Laugh. Look around the room, and, pretty quick, look at your wrist watch, jump up and leave the table. Here, turn around so you’re not prompted to look over at her.

“Now here’s something else. It would be particularly unfortunate if Carl should be recognized now. Until I’ve reached an agreement with Dail his hands aren’t tied. If he found out the man he’s looking for was aboard this ship and had funds in his possession, Dail would have him arrested and laugh at me when I tried to get any concessions.”

“Then it would be better if Carl didn’t have the money in his possession?” she asked.

“Much better,” Mason said.

She glanced at her wrist watch, jumped to her feet and said, “Oh, I must be going.”

Mason arose, bowed, and said, in a low tone, “Laugh.”

Mrs. Moar gave a feeble attempt at laughter, turned and swept from the room.

Mason sat down at the table, twisted the stem of his cocktail glass in his fingers, glanced up at the door where Celinda Dail had been standing. She was no longer visible.

Chapter 4

Sunday afternoon, a wind, howling up from the south and west, caught the ship on the quarter, sent smoke from the funnels streaking down the sky, and kicked up a sea which made for a nasty roll. The weather deck was lashed by torrents of rain, while oily smoke and hot gas from the funnels made the deck untenable.

Mason, threading his way down the creaking corridor of C deck, confronted Belle Newberry as she swayed along the passageway, bracing herself from time to time with her hands.

“Hello,” she said. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Long?” the lawyer asked.

“All day.”

“I’ve been in my cabin, reading. Why didn’t you give me a buzz?”

She laughed, and said, “I wanted the meeting to appear casual.”

“And so you start out by telling me you’ve been looking for me?” he inquired, smiling.

She made a little grimace. “It’s ry candid nature. It’s always betraying me. I hate sham and hypocrisy. Come on into the social hall, I want to talk to you.”

Mason turned, took her arm, and, together, they swayed toward the stern of the ship. “Nasty weather for the captain’s dinner tonight,” Mason said.

“I think it’s fun,” she told him. “I get an awful bang out of it. If you go on deck and stand in a sheltered place, you can hear the wind howling around the masts. I thought it was only in wind-jammers you heard that sound.”

Mason said, “There’s quite a bit of rigging on a steamer these days. Did it frighten you?”

“No, I think it’s wonderful! There’s something fascinating and awe-inspiring about it. It’s a long-drawn-out, steady, hollow sound. You can’t describe it.”

“I know the sound,” Mason said, “and never tire of listening to it. I like storms.”

Belle Newberry’s eyes sparkled. “You would,” she said.

Mason said, “I think that’s a compliment, Belle. But you didn’t search me out to talk about storms, did you?”

“No. It’s about Mother.”

“What about her?” Mason asked.

“What’s she been telling you about Dad?”

“What makes you think that she’s told me anything about your father?” Mason asked.

She waited for an advantageous roll of the ship, then pushed him into a deep-cushioned chair. “Sit down,” she said, “and like it. I see this is going to be one of those interviews where I’ll ask you questions and you’ll answer with questions.”

“After all,” Mason told her, “if you want information, you could ask your mother.”

“I could,” she said, “but I’m not doing it.”

“Why not?”

“Because she... Wait a minute, I almost gave you a straight answer. I shouldn’t do it. I’ll have to think up a question... Why should I ask my mother?”

“Who else is there to ask?” he inquired.

“Would you tell me if you knew?”

“Is there any reason why I shouldn’t?”

She laughed and said, “That’s fine. No one’s said

anything yet. How long do you suppose we can keep this up?”

“All afternoon,” Mason told her, his lips unsmiling, but his eyes twinkling.

“That’s what I was afraid of. Tell me, Mr. Mason, did Mother tell you about Dad’s giving up his job and never going back to the office?”

“What gave you that impression?” Mason asked.

“Well, you see,” she said, “Moms is nice, but rather naive, as so many of the older generation are. The last few days, whenever she’s been standing by the rail and talking to you, there’s been a sudden silence when I come along. Now, that’s poor technique. As one of the precocious younger generation, I know you’re discussing something you don’t want me to hear, and I think it concerns Dad and our sudden influx of wealth.”

“Will you kindly tell me what has put that idea in your head?” Mason asked.

She sighed and said, “Yes, I guess you can keep it up all afternoon. I’m trying to question you, Mr. Perry Mason, but so far you’re asking all the questions in response to my questions, and I’m giving all the information in response to your questions.”

“But,” Mason protested, “I don’t see why you came to me in the first place. Was there something?...”

“No,” she interrupted, “please don’t ask me any more questions. I see that I’d better handle the interview myself if I’m going to get anywhere. Now, I’ll say, ‘Is Mother trying to keep something from me, Mr. Mason?’ and you’ll say, ‘What do you think there is to conceal from you, Belle?’ and I’ll say, ‘Something about Dad,’ and you’ll say ‘But what could there be about your father which should be concealed from you?’ and I’ll say, ‘Well, after all, Mr. Mason, he has done some rather peculiar things during the last two months. That is, they look peculiar if you don’t know Dad,’ and you’ll say ‘What things?’ and I’d say, ‘Hasn’t Mother told you?’ and you’d... No, don’t interrupt me now, Mr. Mason, because I’m driving you into a comer by relentless cross-examination. And you’d say, ‘Don’t you think you should ask your mother rather than me?’ and then that, Mr. Perry Mason, would give me just the opening I’m looking for and I’d say, ‘Mr. Mason, don’t you think that, in justice to all concerned, you should hear Dad’s side of the story?’ and before you could ask me another question I’d say, ‘Well, I do, and I’m going to arrange for you to have a talk with Dad. Personally, I think Moms is all wet. Dad is peculiar and he’s eccentric, but he’s done nothing to be ashamed of, and there’s no need of Moms getting herself all worked up thinking that he has.’ So, Mr. Perry Mason, I’m going to ask you to talk with Dad and hear his side of it before you form any opinion or agree to do anything for Mother.”

“Don’t you think your father might be rather prejudiced against me?” Mason asked.

“Absolutely not,” she said. “He has about the sanest perspective of any man I’ve ever known. He knows you’ve been talking a lot with Mom and...”

“And your father,” Mason interrupted, “has rather studiously avoided me. I’ve gathered from what your mother has said that he’s prejudiced against lawyers.”

“Now that shows all Mom knows about it,” Belle exclaimed indignantly. “Dad used to be prejudiced against what he called criminal lawyers, but that was before he served as a juror when a man was being tried for murder. The man was innocent. Dad says, but his lawyer, a man named Van Densie, seemed to have sold him out. But they couldn’t fool Dad. Dad held out for an acquittal, even when the other eleven were against him. And Dad finally managed to convince those other eleven jurors that the man really was innocent. It made quite an impression on Dad. He said anyone might be accused of crime and circumstantial evidence might look black against him. He said the lawyers who defended men should be more able. He thought Van Densie was incompetent, as well as being a crook. Dad was all worked up about it. He said some day he might be accused of crime, and he’d want a good lawyer to represent him.”

Mason said, “Apparently your father has a mind of his own.”

“Then you’ll see him,” she asked, “and hear what he has to say?”

Mason said, “Look here, Belle, I’m going to be frank with you. I don’t want to see your father and don’t want to talk with him.”

“Why?”

“I can’t explain.”

Her eyes searched his. “Does it,” she asked, “have anything to do with my happiness?”

“I think,” Mason told her, “since you’ve gone so far, I’d prefer to have you talk with your mother.”

“Look here, Mr. Mason,” she said, “I’m not a child. I know something’s in the wind. I have an idea it affects me. Now, Dad won some money in a lottery. If that was an illegal thing to do, then he has to give back the money. But I’d prefer — very much prefer — not to have anything said or done until after the ship docks. I think you know why.”

“I do,” Mason told her, “and I want you to understand that your mother has your best interests at heart.”

Her eyes swam with tears. “I wish,” she said, “things had been different. I wouldn’t have missed knowing Roy for anything. But you know what it means, Mr. Mason. He’s out of my class. I’ve had my little masquerade and that masquerade is about over. I’ve realized all along the price I was going to have to pay, but I know it has to be paid. Now then, I’m afraid that Carl, or Moms, or both, are planning to carry on, thinking they can give me a chance. They can’t. I’m not in Roy’s world and he’s not in mine. We could pretend while we’re on shipboard, or while we were in Honolulu, but as soon as we hit the Mainland it’s different... Tell me, Mr. Mason, is Moms planning to sue Carl for divorce?”

“That isn’t what we’ve been talking about,” Mason said kindly.

Belle Newberry scraped back her chair. The roll of the boat threw her off balance. Mason jumped to her side, steadied her with his hand on her elbow.

“Please,” she said, “don’t let Mom make any useless sacrifices for me. She doesn’t see the thing as clearly as I do. Tomorrow morning after we land, it will be over.”

“Don’t you think Roy will try to keep in touch with you?” Mason asked.

“I won’t let him,” she retorted. “I’ll walk out of his life and slam the door behind me. We can’t keep up with his set. I’ve been able to put on an act just because Dad was fortunate enough to win some money in a lottery. If it hadn’t been for that, I’d have been living a drab existence with perhaps a two weeks’ vacation with Moms at some beach city, where we’d have a cheap furnished cottage, or maybe a motor trip where we could spend the nights in auto camps... Please, Mr. Mason, don’t let Moms try to do something to give me a chance I could never use.”

Mason walked with her to the door. “You,” he said, “talk like a quitter. If you want him, why don’t you fight for him? If he loves you, he won’t care whether your father was a bookkeeper or...”

“You don’t understand,” she interrupted. “It isn’t as though Roy had met me as the daughter of a bookkeeper. Pops gave me a chance to crash into the ritzy tourist crowd. You know how it is on the Islands. I played I was one of them. I let Roy take my position in life for granted. You see, I... I didn’t know he was going to mean so darn much to me.

“Now I can’t back it up. If I’d met him so he knew all about me, he could go to his set and say, ‘Meet Belle Newberry. She’s not in our set, but I like her.’ That would have been one thing. But to have Celinda Dail know all about... Oh, I can’t explain. You’d have to know Roy to understand... He doesn’t like sham. He hates girls who try to make a play for him. He’d never understand I was just having a little game of makebelieve with myself. He’d think I’d deliberately planned...”

She broke off abruptly, her voice choking.

Mason said, “I see your angle, Belle. It’s your hand. You play it. Personally, I’d shove all my chips into the center of the table. Go talk with your mother, Belle. You can explain...”

The eyes which she turned up to him were laughing through tears. “No,” she said, “ you do it. This is my last night of happiness. I’m leaving it up to you, Perry Mason, to do the dirty work.”

She turned and walked rapidly down the swaying corridor, steadying herself from time to time with an outstretched hand. Mason stood watching her with sympathetic eyes.

Chapter 5

There were many vacant chairs at the captain’s dinner. Sheeted rain lashed against the portholes. Those passengers who made merry with colored paper cups, balloons and pasteboard horns lacked spontaneity. Their merriment seemed merely a forced attempt to comply with maritime conventions. Waiters felt their way, a few steps at a time, half-filled dishes carried in deep serving trays.

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.

“Perhaps,” Mason said, “that’s why he’s acting so carefree now. I’ve been wondering how he was going to manage it when the passengers went through customs and quarantine tomorrow. He’s almost certain to meet her face to face.”

“I think he’s figured that all out. After all, all he needed to do was to go to her, make some explanation and ask her to keep quiet.”

“The only trouble with that,” Mason pointed out, “is that she might indulge in gossip with some shipboard acquaintance and let the cat out of the bag. If Celinda Dail had any idea Evelyn Whiting knew anything about Belle’s father, she’d certainly move heaven and earth to find out what it was.”

Della Street said, “Belle, poor kid, realizes she could never get into Roy’s life.”

“Don’t you think he’ll try to keep in touch with her just the same?” Mason asked.

“He won’t have the chance, Chief. She’s going to tell him she’ll meet him at the Santa Anita Race Track next Tuesday. She told him her folks have a box there. She’ll never see him after she gets off the boat.”

Mason said, “If she’s in love with him I don’t see...”

“I understand exactly how she feels,” Della Street interrupted. “Taking things in her stride, mingling with him on terms of equality, she’s been able to interest him. But the minute he realizes she’s not in his set, the minute his friends start patronizing her, he’ll begin to lose interest in her. She and the Dail girl have been running neck and neck. Give Celinda Dail the handicap of being able to patronize Belle, and Belle will be entirely out of the running.”

“I’m not so certain,” Mason said.

“Well, I am,” Della Street told him. “That Dail girl is clever. She won’t rub it in. Instead, she’ll try and drag Belle out to all sorts of affairs where Belle will be among strangers but everyone else will know each other with that intimacy which comes of years of rubbing elbows and taking each other for granted. Belle will be completely out of place.”

“Well,” Mason said, “I think Belle should tell her mother exactly what she plans to do.”

“Why?”

“Because,” he said, “if Belle’s going to step out of Roy’s life, there’s no reason why I should go to a lot of trouble trying to fix things up with the Products Refining Company.”

“Oh, yes, there is,” Della told him. “It would be the greatest tragedy of Belle’s life if detectives should meet her father at the gangplank tomorrow and snap handcuffs on his wrists. And particularly if he had embezzled money from a company operated by Celinda Dail’s father. Chief, you must stop that, no matter what happens. Can’t you see? She wants Roy to remember her as a woman of mystery, not pity her. And she could never bear to have Celinda Dail gloating in triumph over her.”

“Well,” Mason said, “I’ll meet Mrs. Newberry at nine-thirty. She’ll have a definite answer by that time. I’m going to take a turn on deck. How’d you like to go out and get a lungful of storm?”

“No,” she told him, “I’m going over and join the Newberrys for a minute. I promised Belle I would. It’s eight-thirty-five now. I’ll hunt you up around nine o’clock. That’ll give us time for a liqueur and then you can meet Mrs. Newberry at nine-thirty.”

Mason nodded, crossed over to pull back her chair, gave her arm a squeeze and said, “I’ll be over on the lee side, probably on the promenade deck.”

Mason went to his stateroom, put on a top coat, wound a light silk scarf around his collar, and went on deck.

Doors on the weather side were locked. On the lee deck, rain lashed down in torrents, spurting up into little geysers, where the big drops hit the planking. Electric lights, burning in glass-enclosed cages, shed reddish rays which reflected upward from the wet deck, and were swallowed in the enveloping maw of wind-swept darkness. The roar of troubled waters furnished a steady, ominous undertone of sound.

Mason found the promenade deck a little too exposed, so went to the deck below. He walked slowly, skirting a pile of deck chairs which had been folded back and lashed securely. Water soaked up through the thin soles of his dress shoes. Spray from the beating rain moistened his face and beaded his hair. He squared his shoulders, inhaled the driving freshness of the ocean gale, listened to the roar of the waves, the shrieking of the wind — and was content.

The ship’s bells clanged twice — nine o’clock. The wind whipped the sound and dispersed it, just as it snatched the smoke from the stacks of the steamer, tore it into black ribbons, and dissolved them into the night. On the port beam, a lighthouse winked intermittently.

The ship, rolling heavily, swung far over to port, paused, then, instead of righting itself, rolled still farther, until Mason, clinging to a stanchion for support, could look down the slanting deck to the dark, tossing waves.

He heard a faint scream, then an explosive sound. He stood still, listening. The scream was repeated. It seemed to come from two decks above him.

As the ship slowly righted, Mason ran to the rail, leaned over, and tried to peer upward. The rain flooded his eyes, beat down upon his coat, trickled in rivulets along his neck and down the angle of his jaw. He could see nothing.

The ship sluggishly swung over to starboard. The waves, as though concentrating in a surprise attack, crashed against her quivering hull. Mason heard the faint jangling of a bell somewhere, then the whistle blew five short, quick blasts. The ship heeled far over and was filled with thumping jars, as though it had been an automobile running on a flat tire.

Mason realized one screw had been reversed, while the other was going full speed ahead, swinging the ship in a quick turn.

Feet pounded along the boat deck. Mason saw a circular life buoy whirl out into the darkness. It struck the water, and almost immediately the inky darkness was dispelled by a bright flare of light which drifted back and to one side as the ship turned.

The big seas now struck on the beam. The ship rolled in the troughs. Mason held to a stanchion, then fought his way back to the door, which suddenly burst open. A uniformed officer shouted, “Get back inside!”

“What’s the matter?” Mason asked.

“Man overboard!” the officer yelled, and ran forward, clinging to a hand rail to keep from slipping on the wet, slanting deck.

Mason stamped water from his soggy shoes, ran to the stairway and started down it.

He made straight for Mrs. Newberry’s stateroom. The ship had turned enough to catch the huge seas on her bow, making the craft pitch and plunge.

Mason pounded on the door of the stateroom. There was no answer. He tried the knob. The door was locked. He banged with his fist, then, when there was no response, kicked with the toe of his shoe.

After a moment, he heard Mrs. Newberry’s voice. “Who is it?”

“Mason,” he said.

“Just a minute,” she told him. “I’ll let you in.”

Mason rattled the doorknob. “Open the door now,” he ordered.

She unlocked and opened the door, said, “Oh, well, come in if it’s that important.”

She was clad in stockings and peach-colored underwear. As Mason closed and locked the door, she slipped a dress over her head. “What is it?” she asked.

“Where’s your husband?”

She wiggled the dress down from her shoulders, smoothed it across her hips, frowned at the lawyer, and said, “He had to see a man. He promised he’d be back in five minutes. What’s the matter with your watch? It’s not nine-thirty yet.”

“How long since you’ve seen him?”

“Five minutes ago. Our party broke up when my husband received a note. He said he had to see a man on some business.”

“And what did you do?”

“Came to my stateroom. I slipped my gown off, because I’d spilled some wine on it. Carl and I are going to have a showdown. He’ll be back any minute— What’s all the commotion about? The ship’s jumping around so I can hardly stand up. We haven’t run into anything, have we? Look, there’s a light over there on the water! And look at the searchlights!”

Mason nodded, watched her while she hooked up her dress, and said, “I’m particularly interested in finding out about where your husband went and what he did.”

“Look here, Mr. Mason,” she said, facing him, “I’ve been married twice. I’m not exactly a prude. But I’m not accustomed to having men burst into my room while I’m dressing. I let you in because your voice indicated you wanted to talk with me on a matter of the greatest importance. Now, if you’ll please explain...”

Mason said, “I heard the sound of a shot. An officer tells me there’s a man overboard. Does that mean anything to you?”

For a moment she stared at him with wide, frightened eyes, then she crossed to the drawer of a dresser, jerked it open and stood looking down at the empty interior.

“What is it?” Mason asked.

“Carl’s gun,” she said. “It’s gone.”

“Now let’s get this straight,” Mason said. “You and Carl were going to have a showdown?”

“Yes.”

“Did you tell him what you wanted to talk with him about?”

“I told him that I wasn’t going to stand for a lot of vague generalities any longer; that I wanted to know exactly where he obtained that money, and that I wanted him to turn it over to me.”

“What did he say?”

“He said we’d talk it over later.”

“He wouldn’t discuss it then?”

“No. You see, just as we were finishing dinner, a bellboy handed him a note. Carl said he had to see a man on some business. That broke up our little dinner party. Carl and I came to the stateroom. I told him I was going to have things out with him, that for Belle’s sake I wanted that money. He said he’d be back within five minutes, but he simply had to see someone on a matter of the greatest importance.”

“There was a gun in that drawer?”

“Yes.”

“When did you see it last?”

“This afternoon.”

“It was Carl’s gun?”

“Yes.”

“How long has he had it?”

“About two months. When he started carrying large sums of money with him, he thought he needed a gun for protection.”

Mason said, “I happen to know that your husband has been in touch with Evelyn Whiting, the nurse. I think he’s tried to reach some agreement with her so she wouldn’t disclose his real identity. I don’t know what she told him. It’s a fine situation for blackmail-if she’s that type. Do you suppose he could have gone to meet her — and taken a gun with him?”

“I don’t know.”

Her hand clutched his arm. “Mr. Mason,” she said, “I want you to promise me that you’ll stand by me, will you? Please, for Belle’s sake.”

Mason hesitated a moment, then said, “Okay, I’ll see you through. Now, let me ask you some more questions before Carl gets here. Just how much have you told him?”

“I told him that Mr. Dail, the president of the Products Refining Company, was aboard. It seems that wasn’t any news to him. I told him Mr. Dail was willing to make some concessions if Carl made restitution. He told me I was absolutely crazy. He said that if I ever approached Dail with any proposition like that, he’d kill me. He said he hadn’t taken a cent from the Products Refining Company. So then I told him that Celinda Dail was looking for an opportunity to expose Belle... and that made him furious.”

“What else?” Mason asked.

“That’s all,” she said. “That’s all I had time to tell him.”

“Was that after he received this note, or before?”

Afterwards. We had left the others and entered the stateroom. I talked to him for just a minute or two. Then I stepped into the closet to get out another dress and I heard him slam the door.”

“And he told you he had to see a man?”

“Yes. He said he’d be back in five minutes and have it out with me.”

Mason said, “I think we’d better go on deck and find out what’s happened. You’re certain Carl took the gun?”

“Yes. I heard him slam the drawer in the dresser. I didn’t realize what it meant at the time. If... if somebody’s overboard, can they find him — her?”

“It’s a pretty slim gamble,” Mason told her. “There’s a heavy sea running. They might swing the ship broadside to the wind and launch boats in the lee, but I don’t think they’ll do it until they have something definite to go on. They’ll play searchlights on the water, throw flares overboard, and keep a sharp lookout. They certainly won’t risk men’s lives in an open boat unless there’s some indication the person’s still alive — and don’t forget that a shot was fired.”

“Do you suppose it could be Mr. Dail?” she asked. “Oh, Heavens! Carl wouldn’t have done that!”

“There’s no use speculating,” Mason told her. “Let’s get on deck. I want to find Carl.”

“And you’ll stand by me?” she asked.

“I’ll stand by you for Belle’s sake. But I’m not going to represent your husband.”

She nodded. “Come on, let’s go.”

As they were opening the door, Mrs. Newberry suddenly gave a gasp of dismay.

Mason turned to her. “What is it?” he asked.

“I just thought of something,” she said, in a voice which was hardly above a whisper.

“Go ahead,” Mason told her, “talk fast. What is it?”

“Carl,” she said. “Carl knew we were having a showdown. He knew he couldn’t keep up the pretense any longer, and he knew that Belle’s happiness depended... Oh, Mr. Mason, you don’t suppose he went up on deck and... and...”

“Committed suicide?” Mason asked.

She nodded.

“What do you think?” Mason asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I’m afraid... That would leave Belle in the clear, wouldn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”

“They couldn’t do anything about that embezzlement, could they?”

“They can’t arrest a dead man, if that’s what you mean.”

“Well, that’s what I meant.”

“If Carl left any money, they could go after that.”

“How about the insurance? Could they touch it?”

“How much insurance?”

“Fifty thousand.”

“In whose favor?”

“Mine.”

“Taken out when?”

“Two months ago.”

Mason said, “Look here, Mrs. Newberry, if it should appear your husband had embezzled money, would you want to make reimbursement to the company out of the insurance?”

“No, not unless I had to.”

“I asked the question,” Mason said drily, “to get your viewpoint. The policy doubtless contains a clause making it void if suicide takes place within one year from the date of the policy.”

There was dismay in her eyes. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“Come on, Mr. Mason, let’s go up on deck. Please stay with me.”

Mason opened the-stateroom door. They started down the corridor and were nearing the stairs when Della Street swung around the corner and almost ran into them. A cloak over her shoulders dripped rivulets of water. Beneath the edge of a beret, tendrils of hair were plastered to the sides of her head.

“I’ve been looking all over for you, Chief,” she said.

“I was up on deck,” he told her, “but a man fell overboard and I came...”

“I know,” she interrupted. “Good Lord, I was frightened! You said you’d be up on the promenade deck, and I couldn’t find you. I suppose you dashed down to Mrs. Newberry?”

“Yes,” he said.

She raised her eyes to his significantly. “I wanted to see you first, Chief.”

An officer came running along the corridor. “Will the passengers kindly go to their cabins at once,” he called out, “and stay there until you’re summoned. A man’s overboard. We’re doing everything that can be done. Passengers will simply be in the way. The purser is making a roll call, to find out who’s missing.”

Mason took Mrs. Newberry’s arm and turned her back toward the cabin. “After all,” he said, “that’s probably the best thing to do.”

“But I can’t stand this suspense,” she told him. “I can’t simply wait in the cabin.”

Mason lowered his voice and said, “You don’t want Belle to be known as the daughter of an embezzler, do you?”

“No. Of course not.”

“How would you like it,” Mason asked, “if she were the daughter of a murderer?”

“But I don’t understand...”

“Can’t you see?” Mason interrupted. “You don’t dare do anything which would attract attention to Carl. So far as you’re concerned, you’re going to act just like any other passenger.”

She hesitated a moment, then turned and started back toward the cabin. Della Street crowded close to Perry Mason. “Are you going to represent her?” she asked. “If she’s mixed up in what happened on deck?”

Mason nodded. “ She isn’t mixed up in anything. I won’t represent her husband, but I’ll see her through.”

“I wish you hadn’t told her that,” Della said.

Mrs. Newberry paused at the sound of their whispered voices. “Is there,” she asked, turning toward them anxiously, “anything I should know? Anything you’re keeping from me?”

Della Street smiled reassuringly and said, “No.”

Mason held the cabin door open and was about to go in the room after them, when he heard running steps, and Belle Newberry, holding the skirt of her evening dress up over her arm, came running into the corridor, staggered, swayed, was flung against the wall as the ship rolled, pushed herself upright, and came running once more.

“Oh, Mr. Mason!” she called. “Is Mother in there?”

Mason nodded, held the door open for her, and, when she had entered, closed it. “Oh, Moms,” Belle said, “someone’s overboard! I was so frightened. I thought perhaps... Where’s Pops, Mumsy?... I’m sopping wet, I ran out looking for him and couldn’t find him!”

“Oh, he’ll be along in a minute,” Mrs. Newberry said.

“Where is he now?”

“He went up to see someone — at the bar probably”

“But, Mumsy, someone’s overboard. He went upstairs, and I’ve dashed madly all over the ship, out on deck, and...”

Mrs. Newberry said, “Now, don’t be a foolish little girl, Belle. You know your father wouldn’t go out on deck in this weather, and, if he did, he’d be far too careful to fall overboard. It’s probably someone from the second class or the steerage, someone who’d been drinking too much.”

“Well, where is Pops? He should be here. They’re sending all passengers back to their staterooms.”

“Exactly,” Mrs. Newberry remarked, taking a carved ivory cigarette case from her purse. “And Carl is lost in the jam of people on the stairways. You know perfectly well he’s not one to elbow his way. No, thank you, Mr. Mason, I have a match. Don’t bother.”

She scratched a match with a deft motion and held it to the cigarette. Her hand trembled slightly.

Belle Newberry, standing in the doorway, said, “I wish Pops would come... Good Lord, where’s Roy?”

“In his stateroom, probably,” Mason said.

“I’ll be back,” she told them, and dashed out into the corridor.

Mrs. Newberry came over to join Mason and Della Street in front of the porthole. Searchlights sent beams crisscrossing out over the water. Floating flares tossed up and down on the angry waves. Mrs. Newberry put her hand on Mason’s shoulder. “I can’t bear to think of any human being out in that awful ocean. I... ” She broke off, choked back a sob and walked away.

Mason continued to stand at the porthole, staring moodily out at the tossing water. His legs, spread wide apart, braced his body against the motion of the ship.

With the slowing engines, sounds had been intensified, the creak of the ship, the rush of waves against the sides, the pound of feet running along the decks.

Della Street walked across the stateroom, to look down the corridor, and said, “The captain and the purser are coming this way, Chief... Here’s Belle... Was he all right, Belle?”

Belle Newberry nodded breathlessly. “... Lord, what a scare!... Yes... He’s sitting in his stateroom... Where’s Dad, Moms? ”

Her mother said, “He’ll be along any minute, Belle.”

The captain and the purser pushed past Della Street and into the cabin.

“I’m sorry,” the captain said, “I’m Performing an unpleasant duty. You people know why we’ve turned around, don’t you?”

“We’d heard there was a man overboard, ” Mrs. Newberry said.

“Yes,” the captain said. “When did you last see your husband, Mrs. Newberry?”

“Why, I left him right after dinner.”

“Where?”

“He came to the stateroom with me, then left almost immediately. Why, Captain? Tell me, you don’t... Have you... That is...”

The captain said grimly, “We think your husband’s missing. Do you know anything about it?”

“Why, what do you mean?”

The captain glanced at the purser. “Mrs. Newberry, are you absolutely certain you haven’t seen your husband since he left this stateroom?”

“Why, yes, of course.”

“And you came directly here to your stateroom after you left the dining saloon?”

“That’s right.”

“Do you know where your husband went?”

“I think... I think he went up to the bar to see a man. I don’t know.”

“You didn’t go with him?”

“No.”

“You didn’t go up on deck with him?”

“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.”

“And he was on deck?”

“Yes.”

The captain regarded Mason thoughtfully for a few moments, then turned back to Mrs. Newberry. “I notice you’ve changed your dress, Mrs. Newberry.”

Her eyes flashed indignation. “Will you kindly tell me,” she demanded, “what business that is of yours, and if you know anything about my husband, please say so.”

The captain said doggedly, “I want to know why you changed your dress.”

“I shall report you for impertinence,” she said coldly.

The captain hesitated for a moment, then blurted, “I’m going to inspect your closet, Mrs. Newberry — with your permission.”

“Well,” she snapped, “of all the nerve! I most certainly won’t give you permission.”

“I’m sorry,” the captain said, “because I’m going to search it anyway.”

Mason stepped toward the closet door, regarding the captain with puzzled eyes. “Just a minute, Captain. I think we’re entitled to know exactly what it is you’re looking for. After all, the law makes a person’s property safe from unreasonable search.”

The captain said shortly, “I don’t care to hear any law, Mr. Mason. This is my ship. On board it I’m the law. I’m responsible for what I do. I’m going to look in that closet. Get back out of the way.”

For a moment Mason and the captain locked eyes, the captain’s weatherbeaten countenance showed dogged determination. Mason’s granite-hard features devoid of expression. Then Mason stepped to one side and said, “You’re taking the responsibility for this, Captain.”

“I’m taking the responsibility.”

Mrs. Newberry flung herself toward the closet. “You can’t do it! It’s an outrage! Mr. Mason, why don’t you stop him?”

The lawyer, trained from years of courtroom experience to make lightning-fast appraisals of character, said simply, “I can’t stop him, Mrs. Newberry. He’s going to search that closet.”

She stood with her back against the closet door, her arms outspread. “Well,” she said, “ I can stop him!”

The lawyer stared at her intently until her defiant eyes shifted to his.

“If anything significant should be in that closet, you’re not helping things any,” he warned.

“I don’t know what he’s looking for, and I don’t care,” she blazed. “It’s the principle of the thing. The captain should be out on deck, saving the man who’s fallen overboard, instead of snooping through my things!”

The captain said, “I’m going to search that closet.” He moved forward. “Will you get away from that door, Madam?”

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.”

“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.

Belle Newberry said, “Well, I’m not going to take it easy! I think this is an outrage and an insult to Mother and to me. I demand an explanation! And I want to know what you know about my father and why you think he’s missing.”

“I’m sorry, ” the captain said, facing her, “this thing may not have been an accident. Now do you understand?”

“You mean... that...”

Mason said, “Let’s get this straight, Captain. Are you insinuating that Mr. Newberry may have committed suicide?”

The captain’s eyes met those of Perry Mason. “I mean,” he said, “that we have information leading us to believe Carl Newberry was murdered.”

Mrs. Newberry stifled a half scream. Belle moved to her mother’s side.

Mason said, “Wouldn’t it be better, Captain, if you were to concentrate your efforts on trying to find the man who has gone overboard and postpone making this unwarranted search until later?”

“I’m doing everything in my power,” the captain said. “A man doesn’t stand much chance in this sea. I have a boat in readiness, with a volunteer crew at their stations. I’m not going to risk lives needlessly. We’re going back over our course. We’ve thrown out flares and life buoys. I don’t think there’s one chance in a thousand. I’ve told the first officer what to do, and he’s doing it. This investigation I’m making here is something I have to do myself. If you people will cooperate, it’ll be easier. If you won’t cooperate, I’m going ahead anyway, Now, if you will stand over there near the porthole, I’m going to search this cabin.”

He herded them into the comer by the porthole.

Methodically, carefully, the captain and the purser opened drawers, checked the contents, looked in bags and trunks. The purser raised the mattress of one of the twin beds. The captain said, “Wait a minute, Mr. Buchanan,” thrust his arm under the mattress, and dragged out a chamois-skin money belt. It, too, was wet. The contents bulged in the closed pockets.

“Can you tell us what this is, Mrs. Newberry?”

“Certainly,” she said, “it’s a money belt.”

“Can you tell us what’s in it?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“Can you tell us how it got wet?”

“I can, but I won’t.”

The captain said, “I’m going to find out what’s in this money belt. Would you like to help me count the money, Mrs. Newberry?”

She stood defiantly silent.

The captain shifted his eyes to Perry Mason. “You are her lawyer?”

“Yes.”

“Will you help me count this?”

Mason said tersely, “It’s your party, Captain.”

The captain nodded to the purser. “Very well, Mr. Buchanan, we’ll count the money.”

They opened the pockets of the money belt. The captain placed the contents of each pocket on the bed, where it was in plain sight of the people in the room. Somewhat clumsily, his sturdy, competent fingers separated the bills of large denomination. He and the purser added the total. “Eighteen thousand, seven hundred and fifty dollars,” the captain announced.

“This money is yours, Mrs. Newberry?” the captain asked.

Mason said, “Does it make any difference whether it belongs to her or to her husband, Captain?”

“It may,” the captain said. “I want her to answer that question.”

She said, “It’s...”

“You don’t have to answer any question you don’t want to, ” Mason warned.

“It’s my money,” she declared vehemently.

“Where did you get it?” the captain asked.

“That,” she said, “is something else which is none of your business.”

The captain frowningly regarded the money belt which he held in his hand. “How did this belt become wet?”

She remained silent.

“Can you tell me how long it’s been under that mattress?”

Again she made no answer.

The captain raised the mattress. “You’ll notice that the mattress isn’t wet, except for a spot or two where the belt touched it.”

Mrs. Newberry remained defiantly silent.

The captain lowered the mattress. “I’m sorry this was necessary, Mrs. Newberry. I’m taking over the custody of this money. The purser will give you a receipt for it and keep it in the ship’s safe.”

The purser took a notebook from his pocket, scribbled a receipt, signed it, and handed it to Mrs. Newberry. She snatched it from his fingers, tore it across, dropped the pieces to the floor, and stamped on them.

“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.

She hesitated for a moment, then raised her eyes to his. “Chief,” she said, “I don’t want you mixed up with that woman! Helping Belle was all right. I hate to see you mixed up with the mother.”

Mason laughed. “Good Lord, Della! Don’t let the captain’s attitude prejudice you. Frankly, I don’t know just what he’s trying to get at, but if he had an idea she carried her husband up to the deck and tossed him overboard, he’s having a pipe dream.”

She smiled. “Okay, Chief, let’s go to your stateroom and you can buy a drink.”

“Sold,” he told her, “and you’ll get over this silly prejudice against Mrs. Newberry.”

“As a client,” Della said, “I’m simply crazy about her. But... if she hadn’t been a client... Oh, well, skip it.”

Chapter 6

Monday morning found the ship slowly throbbing its way toward the docks, while representatives of the sheriffs office held mysterious conferences with the ship’s officers.

The passengers, hushed by the tragedy, whispering bits of gossip which were magnified and distorted with each surreptitious repetition, stood huddled in groups about the deck.

Roy Hungerford sought out Perry Mason.

“Look here, Mr. Mason,” he said, “I don’t pretend to know what this is all about. But I want you to know where I stand.”

“All right. Where do you stand?” Mason asked.

“Mrs. Newberry impresses me as being a fine woman,” Hungerford said. “She’s absolutely incapable of having murdered her husband. And Belle’s one girl in a million.”

Mason nodded.

“Don’t you suppose,” Hungerford asked, “that you could get the captain to drop this silly business and—”

“No,” Mason interrupted, “not as matters stand. I hear there’s a witness who claims to have seen Mr. and Mrs. Newberry on deck together shortly before nine o’clock. The officers are being particularly secretive about it. Apparently they don’t want me to know who this witness is, or—”

“I can tell you who the witness is, if that’ll be any help,” Hungerford said eagerly.

“It’ll help a lot,” Mason told him. “They’re keeping her under cover.”

Hungerford said, “She’s Aileen Fell.”

“You mean the spectacled schoolteacher?”

“Yes, the one from Santa Barbito who’s on a six months’ leave of absence — nervous breakdown or something.”

“How do you know?” Mason asked.

“I talked with the girl who shares her cabin. She said Miss Fell had hysterics and the doctor had to give her an opiate. The doctor advised her not to talk with anything about what she saw, but she talked to her roommate before the doctor came. She’s pretty nervous. Personally, I think she’s crazy.”

Mason said musingly, “Let’s see, She’s about thirty-four or five, has funny eyes and a muddy skin. That the one?”

“She gives her age as twenty-nine,” Hungerford said. “She’s peculiar, you know — always walking around deck by herself.”

Mason said, “Yes, I’ve seen her a number of times. She wears flat-heeled shoes, a short walking skirt, and forges determinedly around the deck every night after dinner.”

“That’s right — always walking by herself. They say she walks two miles every night.”

Mason said musingly, “I know the type, finds out how many laps to the mile, religiously counts every lap... Did she really see Mrs. Newberry on deck?”

“She swears she did. She was standing just below the boat deck, huddled up in a dark ram coat. The door opened, and Mr. and Mrs. Newberry came out. They walked past her without seeing her. She was within three or four feet of them and heard Newberry say something about it being necessary to handle things his way. He told Mrs. Newberry to keep her fingers out of his affairs, and started for the boat deck. Mrs. Newberry followed, and he kicked at her and yelled, ‘Keep back!’ but she went on up behind him.

“After a little while Aileen Fell heard a scuffle on the deck above. She climbed the stairs to the boat deck. She told her roommate she heard a pistol shot as she was climbing the stairs. When she got on deck, she claims she saw Mrs. Newberry leaning over Newberry’s body, and then saw Mrs. Newberry drag the body toward the rail. Just about that time, the ship gave a big lurch to port, and Aileen Fell took a spill. She thought she was going overboard. Somewhere in there she heard a second shot. She started to scream and kept on screaming. After she got to her feet, she saw Mrs. Newberry running along the deck. Newberry had disappeared.”

“So she kept right on screaming?” Mason asked.

“That’s right.”

“It must have been dark up there on the boat deck,” Mason said. “She couldn’t...”

“Now, that’s the funny thing,” Hungerford told him. “Aileen Fell swears there was a light in the hospital and the hospital door was open. You know, the hospital’s really a penthouse. It’s up there forward of the gymnasium, and just aft of the officers’ quarters.”

“And there was a light on in the hospital?” Mason asked, frowning.

“That’s what Aileen Fell says. Of course, I got it second hand. She was hysterical when she told her roommate. Personally, I don’t put one bit of faith in what she says she saw. But it started the captain searching Mrs. Newberry’s cabin and it’s going to put Belle’s mother in an awful spot.”

“Did the captain search the hospital?” Mason asked.

“Not then, I don’t think,” Hungerford said. “I heard he did later on.”

Mason frowned. “You know, Hungerford, this thing, just doesn’t make sense.”

“Of course it doesn’t,” Hungerford declared. “Miss Fell is crazy. Ida Johnson, her roommate, will do anything she can to help Belle. She doesn’t like Aileen Fell, and is crazy about Belle. She says Miss Fell is one of those opinionated people who make all sorts of positive statements, and then lie to back them up if necessary.”

“Did you get her address?” Mason asked.

Hungerford nodded, passed over a slip of paper. “She wrote it down for me. She said she’d prefer to talk with you some time after we dock. She’ll do everything she can.”

Mason took the slip of paper, said, “I’m going in now to talk with Mrs. Newberry.”

“I wanted to, but they wouldn’t let me see her,” Hungerford said. “Would you mind telling her... well... where I stand, Mr. Mason?”

“I’ll tell her,” Mason said, gripping Roy Hungerford’s arm, “and I wish you luck, Roy.”

A guard was standing in front of Mrs. Newberry’s cabin. He nodded to Mason. “I want to see my client,” Mason said.

The guard stood to one side. Mason knocked on the door.

“Who is it?” Mrs. Newberry asked.

“Mason, ” he said.

She opened the door. Her eyes showed that she’d had a sleepless night. “Come in,” she said, and dropped dejectedly into a chair as the lawyer shut the door.

Mason sat down beside her. “We’ll be docking within half an hour,” he said. “Are you prepared for it?”

“As much as I’ll ever be.”

“Police will push you around. Newspaper men will give you the works. They’ll question you and keep questioning you.”

“Of course,” she said listlessly. “I guess I can take it.”

“Are you going to talk?” Mason asked.

“Should I?”

“No.”

“Very well, then, I won’t.”

“It’s going to take considerable will power.”

She raised her voice nervously. “I said I wouldn’t talk — I won’t talk! ”

Mason studied her for a few seconds, then said, “Do you want to hear something?”

“Good news or bad?”

“Bad.”

“All right. Let’s hear it.

Mason said, “Aileen Fell, that schoolteacher from Santa Barbito, claims she saw you and your husband go up to the boat deck. You’d been having an argument about something. After a few minutes she followed you up there. She heard a pistol shot as she was on the stairs. Then she saw you bending over your husband’s body and dragging it toward the rail. Then she heard a second shot.”

“She’s a liar!” Mrs. Newberry said.

Mason said tonelessly, “I thought perhaps you might want to change the story you told me.”

She said indignantly, “Well, I don’t. That girl’s a liar. She’s crazy anyway. I’m telling you the truth. I went up on deck with my husband. I wanted to talk with him and he was trying to avoid me. I told him I could save Belle’s happiness if he’d give me the money and let me handle things my own way. He said to go back to the cabin and wait for him.”

“How about the money belt?” Mason asked.

“He gave it to me.”

“When?”

“After I went up on the boat deck. He said, ‘Here’s the money, but don’t do anything with it until I get back. I want Belle to have it all for her own. You remember — it’s Belle’s‘ — I can’t remember his exact words. I tried to get him to come back to the cabin with me. He tried to strike me. That was too much. I ran downstairs, went to my cabin and started changing my clothes.”

“How did you leave the boat deck?” Mason asked.

“By the forward stairway on the starboard side.”

“Did anyone see you?”

“No.”

“Did you meet anyone while you were going to your cabin?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Why did you tell the captain you hadn’t been on deck?”

“Because I felt certain that Carl had jumped overboard and I didn’t want to be mixed up in it.”

“Do you mean that when you left him, you thought he was going to...?”

“Don’t be silly,” she interrupted. “I’m not a fool, and please don’t mistake me for one. After I went to the cabin and heard the five short blasts of the whistle, I knew someone had gone overboard. Naturally, I guessed who that someone must have been. There I was, standing with my wet clothes on the floor and my husband’s money belt in my hand. I knew what it was going to look like as well as you did. So I decided to change my clothes and hide the money belt.”

“Where was your husband when you left him?”

“On the boat deck.”

“You know where the hospital is up there?”

“There’s the little cluster of rooms in a cabin off by itself, with...?”

“That’s the place,” Mason said.

“Yes, I know where it is.”

“Was there a light in the hospital?”

“No,” she said, “I don’t think so. It was dark up there.”

“Did you see anyone else on the boat deck?”

“No.”

“And you’re sure there wasn’t a light in the hospital?”

“Quite certain.”

Mason said, “Look up at me. I want to impress something on you.”

“Go ahead,” she said, avoiding his eyes.

“No, look up here.”

She raised sullen, defiant eyes.

Mason said, “I want you to listen carefully to everything I say.”

“Go on and say it,” she said impatiently, “and don’t beat around the bush.

Mason said, “You told the captain you didn’t go on deck. You insisted that you’d left the dining saloon, gone to your stateroom, and your husband had left you there. Now then, you’re going to have to change that story. Public sentiment is a funny thing. You can change your story once and get away with it, if you have some good explanation as to why you didn’t tell the truth the first time. But you can never change your story twice. The next time you talk, you’re going to have to tell the truth, and you’re going to need some mighty good explanation of why you didn’t tell the truth the first time. Now then, don’t make any other statement until you’re prepared to go the whole way. I want the truth and the whole truth... Where did you get that money?”

“My husband gave it to me.”

“When?”

“After I’d gone up to the boat deck.”

“ Why did he give it to you?”

“Because I told him I had to have it to protect Belle’s interests.”

“Did he intimate that he was going to commit suicide?” Mason asked.

“Certainly not.”

“You didn’t have any idea he was going to jump overboard?”

“No, not then.”

“He didn’t try to jump overboard while you were with him?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Did you have a revolver?”

“No, of course not. That woman’s a liar.”

Mason said, “Look here, Mrs. Newberry. Suppose your husband told you he was going to commit suicide. Suppose you tried to stop him. Suppose he produced a revolver and shot himself, despite anything you could do. Suppose you tried to drag him to the stairs so you could get help, and suppose the ship, at that time, took a heavy roll to port which sent you sliding down against the port rail, still holding on to your husband’s body. You knew you were going to have to summon help. Would you, under those circumstances, have decided it would be better to remove his money belt before you gave the alarm?”

“Probably,” she said, “but that isn’t what happened.”

“And if you had, and your husband had recovered consciousness while you were doing it, started to struggle and gone overboard, then what would you have done?”

“I don’t know,” she said.

Mason said, “Wouldn’t you have given the alarm of ‘Man overboard’?”

“I might have.”

“Well,” Mason said, “ I think you did give the alarm.

She shifted her eyes and said, “Well, I didn’t.”

Mason said, “The Fell woman was up there on the boat deck, screaming. She was frightened and hysterical. Her screams could never have been heard on the bridge, but the telephone operator says some woman called from the social hall and said to report to the bridge there was a man overboard, and then hung up the telephone without giving any particulars. She seemed to be in a hurry to go some place or do something. Now, were you that woman?”

“No.”

Mason, staring thoughtfully at her said, “I think you were.”

“What makes you think that?” she asked, avoiding his eyes.

“You’re the only woman on the ship who could have put through that call and who wouldn’t have come forward and admitted it.

“Well, I didn’t do it.”

Mason said, “You have two defenses. One of them is that you had an argument with your husband on the boat deck. He tried to strike you. You went below to your cabin. After you left, some other person stepped out of the hospital and shot him. You could have used that as a defense if it hadn’t been for lying to the captain and trying to conceal that money belt. Your other defense is that your husband shot himself and plunged overboard after giving you the money belt. You can’t make that defense stick unless you can break down the testimony of Aileen Fell.”

“So what?” she asked.

“So,” Mason said slowly, “I’m not going to let you commit yourself until I know two things.”

“What are the two things?”

“One of them,” Mason said, “is whether Aileen Fell’s story will stand the test of cross-examination. The other one is why you’re lying about putting in that call from the social hall.”

“You don’t trust me?” she asked.

Mason said, “I’m afraid to trust you. There’s too much at stake. I’m afraid to let you tell your story until I know you’re telling the truth. You lied once because you thought you could get away with it. You’ll do it again if you think you can get away with it. And don’t overlook the fact that you can’t tell your story to the officers without telling them why you wanted the money. You can’t do that without disclosing that your husband was Carl Moar and that you thought the money had been embezzled.”

That’s going to come out anyway,” she said in a dull, hopeless voice.

“It’s going to come out that he’s Carl Moar,” Mason said, “but it isn’t going to come out for a few hours. And during those few hours, I’m going to get busy with the Products Refining Company. There’s something queer about that embezzlement. Rooney, the head auditor, holds his job because he’s related to the president. I have an idea he may be incompetent and the books may be in such shape he can’t show definitely who took the money. Now, if that’s the case and he knows Moar’s dead, he’ll make a flat accusation and perhaps doctor up the records to make that accusation stick. That will save his own face. But if there’s some legitimate reason why the Products Refining Company has been afraid to get out a felony warrant for Carl Moar, I’m going to find out what that is and spike their guns before they realize he’s dead.”

“Then you mean the embezzlement would never come out?”

He nodded.

“That would mean everything to Belle,” she said.

“Yes,” Mason said. “ If I can find some weakness in their auditing system and capitalize on that weakness before they know it’s Carl Moar who’s dead. But that means I’ll have to dash out just as soon as we dock. It means I’ll have to leave you to the mercy of the police officers and the newspaper men.”

“All right,” she said, her chin coming up, “I can take it. You do what’s necessary to help Belle.”

“You see,” Mason told her, “I’ve arranged for a detective to meet me at the dock. We’ll fly to Los Angeles and get busy. When I fight, I don’t stand up and block the other man’s punches. I try to find his weak point and hit him there. Now, in order to build up a good case against you, the district attorney will claim you wanted to get that money from Carl so you could get immunity for your husband, thereby saving Belle the unhappiness incident to exposure. It’ll take the district attorney a little while to get all that motivation pieced together. By the time he does, I want to have brought enough pressure to bear on the Products Refining Company so they won’t dare to make the embezzlement charge.”

Mason moved toward the door. She came to his side. There was animation in her eyes. “You can depend on me, Mr. Mason,” she said. “I’ll sit tight. They can’t drag a word out of me.”

“All right,” Mason told her. “Don’t answer any questions about your past. Don’t give them any clue which will enable them to link your husband with Carl Moar. Every minute you can delay them will give me that much more time within which to work. And,” he said grimly, as he opened the door, “I’ll need it.”

Mason found Belle Newberry in her stateroom with Della Street.

“How goes it, Belle?” he asked.

“Okay so far,” she told him. “They questioned me up one side and down the other.”

“What did you tell them?”

“I told them they weren’t officers of justice,” she said, “but persecutors. I refused to answer any of their questions. I said that anyone who would accuse my mother of a crime like that was a monster.”

Mason’s eyes were sympathetic. “I’m sorry I had to tell you to play it that way, Belle,” he said, “but for certain reasons it was the only thing to do.”

“You mean that if I told them Carl’s real name, they’d find out about that lottery and—”

“Something like that,” Mason said. “In order to build up a defense, I want a few hours during which no one will even suspect that Carl Newberry was really Carl Moar.”

“Will a few hours be enough?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Mason told her. “I’ll do my best.”

“Celinda Dail has been trying to see her,” Della Street said. “She’s full of sympathy and—”

“Keep Belle away from Celinda,” Mason said. “Tell everybody that Belle’s upset and isn’t to be questioned that you’re sorry, but she can see no one.”

“That’s what I’ve done,” Della Street said. “Of course, the officers insisted on coming in.”

“Tell me, Mr. Mason,” Belle asked. “How about Moms? Is she holding up?”

“She’s holding up,” Mason said.

“What’s this about some witness having seen her on deck?”

Mason made a gesture of dismissal. “Pay no attention to it, Belle. You can hear all sorts of stories.” He turned to Della Street. “Della, I want to find out who sent that note to Carl Newberry. The bellboy says he got it from the purser. The purser says he was doing some book work and when he looked up the note was lying on the glass shelf in front of his window. On the envelope had been written, ‘Please deliver immediately to Carl Newberry.’ The purser called a bellboy and told him to deliver the note.”

Belle said, “I think I know what was in that note, Mr. Mason.”

“What?” he asked.

“There was just three words scribbled on a piece of paper with a lead pencil. It said simply, ‘Promenade Port Okay,’ and there was no signature.”

“Could you tell if it was a man’s writing?”

“No. It was scribbled in pencil. I got the impression it was a woman’s writing. That’s why I didn’t say anything at the time. I knew Carl wouldn’t carry on an affair, but I thought perhaps Moms might get jealous.”

Mason said, “It wouldn’t do any harm for you to give that-information to the officers, Belle, but be absolutely certain not to tell them anything about your past, where you went to school, where you’ve been living, or anything about it. And, incidentally, do your hair differently. You look too much like Winnie Joyce with your hair done that way. The officers may trace you through that resemblance.”

Della Street reached for a comb. “I’ll fix that,” she said.

Chapter 7

Paul Drake, head of the Drake Detective Agency, was waiting at the dock. His long legs lifted his face, with its filmy, expressionless eyes, and droll grin, over the heads of the crowd which pushed against the customs barrier.

Mason winked surreptitiously at the detective, rushed his baggage through customs, parried questions from a group of reporters, and pushed Della Street into a taxicab.

Paul Drake, loitering at the curb, apparently an innocent bystander, popped into the cab just before the driver slammed the door.

“Make time to the airport,” Mason ordered.

Drake said, “I have a chartered plane waiting, Perry... My gosh, you two had better take a vacation every six months. It’s taken years from you both. Della looks positively immature.”

Mason grinned and said, “No go, Paul. She’s been kidded by experts since you’ve seen her. Spill the dope, and spill it fast.”

“What’s this about the murder?” Drake asked.

“I’ll tell you about that after you tell me about the Products Refining Company.”

Drake pulled a notebook from his pocket. “There’s a shortage of twenty-five grand. It was discovered by C. Denton Rooney, the head auditor, a couple of days after Carl Moar failed to show up. Rooney accused Moar of embezzlement and wanted the company to have a warrant issued immediately, but the lawyer who handles things for the corporation is a conservative chap. There’s a nigger in the woodpile somewhere. I don’t know what it is. They’ve engaged outside accountants to make an audit of the books and hired a firm of private detectives to pick up Moar’s trail. So far, as nearly as I can understand, the detectives have drawn a blank.”

“I haven’t met Rooney myself. I talked with Jackson, who had a talk with Rooney and got no place. Jackson hates him, says he’s a pompous little bantam rooster; that he’s absolutely incompetent and holds down a four hundred and sixty dollar a month job because he married the sister of the president’s wife.”

“She’s dead, isn’t she?” Mason asked.

“You mean Dail’s wife?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, she’s dead. Rooney’s wife is very much alive. She rules Rooney with an iron hand. At home he’s nothing but a doormat. At the office he’s a dictator. You know the type.”

“Yes,” Mason said. “What have you got on him, anything?”

“He’s buying flowers for a blonde,” Drake said dejectedly. “That’s everything we can find out about him.”

“Who’s the blonde?”

“A Margie Trenton, who lives in apartment 14B, at 3618 Pinerow Drive. Does that mean anything to you?”

“Not a thing,” Mason said. “She doesn’t fit into the picture anywhere, so far as I know.”

“Well, I put a man to work on her,” Drake said, “and got nowhere. Here’s a picture snapped with a candid camera.”

Mason looked at the enlargement printed on glossy paper. which the detective handed him, grinned and said, “I’ll say it’s candid! Where was this taken?”

“While she was sunbathing at the beach.”

“She looks expensive,” Mason observed, and, after a moment, added, “and interesting.”

Della Street, studying the picture with that skeptical appraisal which one woman gives to another, said, “She spends money on herself, and she wasn’t wearing that suit to attract sunshine so much as attention. Notice that wrist watch?”

Mason studied the wrist watch. “Any dope on it, Paul?” he asked.

“I can probably get some,” Drake said. “Why?”

Mason said, “We’re going to make a play on that wrist watch, Paul, and we’re going to have to work fast.”

“What sort of a play?” Drake asked.

“I don’t know yet,” Mason told him, “but we’re going to get Rooney in some sort of a jam. The only way he can get himself out is by giving us the low-down on that embezzlement and, using that as ammunition, we’ll scare the Products Refining Company into keeping its mouth shut.”

Drake said, “I can tell you what I think is the joker, Perry. The Products Refining Company, and a couple of other companies, have an interlocking directorate and a holding company. There are a lot of accounts payable and accounts receivable. Some of the subsidiary companies pay in money and others borrow that money and give notes for the indebtedness. Then they gradually retire the notes, and that money is borrowed by another company, and everybody gets dizzy.”

“You mean they’re dodging income tax?” Mason asked.

“Sure. The holding company juggles cash around. The Products Refining Company is in on that. I think there’s a lawyer back of the whole business somewhere, but he isn’t coming forward to claim any laurel wreaths, if you get me.”

“I get you,” Mason said with a grin. “Now, then, if Charles Whitmore Dail tries to double-cross me, I’ll bring the income tax people down on him like a ton of bricks.”

“You’ve got to have a lot of dope before you can do that,” Drake said.

“And we’ll get the dope from Rooney,” Mason assured him. “We’ll pin something on Rooney.”

“What do you mean by ‘something’?” Drake asked.

“Hell, Paul, we haven’t time to be particular. We’ll frame him. We’ll begin with the wrist watch and smoke him out into the open.”

“Now wait a minute. Perry,” Drake remonstrated. “This chap, Rooney, is a respectable, influential citizen. If he’s playing around with a blonde, that’s his business. If you’re going to jail all the married men who buy flowers for girlfriends, there won’t be enough citizens outside the jails to pay the taxes.”

“There aren’t anyway,” Mason said, grinning.

“Now listen, Perry, you’re going off half-cocked. That girl may have had that wrist watch from a mother or a sweetheart. Rooney may be just a casual acquaintance... Hell, I’ve given you a button and you’ve sewed a vest on it. I tell you you’re playing with dynamite.”

“Well,” Mason told him, “if engineers didn’t play with dynamite, they’d never build railroads, and, after all, it’s just as true to say that the vest is on the button as that the button is on the vest.”

“There’s no use arguing with him, Paul,” Della Street said. “His mental system is deficient in mystery vitamins, and fighting calories, and he’s out to balance his diet all at once.”

Mason looked at his wrist watch and said to the cab-driver, “Squeeze a little more speed out of it, buddy.”

Drake said dejectedly, “This is a hell of a time to try a murder case in San Francisco, Perry. Baldwin Van Densie had a hung jury the other day which looked suspicious to the district attorney. He started men working on a couple of chaps who held out for acquittal, and it looks as though he’s going to get enough evidence to hook Van Densie on jury bribing, it’s thrown a scare into jurors and you can’t get a juryman to vote not guilty now, even on a tentative first ballot. He’s afraid someone will think he’s been bribed. The district attorney is rushing all of his important cases to trial and getting convictions in one-two-three order.”

“That’ll blow over in a week or so,” Mason said. “It always does.”

“Not this time it won’t,” Drake said. “The Bar Association is after Van Densie. They’re having a clean-up on all criminal lawyers. They’re investigating Van Densie’s hung juries and—”

“They can investigate my juries as much as they damn please,” Mason said. “If I can’t get a client acquitted by using my wits, I’ll let him rot in jail.”

“Van Densie hasn’t any wits to use,” Drake said.

“Has anyone said anything about me?” Mason asked.

“Well,” Drake said, “the district attorney has made some remarks about spectacular methods used by an attorney with a statewide reputation which have turned the administration of justice into a burlesque.”

Mason grinned and said, “In other words, Paul, you’re trying to talk me out of making a fast play on that wrist watch.”

“Well,” Drake said, “I’d hate to see you go to jail as soon as you get off the ship.”

Mason said, “We’re fighting a combination that stacks the cards against us, Paul. Newberry, who was murdered on that ship, is really Carl Moar. His stepdaughter is in love with the son of a millionaire. And in addition to that, she’s a dam nice kid. The newspapers will be on the street with her picture this afternoon. By night, the district attorney will know that her stepfather was C. Waker Moar instead of Carl Newberry. When Rooney finds that out, he’s going to cover up his bookkeeping mistakes by heaping disgrace on a dead man. And if there’s been any juggling of funds in order to avoid income tax they’ll push a lot more dirty linen in Moar’s coffin. I’m going to beat them to the punch.”

Della Street smiled across at the detective. “It’s no use, Paul, unless that chartered airplane falls down and goes boom, Margie Trenton is going to have a disagreeable afternoon.”

Drake groaned and said, “And to think that fifteen minutes ago I was actually glad to see you.”

Chapter 8

Drake slid his car to a stop, regarded the imposing facade of the apartment house and said, “This is the place — 3618 Pinerow Drive.”

“It costs something to keep up these apartments, ” Mason observed. “What have you found out about her past, Paul?”

“Not a darn thing,” Drake said. “She passes for twenty-five, is probably around thirty, wears her clothes well and has plenty of clothes to wear. Somewhere she had some sort of a past, but so far we can’t find it. She popped up here as Marjory Trenton.”

“Jewelry?”

“Quite a bit.”

“And you’re sure about the wrist watch?”

“Yes. My man reports she’s had it just about six weeks.”

“You haven’t been able to find out where it was purchased?”

Drake said, “Hell, no. Perry. You had me telephone my office from the San Francisco airport. That wasn’t over three hours ago. A private detective can’t do the things the police can. In the first place, he hasn’t the organization. In the second place, he hasn’t the authority. In the third place...”

Mason opened the car door and said, “Keep your shirt on, Paul. I know what you’re up against. That’s the problem we have to lick. A person is accused of crime, and immediately the whole law-enforcement machinery gets busy unearthing evidence to prove he’s guilty. When he tries to get evidence to prove he’s innocent, he runs up against a brick wall. The authorities are sullen, indifferent or downright hostile. He has to hire his investigators, and naturally he can’t hire a whole police force, no matter how rich he is. That’s why I have to resort to what it has pleased the district attorney to refer to as ‘spectacular practices which have made a burlesque of justice.’”

Drake said, “As far as that’s concerned, I’m not too happy about going through with these amateur theatricals. You’re certain we’re not going to wind up in jail?”

“Reasonably certain,” Mason replied.

“Well, you know the law,” Drake remarked dubiously.

“It isn’t the law,” Mason told him, “it’s human nature. As far as the law’s concerned, we’re coming out on top. There’s a legal risk, but no practical risk.”

“That’s what you think,” Drake said.

Mason said, “The thing I want to be dead certain of is that we haven’t mistaken the type of girl we’re dealing with.”

“Well,” Drake assured him, as they crossed the curb to the apartment house, “times have changed a bit since a girl could take only flowers, candy and books from a boyfriend, but this girl knows which side of the bread has the butter.”

Mason pushed open the door of the lobby. “She’s in, Paul?”

“Sure,” the detective said, “I’ve had a man covering her ever since she got in this morning, about three-thirty, to be exact. That’s the chap in the roadster across the street. He gave me the ‘go ahead’ sign.”

Mason approached the desk. “Will you ring Miss Trenton, please,” he inquired of a bored clerk, “and tell her that a Mr. Drake is very anxious to see her at once upon an important business matter?”

The clerk plugged in a line, and, after a moment, said, “Two gentlemen in the lobby to see you, Miss Trenton. One of them is named Drake... What?... A business matter... Just a moment.” He turned from the mouthpiece to ask Mason, “Exactly what sort of business did you want to see her about?”

“About some jewelry,” Mason said.

The clerk was supercilious. “You’ll have to be more definite,” he said.

Mason, raising his voice, so that it would be audible to the party at the other end of the line, said, “Tell her we want to see her about some jewelry; that it’s private and a personal matter. that if she wants to have it spread all over the apartment house, that’s her business. I’m giving her a chance to keep her private affairs to herself.”

The effect was instantaneous. The receiver made squawking noises, and the clerk said, “Very well, Miss Trenton,” jerked the plug out and said, “Go on up, apartment 14B, on the fifth floor.”