"The Case of the Dangerous Dowager" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gardner Erle Stanley)

CHAPTER 3

LIGHTS FROM the amusement concessions reddened the heavens and reflected in shimmering beams from the water. Beneath the piles of the pier the surf boomed into foam, to run hissing up on the beach. Out at the end of the wharf a man sold tickets to "excursion" trips via speed boat. Perry Mason and Paul Drake, attired in full dress, wearing overcoats and scarfs, passed through the gate and down a flight of stairs to a float which was creaking on the long swells. Tied to this float was a long, narrow speed boat, containing some half dozen passengers.

Drake said, "I sure as hell feel disguised. I hope none of the gang from headquarters sees me."

Mason chuckled. "If you don't smell too strong of moth balls you'll get by all right, Paul. You look like a rich playboy."

They took seats in the speed boat. A man blew a whistle, and the motor, which had been idling, roared into a staccato song of power, rattling out explosions which drowned all other sounds. The man on the float jerked loose a line, and Mason's head shot back with the thrust which swept the speed boat out of the lighted area into the dark waters. White-bordered waves curled up just back of the bow. Drops of spray peppered the windshield in front of the lawyer's face as though they had been buckshot. The small craft vibrated into greater speed, then raised its bow to skim over the long swells. Mason grinned at Paul Drake and yelled, "More fun than I've had for a month." His words were blown from his mouth.

The lawyer settled back against the cushions, turned to look back at the diminishing lights of the amusement pier, at the frosty glitter of the city lights, then peered ahead into the darkness. His nostrils dilated; he breathed deeply of the night air as his lips parted in a smile of sheer enjoyment.

The detective sat huddled in his overcoat, his face wearing the lugubrious expression of one who is submitting to a disagreeable experience which he has been unable to avoid.

At length, out of the darkness ahead, loomed the glitter of the gambling ship. The speed boat swept in a long circle. The motors slowed, and the nose of the frail craft seemed to be pulled into the water by some giant hand. A man standing on a grated landing-stage surveyed the boat with disinterested appraisal, looped a rope around a bit and yelled, "All aboard."

The passengers made the landing an occasion for much merriment. Women in evening dress held their long skirts well above their knees as they jumped. Two girls in sports outfits leapt unassisted to the landing and ran up the stairway. Mason and Drake were among the last to disembark. They climbed the swaying stairway to find a group of eight or ten persons held back from the steep incline by a taut rope between two stanchions. When the last of the incoming passengers had left the stairway, a man jerked the rope to one side and called out, "All aboard for the shore trip. Please don't crowd. There's plenty of room."

Mason led the way along the deck and into a lighted salon, from which came the sound of voices, the rattle of chips and the whir of roulette wheels. "Okay, Paul," he said, "do your stuff."

"You going to buck the tiger?" the detective asked.

"I think I'll watch for the time being," Mason said. "You start plunging. Try to attract plenty of attention."

Drake pushed his way toward a crowded roulette wheel, while Mason, strolling aimlessly about, sized up the general layout, lost a few dollars on roulette, recouped his losses playing the field numbers in a crap game, turned to the wheel of fortune and killed time by placing several small bets. He felt a touch on his elbow and Drake said, grinning, "I'm three hundred dollars to the good, Perry. What if I break the bank? Would I have to credit our expense account?"

"You won't break it, Paul."

"How about salting these winnings? I hate to credit a client with winnings."

"Okay, go to another table. Try your luck there. Keep drifting around. Don't keep much money in front of you. As soon as you run into a losing streak, buck the game hard. Then write a check. Soon as you do that, give me the high-sign and I'll come over."

Drake moved to a nearby table. The lawyer watched him quietly. Steady winnings augmented the stack of chips at first, then Drake started to lose. He increased the size of his bets, scattered money recklessly around the table. The croupier watched him with appraising eyes. It was from men who became angry as they lost that the gambling tables made the biggest winnings.

When the pile of chips disappeared, Drake emptied one of his trousers pockets of crumpled bills and silver. He gambled first with the silver, then changed the bills and flung them around the board. He stepped back from the table, pulled a checkbook from his pocket and scrawled out a check to "Cash" in the amount of five hundred dollars. He signed the check "Frank Oxman" and passed it across to the croupier. "How about this," he asked.

The croupier looked at the check. Drake caught Mason's eye and nodded. The croupier held up the check in his right hand. A man in a dinner jacket glided to his side. The croupier whispered in his ear. The man nodded, took the check and vanished.

Drake said, "How about it?"

"Just a minute, Mr. Oxman," the croupier replied suavely. "There'll be a few minutes' delay." He put the ball into play and devoted his entire attention to the table.

Mason strolled over to Drake's side. Two or three minutes passed while Drake fidgeted uneasily and Mason maintained the casual interest of a detached spectator. Then the man who had taken the check approached Drake. "Would you mind stepping this way a moment, Mr. Oxman?" he asked.

The detective hesitated, glanced at Perry Mason.

Mason said, "Okay, I'll go with you."

The man in the tuxedo favored Mason with an appraising stare from uncordial eyes.

"I'm with this gentleman," Mason explained. "Go ahead and lead the way." The man turned, crossed the gambling room to a door, in front of which lounged a guard in blue uniform, a gun ostentatiously strapped to his hip. A silver badge on his vest bore the words SPECIAL OFFICER.

The guide nodded to the officer, held open the swinging door and said, "This way, please." They followed him down a passageway which made an abrupt turn at right angles, to disclose an open door. The three went through this door and entered a reception room. Their guide crossed the room and stood expectantly in front of a heavy mahogany door.

A peephole slid back in the door. A bolt shot back and a man's voice said, "Okay."

The man in the dinner jacket held the door open for Mason and Drake. Mason, taking the lead, entered a sumptuously furnished office. A short, stocky man with a pasty face twisted his fat lips into an amiable smile. His eyes seemed as pale as the starched front of his shirt-and as hard and expressionless.

"This is Mr. Grieb," their guide said, and pulled the big mahogany door shut behind him as he stepped into the outer office. Mason heard the click of a spring lock. Grieb said, "Pardon me." He stepped to the door, pushed a lever which shot iron bars into place, then crossed the office and seated himself in a swivel chair behind a huge, glass-topped desk.

The desk was devoid of any papers save the check Drake had just written. It lay on a brown blotter, encased in a leather backer. Aside from this check, the blotter and the leather backer, there was nothing whatever on the glass-topped surface.

"Which one of you is Oxman?" the man behind the desk asked.

Drake glanced helplessly at the lawyer.

Mason stepped forward and said, "My name's Mason."

Grieb nodded. "Glad to know you, Mr. Mason," he said, and shifted his pale eyes to Paul Drake. "You wanted a check cashed, Mr. Oxman, and it's customary to ask a few questions to establish credit. Is this your first visit to the ship?"

Drake nodded.

"Know anyone out here?" Grieb asked.

"No," Drake said.

"Would you mind giving me your residence address, your occupation, and your telephone number, both at your residence and at your office?"

Mason said, "I think we can save you all this trouble, Mr. Grieb."

Grieb raised his eyebrows, and in a flat, toneless voice said, "How do you figure in this, Mr. Mason?"

"I'm with this gentleman," Mason explained, indicating Drake with a nod of his head.

"Friend of his?"

"I'm his lawyer."

Grieb interlaced fat hands across his stomach. Huge diamonds on his fingers caught the light and glittered scintillating accompaniment to the motion. "A lawyer, eh?" he said, almost musingly.

Mason nodded, moving closer to the edge of the desk.

"And just how did you propose to save us all this trouble?" Grieb asked, still in that same fiat voice.

Mason, smiling amiably, suddenly reached across the desk and picked up the check from the blotter. "You won't have to cash it," he said.

Grieb sat bolt-upright in his chair. His diamonds made a glittering streak of motion as he started to reach for the check, then caught himself, and sat with his finger-tips resting on the edge of the blotter. "What's the idea?" he asked.

Mason said, "My client isn't a very good gambler. He's rather a hard loser. He started to place a few casual bets, then won a little money, got into the spirit of the thing, and was swept off his feet. He's come down to earth now. He doesn't want any more money. He's finished gambling."

Grieb's eyes focused on Mason's face. "This little business matter," he said coldly, "is between Oxman and me."

Mason handed the check across to Drake. "Better tear it up," he said.

Drake tore it into pieces and shoved the pieces down deep into his trousers pocket. Grieb got to his feet. Mason moved so that he was standing between Drake and the gambler. "My client made a mistake in giving you this check," he said, by way of explanation.

"You mean there aren't any funds in the bank to cover it?" Grieb asked ominously.

"Of course there are," Mason said. "Telephone the bank tomorrow if that's what's bothering you. What I meant was that I don't want my client to have one of his checks cashed through this gambling ship. You see, we didn't come out here to gamble."

Grieb slowly sat down, eyed the two men for a moment, then indicated chairs with a glittering gesture of his right hand. "Sit down, gentlemen," he said. "I want to talk with you."

Drake looked to Mason for instructions. Mason nodded and seated himself on Grieb's left. Drake rather ostentatiously moved over to a chair nearer the door, farther from Grieb. The gambler still sat very erect, his fingertips resting on the edge of the blotter. "That check's good?" he asked.

Mason laughed. "I'll guarantee this gentleman's checks up to any amount he wants to write them."

"With that signature and on that bank?" Grieb persisted.

Mason nodded and said, apparently as an afterthought, "Or with any other signature."

Grieb's eyes studied Paul Drake, who, obviously ill at ease, returned the stare. Grieb shifted his eyes to Perry Mason and surveyed the granite-hard face of the lawyer. "So your name's Mason and you're a lawyer?"

Mason nodded.

"Tell me more about you."

"Why?" Mason asked.

"Because I want to know," Grieb said.

"I think," Mason told him, "our little business transaction is entirely concluded, isn't it, Mr. Grieb?"

Grieb shook his head. Suddenly a puzzled frown crossed his forehead. He said, "Say, wait a minute, you're not Perry Mason, are you?"

Mason nodded. Grieb swung half around in the swivel chair and put his right elbow on the blotter. "That," he said, "is different. Suppose we talk business, gentlemen."

Mason raised his eyebrows and said, "Business?"

Grieb nodded, turned suddenly to Drake and said, "If you didn't come out here to gamble, what did you come out here for, Mr. Oxman?"

Drake sucked in a quick breath, as though about to answer, then glanced at Mason and became silent.

Mason said easily, "Let me do the talking." He turned to the gambler and said, "I don't want any misunderstandings, Mr. Grieb. You don't know this man. He's offered you a check signed 'Frank Oxman.' That check's good as gold, but that doesn't mean this man is really Frank Oxman. It only means he has a banking account under that name. And if you should ever say that Frank Oxman won or lost a dime on your ship, you might get yourself into serious trouble. My client came out here, not for the purpose of gambling, but for the purpose of looking the place over."

"Why did he want to look it over?" Grieb asked.

"He wanted to find out something about the general background, what it looked like, and things of that sort."

"So now you claim he isn't Frank Oxman, eh?" Grieb asked.

Mason smiled affably. "No," he said, "I haven't made that claim."

"Then he is Frank Oxman."

"I won't even admit that," Mason said, smiling.

Grieb said slowly, "You two came out here to try and collect evidence."

Mason remained silent.

"You thought you could look the joint over, maybe strike up an acquaintance with one of the croupiers, stick around until the tables closed, get one of the men in conversation, and find out something you wanted to know," Grieb charged.

Mason took a cigarette case from his pocket, extracted a cigarette, and lit it. "After all," he said, "does it make any difference why we came out here?"

Grieb said, "You're damn right it does."

Mason exhaled cigarette smoke as he slipped the compact cigarette case back into his pocket. "Just how does it make a difference?" he asked.

Grieb said, "I have some business to talk over with your client."

"You haven't anything to talk over with my client," Mason said. "My client, from now on, is deaf, dumb and blind."

"All right, then, I have some business to talk over with you."

"Right now," Mason said, crossing his long legs and blowing smoke at the ceiling, "I'm not in a mood to talk… Nice offices you have here, Grieb."

Grieb nodded casually. "I'd like to have you boys meet my partner," he said, and shifted his position slightly, raising one side of his body as though pressing with his right foot. A moment later an electric buzzer sounded, and Grieb, pushing back the swivel chair, said, "Excuse me a minute."

The lawyer and Drake exchanged glances as Grieb walked to the heavy mahogany door, slid back the peephole, then pulled back the lever which controlled the bolts, opened the door and said to the special officer who stood on the threshold, "Arthur, get hold of Charlie Duncan for me. Tell him I want him in here at once."

The guard glanced curiously at the two visitors. "Charlie went ashore to telephone," he said. "He's coming right back. I'll tell him as soon as he comes aboard."

Grieb pushed the door shut, slammed the bolts into position, and waddled back to the desk. "How about a drink, boys?"

Mason shook his head. "Any reason why we can't go ashore?" he asked.

"I'd prefer to have you wait a little while."

"Wait for what?"

Grieb said slowly, "You came out here to get some evidence."

Mason's face lost its smile as he said, "I don't think I care to discuss why we came out here. You're running a public place. It's open to anyone who wants to come aboard."

Grieb's voice was soothing. "Now wait a minute, Mr. Mason," he said. "Let's not argue."

"I'm not arguing, I'm telling you."

"All right," Grieb grinned, "then you're telling me, and that's that… How'd you boys like to look the ship over?"

Mason shook his head. Grieb said irritably, "Look here. My time's just as valuable as yours. I've got something to say to you, but I want to wait until Charlie gets here. Charlie Duncan's my partner."

Mason glanced at Paul Drake. The detective shook his head. Mason said, "I don't think we'd care to wait."

Grieb lowered his voice. "Suppose I could give you the evidence you were looking for?"

"You don't know what evidence we're after," Mason said.

Grieb laughed. "Don't play me for a damn fool, Mason. Your client is Frank Oxman. His wife is Sylvia Oxman. He wanted to find some evidence which would help him in a divorce action."

Mason, avoiding Drake's eyes, said, after a moment, "I'm not saying anything. You're talking. I'm listening…"

"I've said all I'm going to," Grieb went on, his pale eyes studying Mason.

"How long do you think it'll be before your partner gets here?"

"Not over fifteen minutes."

Mason shifted his position, making himself comfortable in the chair. "Fifteen minutes isn't long," he said. "Nice place you have here."

"I like it," Grieb admitted. "I designed it and picked out the furniture myself."

"That a vault over there?" Mason asked, jerking his head toward a steel door.

"Yes, we turned an adjoining cabin into a vault. It's lined with concrete. Like to take a look at it?"

Grieb crossed over to the steel door of the vault and flung it open, disclosing a commodious, lighted interior. In the back of the vault was a cannonball safe.

"Keep your cash in that safe?" Mason asked, following Grieb into the cold interior of the vault.

"Our cash," Grieb said, staring at him steadily, "and our evidences of indebtedness."

"Meaning IOU's?" Mason asked.

"Meaning IOU's," Grieb said, regarding the lawyer with steady eyes.

"I'm commencing to be interested," Mason said.

"I thought you would," Grieb told him. "Over here in these plush-lined receptacles, we keep the wheels, where no one can tamper with them. You see, we're out beyond the twelve-mile limit and that puts us beyond police protection. We're on the high seas."

"You must keep quite a bit of cash on hand, then."

"We do."

"What's to keep a mob from boarding the ship, taking possession of it and cleaning you out?"

"That'd be piracy," Grieb said.

"So what?" Mason asked, laughing.

Grieb said, "We've figured all that out, Mr. Mason."

"How?"

"Well, in the first place, it's impossible to get into these offices except by coming down that corridor with the right-angle turn in it. When a man comes down that corridor, he has to walk over a wired section of flooring. His weight causes a contact and rings a buzzer here in the office. The door to this office is always kept locked. It's covered with wood on both sides, but the center is steel. It would take a long while to smash that door down. There are signals planted all over the office. I can sound an alarm from any part of the office, and without moving my hands.

"Moreover, there's an armed guard who's always somewhere around. He's as handy with his fists as he is with the.45 automatic he carries."

Mason nodded. "I saw him when we came in. I notice he has a badge which reads SPECIAL OFFICER. What does that mean? If you're out beyond the twelve-mile limit he can't be a deputy sheriff."

Grieb laughed. "The badge," he said, "is just for its psychological effect. The blue uniform the same way. The real authority comes from the gun. Remember, you're on the high seas now and I'm in supreme command."

"Suppose a mob dropped in some foggy night?" Mason asked.

"They wouldn't get anywhere."

"Your guard wouldn't last long."

"You think he wouldn't."

"You admit you keep a lot of cash here," Mason said.

"Sure."

"Banks keep cash. Banks have guards, and banks get stuck up regularly."

Grieb said, "Well, we don't get stuck up. It's not generally known, but in case you're interested, there's a balcony in back of that gambling casino. The front wall is of bullet-proof steel. There's an inch-and-a-half slit in the wall, and two guards are on duty up there. They have machine guns and tear gas bombs."

"That," Mason admitted, "is different."

"Don't ever worry about us," Grieb said. "We…"

He broke off as the electric buzzer sounded its warning.

"Someone's coming," he said. "It's probably Charlie. Let's go back into the office."

He led the way through the steel door of the vault, into the private office, walked to the communicating door and slid back the panel. As he did so, a speed launch pulled away from the side of the ship on its return trip to the shore, and the roar of its exhaust, sounding through the open portholes back of Grieb's desk, completely drowned out all other sounds, including a swift exchange of words between Grieb and the man on the other side of the door.

Grieb jerked back the lever which freed the bars from their sockets, twisted the knob of the spring lock, and opened the door as the roar of the speed boat died to a throbbing undertone of pulsating power. A bald-headed man of forty-five, with perpetual smile-wrinkles about his eyes, and calipers stretching between nose and mouth, stood on the threshold. He was wearing a gray-checkered suit, and his lips, twisting back in an affable smile, showed three gleaming gold teeth.

Grieb said, "Gentlemen, shake hands with my partner, Charlie Duncan. Duncan, this is Perry Mason, the lawyer. And the other man…"

"If it's all the same to you," Mason said, extending his hand, "the other gentleman will be nameless."

Duncan, pushing forward his right hand, suddenly froze into immobility. The gold teeth vanished as his lips came together. His eyes shifted for a quick moment to his partner and he said, "What is this, Sam?"

"It's okay, Charlie," Grieb said hastily.

Duncan 's hands gripped Mason's. "Glad to know you, Mr. Mason," he said. His eyes shifted to study Paul Drake in cold appraisal.

"Come on over and sit down, Charlie," Grieb invited. "We're going to talk some business. I wanted you to be here."

"We're not doing any talking," Mason said.

"No," Grieb told him, speaking with nervous haste. "No one's asking you to. You can listen."

"All right," Mason agreed. "We'll listen."

They seated themselves, and Grieb turned to Duncan. "Charlie," he said, "this guy"-indicating Drake with a nod of his head-"started bucking the game. He was playing easy at first. Then he got hot and started raking ' em in. When things didn't go so well, he started plunging. When he went broke, he wanted to cash a check. Jimmy brought the check in and I took a look at the signature. That check was signed 'Frank Oxman.'"

"That doesn't mean anything," Mason interrupted. "I wish you boys would forget about that check."

"I'm just telling my partner what happened," Grieb said. "You don't have to say anything if you don't want to."

"All right," Mason told him, "I don't want to."

Duncan 's face was completely without expression. "Go on, Sammy. Tell me the rest of it."

"I told Jimmy to bring him in. When he came in, Mason came with him. Mason did a little talking, then reached over, grabbed the check, and gave it to his friend to tear up."

Duncan 's eyes partially closed. "Like that, eh?" he asked. "I don't think we're going to like that, Sammy."

Grieb said hastily, "Now, don't get this wrong, Charlie. I'm just telling you, see? Naturally, at first I was a little peeved. But then, I got the sketch. Mason didn't want me to know Oxman was aboard the ship. He didn't want anyone to know Oxman had been gambling out here. He didn't want us to have one of Oxman's checks. Get the sketch?"

"I think what I said was," Mason observed, "that my client had changed his mind about requiring any money. I think I also told you that if you should say Frank Oxman had been out here gambling you might put yourself in rather an embarrassing position. I pointed out very clearly to you, Grieb, that my client didn't come out here for the purpose of gambling."

"Sure, sure, I know," Grieb said affably. "We understand your position perfectly, Mason."

Duncan settled back in his chair. The gold teeth gradually came into evidence as his lips relaxed into his habitual smile.

"Talk any business, Sammy?" he asked.

"Not yet," Grieb said. "I was waiting for you to come aboard."

Duncan fished a cigar from his pocket, clipped off the end with a penknife, scraped a match across his shoe and said, "Okay, Sammy, I'm here."

"You want to do the talking?" Grieb asked.

"No, Sammy, you do it."

Grieb faced Mason. "Sylvia Oxman's been giving us quite a play lately. We looked her up and found her husband's name was Frank Oxman. A little bird told us Frank Oxman was maybe going to file a divorce action and would like to get some evidence that his wife had been squandering her time and money gambling, and therefore wasn't a fit person to have the custody of their child and couldn't be trusted with money in a guardianship proceeding. Would you know anything about that?"

Mason said cautiously, "No, I wouldn't know anything about that."

"Well, your client would."

"Let's leave my client out of it, please."

"Well," Grieb said, "we always like to co-operate. Now, you came out here looking for evidence. Perhaps we could help you out a little bit."

"In what way?" Mason asked.

"By giving you some evidence."

"On what terms?"

"Well," Grieb said, flashing a swift glance at his partner, "we'd have to discuss the terms."

"Your idea of evidence might not be my idea of evidence," Mason said.

"The evidence is all right," Grieb rejoined. "It's just a question of what you boys would be willing to do."

"We'd want to see the evidence," Mason said.

Grieb looked at Duncan significantly and jerked his head toward the vault. Duncan, his face still wearing a set smile, crossed to the vault and stepped inside. The three men in the room sat in tense silence. After a few seconds there was the peculiar whooshing sound made by air escaping as the door of the cannonball safe was slammed shut. Duncan emerged from the vault carrying three oblongs of paper which he slid across the glass top of the big desk.

Grieb's diamonds again made glittering streaks as he scooped up the oblongs of paper and said, "Three demand notes, signed by Sylvia Oxman, and totaling seven thousand five hundred dollars."

Mason frowned. "We hadn't figured on anything like this," he said.

Grieb's voice was harsh with greed. "Figure on it now, then."

Mason pursed his lips. "I suppose," he ventured, "you boys want something."

Grieb moved impatiently. "Don't be so God damn cagey. You've drawn cards in this game but we hold all the aces. Quit stalling. You're going to have to come across-and like it."

Duncan said chidingly, "Now, Sammy!"

Mason said, "I'd want to inspect these."

Grieb spread them out on the desk, holding them flat against the glass, his extended fingers pressing firmly against the upper edges. "Look 'em over," he invited grimly.

Mason objected. "That's not what I'd call inspecting them."

"That's what I call inspecting them," Grieb said.

Duncan said soothingly, "Now, Sammy. Now, Sammy. Take it easy."

"I'm taking it easy," Grieb said. "There was a check on this desk and he picked it up to 'inspect' it. Now it's torn in pieces and is in this guy's pocket."

"The check was different," Mason said.

"Well, I didn't like the way you did it," Grieb told him.

Mason's eyes were cold. "No one asked you to," he said shortly.

Duncan interposed. "Now, wait a minute, boys. This isn't getting us anywhere."

Grieb's face darkened with rage. He picked up the oblongs of paper and said irritably, "That's the way he's been ever since he came in. You'd think he was God and I was some sort of a crook. To hell with him!"

Duncan moved over to the desk, extended his hands for the notes. His face still smiling, but his eyes were hard. "This is a business deal, Sammy," he said.

"It isn't with me," Grieb told him. "As far as I'm concerned, there's no dice. We're handing these guys a lawsuit on a silver platter and they're trying to make us come all the way. To hell with it."

Duncan said nothing, but stood by the desk, his hand extended. And after a moment, Grieb handed him the slips of paper and said, "All right, you do it, if you know so much about it."

Duncan handed one of the notes to the lawyer. "The other two," he said, "are like this."

"I'd want to see them all," Mason said, without reaching for the note.

"You can look them over one at a time," Duncan told him.

Drake said, "That's fair, Perry. We'll look them over one at a time."

Mason slowly extended his hand and took the oblong of paper. He and Drake studied it carefully while Duncan watched them with cold eyes over smiling lips. Grieb opened the left-hand drawer of the desk and dropped his hand casually into the interior.

The note was on a printed form such as might have been readily obtained in any stationery store. It was in an amount of twenty-five hundred dollars, signed "Sylvia Oxman," and in the blank left for the name of the payee had been filled in, in the same feminine handwriting, the letters, "IOU." The date showed that the note was sixty days old.

Mason handed it back to Duncan. Duncan handed him another one and said, "This one was made a month earlier," and as Mason finished his inspection and returned it, handed him the third, saying, "This is the first one."

As Mason returned the IOU to Duncan, Grieb removed his hand from the desk drawer and slammed it shut. Mason said softly, "So what?"

"Well," Duncan said, "you're a lawyer. You don't need me to tell you what those things are."

Grieb said, "We know what those things are worth."

Duncan 's voice was soothing. "With those in your hand, Mr. Mason," he said, "you'd hold all the trumps. A court would never let a woman handle a kid's money if she was a fiend for gambling. Suppose you make us an offer."

"Offer, hell," Grieb interrupted. "We'll set the price on those, Charlie. This means a lot to Oxman. It's just what he's been looking for, and he can't get to first base without them. They've been snooping around, trying to get some of our men to talk. You know as well as I do how much chance they stand of doing that. We hold the cards and we'll call the trumps." Mason got to his feet.

"Now, wait a minute," Duncan said. "Don't be like that, Mason. My partner's hot-headed, that's all."

"He's not hot-headed, he's cold-hearted."

"Well, after all, it's a matter of business," Duncan pointed out.

Mason nodded. "Sure it is, but you're the ones who don't know it. Sylvia hasn't any money right now. She can't even pay the face of those notes. You think they're worth a lot to me and you think you can hold me up. That's where you're making a mistake. There isn't any competitive market. No one else gives a damn about them."

"Let's put 'em back in the safe, Duncan," Grieb said, "I don't like to do business with pikers."

"And," Mason told him steadily, "I don't like to do business with crooks."

Grieb got to his feet so violently that the swivel chair shot back on its rollers to crash against the wall. His pasty face mottled into bluish patches.

Charlie Duncan, tilting his chair back against the wall, thrust his thumbs through the armholes of his vest and said chidingly, "Now, boys, don't be like that."

Mason walked across to the desk to stare steadily at Grieb. "Now," he said, "I'll tell you something about where you get off. You're out beyond the twelve-mile limit, which means out of the state. I can serve a subpoena duces tecum on you, have a commission appointed to take your deposition, come out here and make you swear under oath that you haven't got those IOU's, or else make you produce them. In that way I won't have to pay so much as a thin dime."

Charlie Duncan laughed softly. "Sammy's memory's awfully bad at times, Mason."

"Well, mine isn't," Mason snapped. "I'd ask you about those IOU's. If you made false answers I'd do things to you in a federal court. You're outside the state, but you're in United States territory as long as your ship is registered under the American flag.

"Now then, the only chance you stand of getting one cent above the face of those IOU's is to sell them to me. I'll offer you a bonus of one thousand dollars. That doesn't grow on bushes. You can take it or leave it. I'm going to give you thirty seconds to say yes or no, and then I'm going to walk out."

Grieb was breathing heavily. "Keep on walking, as far as I'm concerned," he said. "The answer is no."

Duncan didn't bother to look at Grieb. His eyes were appraising Mason. They were hard and merciless, but his gold teeth still glittered through grinning lips. "I've got something to say about this. Sammy, keep your shirt on. Now, Mr. Mason, you know as well as I do that these notes are worth a lot more than a thousand dollars above their face."

"Not to me they aren't," Mason said.

Grieb snorted. "Throw the piker off the ship, Charlie."

"Take it easy, Sammy," Duncan said, still looking at Mason. "Take your weight off your feet and shut up. I'm handling this."

"I guess I have something to say about it," Grieb protested. "I don't know who the hell you think you are. You're gumming the works. These notes are worth ten thousand dollars above their face, and I won't let them go until I get my share."

Duncan, still tilted back in his chair, said, "You see how my partner feels, Mason. Suppose we compromise on five grand."

"I don't give a damn how your partner feels," Mason said. "I've offered you a thousand dollars and that's my limit. If you suckers keep on holding those notes, you'll find yourselves holding the sack. By the time the smoke blows away, Sylvia isn't going to be able to pay even the face of those notes."

"That's a bluff," Grieb said.

"Now, Sammy, keep your shirt on," Duncan told him.

Grieb started toward Duncan. "Listen, Charlie," he shouted. "I'm running the office end of this business. You haven't invested anything here except a lot of conversation. I know what those IOU's are worth, and you ain't going to make a cheapskate out of me."

Duncan turned to look at him then, and his gold teeth vanished. "Sit down, you damn fool," he said, "and shut up. If Frank Oxman doesn't buy these notes, who's going to?"

"Sylvia will take them up."

"When?"

"Pretty soon."

"For how much?"

"Well, if she knew we had a chance to sell them…"

Duncan 's coldly contemptuous gaze silenced his partner. He turned to Mason, "Suppose you boys go out in the other room for a little while," he said, "and let me talk to my partner. I want to be reasonable, but I agree with him a thousand dollars is altogether too small a sum to…"

"Then," Mason interrupted, "there's no need of our waiting. I've offered you a thousand dollars, and that's final. Take it or leave it. Don't ever forget I can put you two birds on the witness stand and find out everything I want to know without its costing me a damn cent. Anytime a…"

"Now, take it easy," Duncan interrupted soothingly. "This isn't going to get us anywhere, Mason. It's a business proposition. You two boys go out in the other room and wait a few minutes." He walked over to the heavy door, jerked the lever which pulled the bolts back, twisted the knurled knob of the spring lock and held the door open. "Make yourselves at home, boys. There's some magazines right over there. We won't be over five minutes."

"If you're as long as five minutes," Mason said, "you won't find us here when you come out."

Grieb yelled, "Go ahead and go, you damn piker, and see who cares!"

Duncan, still smiling, closed the door on Mason and the detective. The spring lock clicked into position. A half second later the iron bars shot home.

Drake turned to Mason and said, "Why not boost it to fifteen hundred, Perry? They'd take that. It would give Grieb a chance to save his face."

Mason said, "To hell with Grieb, and his face too. I don't like his damned blackmailing hide."

Drake shrugged his shoulders. "It's your funeral, Perry."

Mason slowly grinned and said, "No, it isn't. Duncan 's nobody's fool. That talk I gave him about taking their depositions scared hell out of him. It's just a question of how long it'll take him to whip Grieb into line… Evidently there's friction between them."

"That's going to make it all the harder for us," Drake said.

Mason shook his head. "No, it isn't, Paul, it's going to make it easier."

"Why?"

"Because this partnership isn't going to last very much longer. They're fighting. Duncan is a shrewd thinker. Grieb flies off the handle. Now then, figure it out. If this partnership is going to bust up, it's a lot better to have eighty-five hundred dollars in cash to divide than seventy-five hundred in IOU's to try and collect."

Drake said, "That's so, Perry. I hadn't figured on that."

" Duncan 's figuring on it," Mason said.

They were silent for a moment. Quick, nervous steps sounded in the passageway outside of the office. The two men listened while the steps swung around the right-angle turn in the corridor and approached the door of the reception office. Iron bars were jerked back on the other side of the door from the inner office. A knob twisted. The door opened explosively and Duncan, carrying the IOU's, said to Mason, "Okay. Pay over the money. It'll have to be cash."

"How about your partner?" Mason asked.

"Pay over the cash," Duncan said. "I have the IOU's here. That's all you want…"

The door from the hallway opened. A woman in her middle twenties, her trim figure clad in a dark, tailored suit, stared at them with black, disinterested eyes, then turned to Duncan and said, "I want to see Sam."

Duncan crumpled the oblongs of paper in his right hand and pushed them down into his coat pocket. His gold teeth came into evidence. "Sure, sure," he said. "Sam's right inside." But he continued to stand in the doorway, blocking her passage.

Once more she flashed her eyes in quick appraisal of the two men, then stepped forward until she was standing within two feet of Duncan, who kept his left hand on the knob of the partially opened door. "Well?" she asked smiling. "Do I go in?"

Duncan shifted his eyes to study Mason and Drake, and she, following the direction of his gaze, glanced at them for the third time. Duncan 's smile expanded into a grin. "Sure," he said, his eyes focused on Drake's face, "go right on in." He shoved the door open, stepped to one side, raised his voice and said, "Don't you two talk any business until I get there."

She swept through the door and Duncan, still grinning pulled it shut behind her.

"Well, boys," he said, "it's too bad your little scheme didn't work. I'll see a lawyer tomorrow, Mason, and see if we can't pin something on you. We may have something to take before the D.A. In the meantime, don't forget the ship, boys. It's a nice place to gamble. We give you a good run for your money."

Mason said, "No, Duncan, we won't forget the ship."

"And," Duncan assured him, "we won't forget you." He escorted them down the corridor until the uniformed guard had opened the outer door. "Well, good night, boys," he said. "Come back any time."

He turned and retraced his steps down the corridor. Mason took the detective's arm and led him toward the gangway where departing patrons caught the speed boat.

"Was that Sylvia Oxman?" Drake asked.

"It must have been," Mason said, "and when she failed to recognize you and you gave her a dead pan, Duncan saw the play. Remember, you're supposed to be the lady's husband."

"Doesn't that leave us in something of a spot," Drake asked anxiously, "having tried to pick up the lady's notes and pulled all this hocus-pocus?"

"That depends on the breaks," Mason said gloomily. "Evidently it isn't our night to gamble."

Drake pushed his fingers down inside his collar, ran them around the neckband of his shirt, and said, "Let's beat it. If we're going to be pinched, I sure as hell don't want to go to jail in this outfit."