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

CHAPTER 5

BEADS OF MOISTURE glinted on the upturned collar of Perry Mason's gray overcoat as he stood in the telephone booth of the beach-town drugstore. His brown felt hat was also covered with glistening particles. From time to time, he snapped his left arm into position to consult his wristwatch. The telephone in the pay station suddenly shattered the silence. Mason jerked the receiver from its hook almost as soon as the bell started to ring. A feminine voice said, "Mr. Perry Mason, please."

"Yes, this is Mr. Mason."

"Go ahead, please."

Mason heard Drake's voice saying, "Okay, Perry. Duncan 's filed his lawsuit. He's had a summons and an order to show cause issued and is on his way down to the beach with a deputy marshal who's going to serve the papers. He'll go right to the gambling ship."

Mason said, "Thanks, Paul. When your shadows call in next, tell them not to follow Duncan any farther than the pier."

"Right," the detective said. "Now listen, Perry, here's something else: Frank Oxman is headed for the beach. The operative who's shadowing him telephoned in the report."

"How long ago?" Mason asked.

"About half an hour ago."

"Then Oxman will get aboard the ship before Duncan gets there?"

"It looks that way."

"That," Mason said, "may complicate things. Grieb's evidently…"

"Wait a minute," Drake cut in, "you haven't heard anything yet. Sylvia Oxman's been out somewhere and my men couldn't pick up her trail. I've had operatives shadowing her apartment, and just to be on the safe side, I assigned a man to shadow her maid. Now, the maid went out a little while ago wearing one of Sylvia's Oxman's fur coats. The shadow tailed along, handling it just as a routine assignment; but he drew the lucky number. The maid contacted Sylvia, and my man had a chance to telephone in for instructions. Of course, I told him to drop the maid and pick up Sylvia."

"Know where she was going?" Mason asked. "It's foggy as the devil down here now, Paul, and that fur coat may mean that she's heading for the gambling ship."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Drake said. "Here's a peculiar coincidence, Perry. I had to put so many men on this case that I didn't have a chance to check them over carefully. I've just discovered that the man who's tailing Sylvia knows Duncan and Grieb personally. Will that make any difference?"

"It may. Do they know he's a detective?"

"No, I don't think they do. From all I can learn, this chap, whose name's Belgrade, had some sort of a partnership with Duncan and Grieb and they froze him out. I think he dropped a few thousand. It was all the money he had in the world and he had to go to work. He'd been a detective before, and when he struck me for a job I liked his looks and gave him a trial. He seemed to do all right, so I kept giving him little jobs."

Mason said slowly, "I don't think you'd better let him go aboard the gambling ship, if that's the case, Paul. It might complicate matters."

"That's the way I figured," Drake said. "Of course, shadowing the maid was just a routine job, but after this man contacted Sylvia I remembered something about his having been mixed up with gamblers and looked up his history. Incidentally, Perry, he claims that Duncan is the more crooked and the more dangerous of the two, but that they're both a couple of crooks."

"Well," Mason said, "you'd better jerk him off before he gets out on the ship."

"Yeah, I'm rushing a man down to the wharf to relieve Belgrade. Staples is his name. You'll probably remember him. He worked on that Dalton murder case. Of course, I don't know that Sylvia's headed for the ship. If she is, the relief will take over."

"Okay," Mason said. "Anything else?"

"That's all, Perry, but listen: I don't like the way things are shaping up. You're playing with dynamite. These gamblers are bad actors, and if Grieb gets the idea you encouraged Duncan to play foxy, it may not be so hot. When you get aboard that ship you'll be on the high seas and the men who are working as a crew are pretty tough citizens."

"Forget it," Mason told him. "I'll be all right."

"Well," Drake said, "remember that if Sylvia Oxman goes aboard that ship I'll have Staples shadowing her. Staples knows you. If you should have any trouble you can count on him. He's packing a.38 automatic and knows how to use it. If it comes to a showdown, remember he'll stand back of you."

Mason laughed into the transmitter and said, "You're doing too much worrying, Paul."

"Well, watch your step, Perry."

"Okay," the lawyer said, and hung up. His face was granite-grim as he left the drugstore and went out to his car.

Fog hung over the beach town in a thick, white pall which muffled sounds and blanketed the street lights with reddish, circular auras. Mason drove slowly, his windshield wiper beating monotonously. He speeded up as he came to the better-lighted business district, drove to the amusement pier, parked his car, and walked down the lighted pathway between the concessions.

Here the bright blaze of lights dispersed the gloom of the fog, but a few feet above the tops of the concessions the moisture closed in as a curtain, reflecting the illumination below as a crimson glare.

A man was selling tickets at the steps which led down to the float, where a speed boat was waiting. "Here you are," he said, "three boats running constantly. Take a cruise out to the high seas. Out beyond the twelve-mile limit. Who's next?"

Mason bought a ticket, went down the slippery steps, his gloved hands sliding along the rope rail. Two men came just behind him, and Mason heard the ticket seller say, "That's all for this load. There'll be another boat in, in just a few minutes."

The water was like black oil. The glossy surface barely moved to a long lazy swell which gently rocked the waiting speed boat. Moisture dripped from the wharf to the water; and in the fog-muffled silence could be heard the gentle lapping of waves against the piles of the wharf, the sound of the idling motor in the speed boat.

Mason took his place in a rear seat. A line thudded to the float. The speed boat roared into motion. Moisture from the fog whipped over Mason's face. Behind him, the amusement concessions glowed for a few minutes as a yellow blob of light, then were swallowed into the fog. A horn, operated by compressed air, sent forth mournful warnings as the speed boat hissed through the darkness. The red and green running lights stained the reflecting fog in colored blotches.

By the time the speed boat pulled alongside the gambling ship, Mason was wet and chilled. The crowd which clambered stiffly from the boat to the landing stage showed none of the joyous spontaneity which had characterized those who had disembarked on Mason's previous visit. They climbed the swaying stairway, for the most part in silence, a black, somber line of people who would presently cluster about the bar in an attempt to warm their blood.

There were some half dozen people waiting at the head of the landing-stairs to go back on the speed boat. Mason walked down the deck toward the bar entrance, and heard the staccato exhaust of the launch ripping the silence of the night as it swung away toward land. He ordered a Tom-and-Jerry, sipped it in leisurely appreciation, responding to the genial warmth and the glittering lights which so brilliantly illuminated the interior of the bar. He checked his hat and coat, and heard the exhaust of another speed boat as it arrived and departed.

Mason strolled into the main gambling room and turned toward the passageway which led to the offices. There were perhaps eighty or a hundred players clustered around the various gambling tables. He saw nothing of the uniformed guard who had previously been stationed near the entrance to the offices, so marched unannounced down the echoing wooden passageway, made the right-angle turn, and pushed open the door of the reception office.

At first glance Mason thought the office was empty; then, in a corner, away from the door, he caught sight of a woman, dressed in a blue suit, an orange blouse giving it a splash of color, her face concealed by a magazine she was reading. A stretch of shapely leg showing beneath the skirt caught Mason's eye. Apparently absorbed in the magazine, she didn't look up as the lawyer entered the room. A blue leather handbag lay on her lap.

Mason stepped to the door which led to the inner office and knocked. There was no answer.

The woman in the far corner of the office looked up and said, "I don't think anyone's in there. I knocked several times and got no answer."

Mason stared at the ribbon of light which showed along the side of the door. "The door isn't even latched," he said. "I thought they always kept it locked."

The woman said nothing. The lawyer crossed the office, seated himself in a chair separated from hers by only a few feet, and turned casual eyes to her profile. He recognized her then as the woman he had seen on his last visit to the gambling ship-Sylvia Oxman-whose inopportune arrival had upset his plans.

Mason studied the toe of his shoe for a moment in frowning concentration, then turned to her and said, "You'll pardon me, but do you have an appointment with Mr. Grieb?"

"No," she said, "no appointment. I just wanted to see him."

"I," Mason told her, "have a very definite appointment, and it's for this hour. I don't like to inconvenience you, but it's important that I see him as soon as he comes in. My business will take about twenty minutes. Perhaps it would inconvenience you less if you went out and returned then."

She got swiftly to her feet. "Thank you very much for telling me," she said. And Mason thought there was relief in her voice, as though he had said something she had been hopefully anticipating.

"I'm sorry it's impossible for me to postpone the appointment in your favor," Mason said, smiling affably. "I think I'll wait for him in his private office."

Mason pushed open the heavy door as Sylvia Oxman tossed her magazine on the table and started for the passageway.

Sam Grieb's body, seated in the swivel chair, lay slumped over the huge desk. One shoulder was propped against the side of the desk. The head lolled at a grotesque angle, showing a red bullet hole in the left temple. A shaded lamp, which flooded illumination over the discolored face, was reflected from the glassy surfaces of open, staring eyes. The diamonds on his right hand sent out scintillating brilliance. His left hand was out of sight, under the desk.

Mason whirled back toward the outer office. Sylvia Oxman was just stepping into the corridor. "Sylvia!" he said sharply.

She paused at the sound of his voice, stood uncertainly in the doorway, then turned, dark eyes luminous with some emotion.

"Come here," Mason ordered.

"Just who are you?" she asked. "What do you want? What do you mean by speaking to me in…"

Mason reached her side in three swift steps, clamped strong fingers about her left arm just above the elbow. "Take a look," he ordered.

She hung back for a moment, then tried to shake herself free. Mason circled her swiftly with his arm and swung her through the door of the private office. She turned toward him indignantly, said, "How dare you…" and then broke off as she caught sight of the huddled figure at the desk. She opened her mouth to scream. Mason clamped his hand over her lips. "Steady now," he warned.

He waited until she struggled for breath, then released his hand and asked, "How long had you been waiting in the reception office before I came?"

"Just a minute or two," she said in a low, barely audible voice. She caught her breath. Her eyes, wild and staring, turned away from the desk, then, as though drawn by some overpowering fascination, drifted back.

"Can you prove it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Did anyone see you come in?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. I can't tell… Who… who are you? I've seen you here before. You know my name."

Mason nodded and said, "My name's Mason. I'm a lawyer. Now listen, cut out this acting. Either you did this, or…"

He broke off as his eyes stared down at several oblongs of paper on the blotter. He reached forward and gingerly picked them up.

Sylvia Oxman gasped, "My IOU's! I came to pay up on them."

"Seventy-five hundred," Mason said. "Is that right?"

"Yes."

"You wanted to give Grieb the money for these?"

"Yes."

"That's why you came here tonight?"

"Yes."

"All right," Mason told her grimly, "let's see the money."

"What money?"

"Quit stalling. The seventy-five hundred bucks you were going to give Grieb in return for the IOU's."

"Why should I show it to you?"

Mason made a grab for her handbag. She avoided him, jumped back and stood staring at him with wide, frightened eyes. Mason said, "You haven't got seventy-five hundred dollars."

She said nothing, her rapid breathing slightly distending her nostrils.

"Did you kill him?" Mason asked.

"No… of course not… I didn't know he was in here."

"Do you know who did?" She slowly shook her head.

Mason said, "Listen. I'm going to give you a break. Get out through that door, try to avoid being seen when you leave the passageway. Start gambling at one of the roulette tables. Wait for me. I'll talk with you out there, and you'll tell me the truth. Remember that, Sylvia, no lies."

She hesitated a moment, then said, "Why should you do this for me?"

Mason laughed grimly. "I'll bite, why should I? Just a foolish loyalty I have for my clients. I protect them, even when they lie to me-which most of them do-or try to double-cross me-which has been done."

Her dark, luminous eyes studied the rugged determination of his face. She was suddenly cool and self-possessed. "Thanks," she said, "but I'm not your client, you know."

"Well," he told her, "you're the next thing to it. And I'm damned if I can figure you as being guilty of murder. But you've got to do a lot of explaining before you can convince anyone else. Go ahead, now, get out."

"My IOU's," she said. "If my husband ever…"

"Forget it," Mason interrupted. "Have confidence in me for a change. I'm having plenty in you."

She studied him for a moment thoughtfully, then stepped to the door, her eyes avoiding the desk. "Those IOU's," she said, "are…"

"Beat it," he interrupted, "and don't close the door. Leave it ajar, just as it was."

She slipped through the door, and a moment later the electric signal announced she had rounded the turn in the corridor.

Mason pulled a wallet from his pocket, counted out seventy-five hundred dollars in bills, opened a drawer of the desk with the toe of his shoe, and dropped the bills into the drawer. He kicked the drawer shut, held the IOU's clamped between thumb and forefinger, struck a match, and held the flame to the paper. By the time the flame had burnt down to his hand, the IOU's had withered into dark, charred oblongs, traced with a glowing perimeter which gradually ate its way into the darker centers.

Abruptly, the electric buzzer burst into noise, announcing that someone was coming down the corridor toward the office. A split-second later it zipped into noise once more-two people were approaching.

The lawyer crumpled the bits of burned ash in his hand, thrust the corners which had been unconsumed into his mouth, and stepped swiftly into the reception office, pulling shut the door to the inner office by catching the knob with his elbow. He wiped his darkened hands on the sides of his trousers, threw himself into a chair, opened a magazine, and was unwrapping a stick of chewing gum when the door of the reception office opened, to disclose Duncan, accompanied by a tall man with watery blue eyes, dressed in a tweed suit. Both men wore overcoats, and fog particles glistened from the surfaces of the coats.

Duncan jerked to a dead stop, stared at Mason and said, "What the hell are you doing here?"

Mason casually fed the stick of chewing gum into his mouth, rolled the wrapper into a ball, dropped it into an ash tray, munched the chewing gum into a wad and said, "I was waiting for Sam Grieb because I wanted to talk to him. Now that you're here, I can talk to both of you."

"Where's Sam?"

"I don't know. I knocked on the door, but got no answer, so I decided I'd wait-not having anything else to do… It's a wonder you wouldn't get some up-to-date magazines here. You'd think this was a dentist's office."

Duncan said irritably, "Sam's here. He's got to be here. Whenever the tables are in operation one or the other of us has to be in this office."

Mason shrugged his shoulders, let his eyebrows show mild surprise. "Indeed," he said. "Any way in except through this room?"

"No."

"Well," Mason said, "suppose I talk with you while we're waiting. I understand you've filed your case."

"Of course I've filed it," Duncan said irritably. "You aren't the only attorney in the country. If you're too damned dumb to take good business when it's offered you, there are others who aren't so finicky."

Mason said politely, "How about a stick of gum?"

"No. I don't chew it."

"Of course," Mason said, "now that you've dragged your difficulties into court, you've submitted yourself to the jurisdiction of a court of equity. That throws your assets into court."

"Well, what if it does?"

"Those IOU's," Mason pointed out, "are part of your assets. They were given for a gambling debt. A court of equity wouldn't permit itself to be used as a collection agency for a gambling debt."

"We're on the high seas," Duncan said. "There's no law against gambling here."

"You may be on the high seas," Mason told him, "but your assets are in a court of equity. It's an equitable rule that all gambling contracts are void as being against public policy, whether there's a law against gambling or not. Those IOU's aren't worth the paper they're written on. You've been just a little too smart, Duncan, you've turned seventy-five hundred dollars worth of assets into scrap paper."

"Sylvia would never raise the point," Duncan said.

"I'll raise it," Mason told him.

Duncan studied him with blue, glittering eyes, "So that's why you wouldn't represent me, eh?"

"That's one of the reasons," Mason admitted.

Duncan pulled a leather key container from his pocket, started to fit a key in the lock of the door to the inner office. "If Sam hasn't the door barred from the inside, I'll open it," he said to the man in tweeds, then suddenly turned again to the lawyer. "What's your best offer, Mason?"

"I'll give you the face value of the IOU's."

"How about the thousand-dollar bonus?"

"Nothing doing."

"You made that offer yesterday," Duncan remonstrated.

"That was yesterday," Mason told him. "A lot's happened since yesterday."

Duncan twisted the key, clicked back the spring lock, and flung the door open. "Well," he said, "you sit down and wait a few minutes, and… Good God! What's this!"

He jumped backward, stared at the desk, then whirled to Mason and yelled, "Say, what are you trying to cover up here? Don't tell me you didn't know about this."

Mason pushed forward, saying, "What the hell are you talking about? I told you…" He became abruptly silent.

The man in tweeds said, "Don't touch anything. This is a job for the homicide squad… Gosh, I don't know who is supposed to take charge. Probably the marshal…"

"Listen," Duncan said, speaking rapidly, "we come in and find this guy perched in the outer office, chewing gum and reading a three-months-old magazine. It looks fishy to me. Sam's been shot."

"Suicide, perhaps," Mason suggested.

"We'll take a look around," Duncan said, "and see if it's suicide."

"Don't touch anything," the man in tweeds warned.

"Don't be a sap," Duncan said. "How long have you been here, Mason?"

"Oh, I don't know. Four or five minutes."

"Hear anything suspicious?"

Mason shook his head.

The man in tweeds bent over the desk and said, "There's no sign of a gun. And it's an awkward place for a man to have hit himself with a bullet, if it's suicide."

"Look under the desk," Mason suggested. "The gun might have dropped from his hand."

The man in tweeds kept his attention concentrated on the body. "He'd have had to hold the gun in his left hand to do it himself," he said slowly. "He wasn't left-handed, was he, Duncan?"

Duncan, his blue eyes wide and startled, stood with his back against the vault door, his mouth sagging open. "It's murder!" he said, and gulped. "For God's sake, turn off that desk light! It gives me the willies to see his open eyes staring into that light!"

The man in tweeds said, "No you don't! Don't touch a thing."

Mason, standing in the doorway between the two rooms, taking care not to enter the room which contained the body, said, "Let's make sure there isn't a gun down there on the floor. After all, you know, it's going to make a lot of difference whether this is murder or suicide. I, for one, would like to know before we send out a report. He could have dropped a gun…"

Duncan stepped forward, bent over the body, peered down under the desk and said, "No, there's no gun here."

The man in tweeds asked, "Can you see? I'll get a light and…"

"Sure I can see," Duncan exclaimed irritably. "There's no gun here. You keep your eyes on this guy, Perkins. He's trying to get us both looking for something so he can pull a fast one. He's talked too damn much about a gun being down there."

Mason said ominously, "Watch your lip, Duncan!"

The tall man nodded. "I'd be careful what I said, Mr. Duncan. You haven't any proof, you know. This man might make trouble."

"To hell with him," Duncan snapped. "There's seven thousand five hundred dollars in IOU's somewhere around here, and Mason wants them. I'm going to take a look in the vault. You keep your eye on Mason."

Duncan crossed over to the vault, his back turned to the men as he faced the vault door, rattled the handle, then started spinning the combination. "I don't like the looks of things," he called out over his shoulder. "This guy Mason is smart, too damn smart."

The tall man said, "I wouldn't touch anything, Mr. Duncan. If I were you, I wouldn't open that vault."

Duncan straightened up and turned to face Perkins. "I've got to find out about those IOU's," he said indignantly. "After all, I own a half interest in this place."

"Just the same," Perkins persisted, "I wouldn't open that vault."

Mason, from the doorway between the rooms, said, "And you're leaving a lot of fingerprints on things, Duncan. The police aren't going to like that."

Duncan 's face darkened with rage. "A hell of a slick guy, ain't you," he shouted, "standing there and telling us to look for a gun, and to do this and do that until you've got us leaving fingerprints all over things, and then telling us about it!

"To hell with you! You ain't in the clear on this thing-particularly if those IOU's are missing. You could have done the whole job here-easy! Sammy would have let you in, and you could have given him the works, and then gone back out, pulled the door shut, and been waiting here… Perkins, you're an officer. Search him. Let's see if he's got those IOU's. And he may have the murder gun in his pocket. Let's not let him talk us out of anything."

Mason said, "Listen, Duncan, I'm not going to be the goat in this thing."

Duncan faced him with blazing eyes. "The hell you're not! We come in here and find you sitting next to a murdered man, and you have the nerve to try and tell us what you're going to do and what you're not going to do!

"You're going to take it and like it, and you're going to be searched before you have a chance to ditch anything that you might have taken from this room. You know and I know there's something here you want, and want damn bad."

"So I came in and murdered Grieb to get it; is that right?" Mason asked.

The man in tweeds said, "Better be careful, Mr. Duncan, I think he's laying a trap for you. Don't accuse him of anything."

"I'm not afraid of him," Duncan said, "but I sure want to know a lot more about this thing before I let him go wandering off the ship."

"Well," Mason said, "suppose you search me now. I'll dump everything out of my pockets here, and you can both check the stuff."

"That's a good idea," the man in tweeds said. "I'd like to have someone check up on…"

"Take him into my bedroom," Duncan said. "That's through the door marked 'Private,' at the end of the bar. You go down a corridor, and my room's the second door on the left. Take him in there and wait until I come."

"When'll that be?" Mason asked.

"That'll be just as soon as I can get Arthur Manning in here. Manning's the one to handle this business. He's a special deputy. He's around the casino somewhere. You try and find him, Perkins. You'll know him when you see him. He's wearing a blue uniform with a badge on it that says SPECIAL OFFICER."

"You want me to parade around with this guy until I locate this deputy?"

"No-wait a minute-I'll signal him from here."

Duncan stepped behind the desk, reached down past Grieb's body and pressed a concealed button. The man in tweeds said, "I don't know what my legal rights are, but if I'm going to act under your orders, you're going to take all the responsibility. Is that understood?"

"Of course it is," Duncan said impatiently, "but watch Mason. Don't let him pull any fast ones, and don't let him ditch anything."

Mason drawled, "If you feel that way about it, Duncan, in justice to myself, I demand that I be handcuffed."

"You're asking for it?" Perkins inquired. Mason nodded.

Perkins heaved a sigh of relief and said, "You heard him say that, Duncan."

Duncan said, "Sure I did. Don't be so damn technical. Put the bracelets on him."

Mason held out his wrists. Perkins slipped the handcuffs on them and said, "Come on, let's go."

"The second door on the left after you go through the door marked 'Private,' at the end of the bar," Duncan instructed.

The man in tweeds slipped his right arm through Mason's left arm and said, "Put your wrists down, buddy. Then your coat sleeves will conceal the handcuffs. I'll hold my hand here and we can walk through the bar without making a lot of commotion."

Mason, still casually chewing gum, permitted himself to be escorted along the passageway, through the bar, through the door marked "Private," and into Duncan 's bedroom.

Perkins closed the door behind them and said, "You understand I haven't any hard feelings."

Mason nodded.

"And I'm just following Duncan 's orders. He's the one who's responsible, in case you feel like making any trouble."

"I don't feel like making any trouble," Mason said, "unless you put me in a position where I have to. You're in enough trouble already."

"What do you mean?"

"Leaving Duncan alone in that room."

"Somebody has to stay there until the authorities show up."

Mason shrugged his shoulders as though dismissing the subject. "The name's Perkins?" he asked.

"Yes."

"All right, Perkins, Duncan wants you to search me, and I want to be searched. You can start with the wallet in my inside coat pocket. You'll find some money in there and some business cards, a driving license, and a lodge card."

Perkins pulled the wallet from the inner pocket of Mason's coat, opened it, looked hastily through the wallet, then pushed it back in Mason's pocket. He patted Mason's pockets in search of a gun, then inserted the key in the handcuffs with fumbling fingers and said, "I hope you aren't going to be sore about this, Mr. Mason, I…"

As the handcuffs clicked open, Mason said, "Now wait a minute, Perkins. Let's go at this thing right. I'm doing this for my own protection. Now let's make a good job of it."

Mason walked to the dresser and emptied his pockets, then unfastened his collar.

"What are you doing?" Perkins asked.

"I'm stripping," Mason told him, "and you're going to search every inch of me and every stitch of clothes I've got on. Later on, you're going to get on the witness stand and swear that I didn't take anything out of that room, that I haven't any weapon on me and that you've listed absolutely everything which was in my possession."

Perkins nodded and said, "That suits me swell."

Mason had just taken off his shirt when the door opened and Duncan entered the room.

"What's coming off here?" Duncan asked.

Mason grinned and said, "Everything. I'm going to get a clean bill of health out of this."

"You don't need to go that far," Duncan said, his voice conciliatory.

"Well, I'm going that far," Mason told him.

"But that's absurd. I'm not accusing you of murder or of robbery, but you're a lawyer and I don't know just what your client's up to. I thought perhaps you might have picked up a gun in there, or perhaps there was some evidence you didn't want to have the officers find and…"

"Exactly," Mason said, "so we're going to settle this business right now and right here."

"Just search him for a gun, Perkins," Duncan ordered. "This business of taking off all of his clothes is absurd."

Perkins frowned. "A little while ago," he said, "you wanted him turned inside out. Now you…"

Mason, unbuckling his belt and slipping off his trousers, interrupted him. "Can't you see what he's doing, Perkins? He realizes now that it would have been a lot better for him if he'd let me go out without being searched. Then if anything was missing he could blame it on me. He'd like to have you make just a casual search now, and then, later on, he could claim there was something you didn't find."

"You talk as though you knew all about what I was thinking," Duncan said sarcastically.

Mason kicked off his shoes, pulled off his undershirt, stepped out of his shorts and stooped to unfasten his garters. "Perhaps I do," he said grimly. "Now, Perkins, go through my clothes and make a list of everything you find. As you finish with my clothes, hand them back to me and I'll put them on."

Duncan shoved a cigar into his mouth, took from his pocket a card of matches bearing the imprint of the gambling ship, started to say something, then checked himself and stood, matches in hand, chewing the cigar thoughtfully and watching Perkins go through Mason's clothes and toss them back to the lawyer.

While Mason was dressing, Perkins made a laborious inventory of the articles on the dresser which Mason had taken from his pockets.

Mason turned to Duncan and said, "Light your cigar, Duncan, you make me nervous. Did you lock up the offices?"

Duncan nodded, absently pulled a key from his pocket and held it out to Perkins.

"Any other keys to the door?" Mason asked.

"Only the one Grieb has," Duncan said, "and Arthur Manning's on guard in front of the door, with instructions not to let anyone in. I've sent word by one of the speed boats to telephone the police and have them come out and take charge."

"I suppose," Mason said, "you've stopped anyone from leaving the ship?"

Duncan shook his head. "I haven't any authority to do that. They could sue me for damages. People come and go, and I've got no right to…" As he talked, his voice gradually lost its assurance, first became a mumbling monotone, then faded into dubious silence.

Perkins looked up from making his inventory and said, "Hell, Duncan, they shouldn't be allowed to leave. The police won't like that. The officers will want to interview everyone aboard the ship at the time. Letting people leave is the worst thing you can do." As he spoke, the ripping exhaust of a speed boat gave unmistakable evidence that the launches were continuing their regular trips.

Duncan stepped out into the corridor, pushed open the door to the bar and yelled, "Jimmy, come in here." He returned to the bedroom while Perkins was counting the money in Mason's wallet.

He left the door open, and the bald-headed bartender, wearing his white apron, a genial smile turning up his fat lips, entered the room and let the smile fade into frowning concentration as he surveyed the three men. His eyes grew hard and watchful. "What is it?" he asked.

Duncan said, "We've had some trouble aboard, Jimmy."

The bartender, taking a cautious step toward Perkins and Mason, held his left shoulder slightly forward, his weight on the balls of his feet, his right fist doubled. "What trouble?" he asked ominously.

"Not here," Duncan said hastily, "it's in the other office. Something's happened to Sam Grieb."

"What?" the bartender asked, his eyes still watching Mason and Perkins.

"He was murdered."

"Who did it?"

"We don't know."

"Okay," the bartender said, "what do I do with these guys?"

"Nothing. I want you to stop the launches," Duncan said. "Don't let anyone leave until the police get here."

"Have you sent word to the police?"

"Yes."

The bartender slowly turned away from Mason and Perkins, to stare at Duncan.

"Just how do you want me to go about it?"

"Put a couple of boys at the head of the landing stairs and on the platform. Don't let anyone come aboard or get off."

"You taking charge here?" the bartender asked.

"Yes, of course."

"If you want a suggestion," the bartender said, "why not just pull up the landing-stage for emergency repairs? If we try to stop people coming and going, we've got to make explanations, and we'll have a panic here."

"That's a good idea, Jimmy," Duncan agreed. "I'm leaving it to you."

"Okay," the bartender said as he turned and strode from the room.

Perkins finished counting the money in Mason's wallet and said to the lawyer, "This is the way I've made the inventory. You'd better look it over."

"All right, I will," Mason said. "How about any other entrance to that room, Duncan?"

"There isn't any."

"Are you certain?"

"Of course I'm certain. This ship was completely refinished inside, in accordance with our specifications. It'd been a fishing barge, and the owner turned it into a gambling ship for us. We furnished the wheels and the layout, but he did the rest of it. We designed that office on purpose so people couldn't come busting in from two or three different doors. There's only one way into that private office, and that's through the reception room, and there's only one way into that reception room and that's through the right-angled corridor. We didn't know but what we might have trouble with the boys from some of the other ships; and when we laid the thing out we did it so muscle men couldn't come busting in, pull any rough stuff and get out. There's a bell button on the underside of the desk which calls the officer on duty, and then there's an emergency alarm which is a peach. If a suspicious-looking guy ever came into the office, Sam could press his foot on a little square plate beneath the desk. As soon as he pressed that, it made a contact, and then as long as his foot kept pressing it, nothing happened. But, if he took his foot away, without first throwing a switch, an emergency-alarm signal rang bells all over the ship and even down on the landing-stage. We've never had to use those bells, but if any guys had ever tried to muscle in and take us for a ride, we could have sewed them up. Once those bells rang, the men up in the watch room wouldn't let anyone out of Grieb's office. No one could get off the ship. And the crew had been drilled to grab guns and stand by."

"Then," Mason said, "whoever killed Grieb was someone who entered the office on legitimate business and shot Grieb before Grieb had any idea what was going to happen."

Duncan nodded and said, "You came here on legitimate business, I suppose."

"What do you mean by that crack?" Mason asked.

Duncan said, "I'm not making any cracks. I'm just telling you that the bird who bumped Sam off was someone he'd expected to see on business, someone who was able to walk into the office and pull a rod before Sammy had any idea what was going to happen.

"Sammy opened the door and let him in. Then Sammy went back to his desk, sat down and started talking. While he was in the middle of saying something, this guy, who was probably sitting on the other side of the desk, slipped a gun out of his pocket where Sammy couldn't see it, and all of a sudden pulled up the rod and let Sammy have it right through the head at short range. Then this guy walked out, pulled the door shut behind him and perhaps went on deck to toss the gun overboard, or he might have sat down in the other office for a while, reading magazines."

"Or," Mason said dryly, "might have taken a speed boat and gone ashore, for all you know."

"Well, whatever he did, it isn't my fault. I couldn't have sewed the ship up. Sammy was dead before I came aboard. We don't even know when he was killed. There might have been a dozen boats leave before I discovered it, and then again…"

Duncan glanced meaningly at Perry Mason.

"Then again, what?" Mason asked.

Duncan grinned, and his gold teeth once more flashed into evidence. "Nope," he said, "I'm not making any guesses. That's up to the officers."

Mason said, "There's no need for me to stick around. You've got an inventory of everything that was on me, Perkins. I'm going up on deck and see if anyone's particularly worried about not being able to leave."

Duncan nodded, started for the door, then stopped, frowned thoughtfully and said, "You're pretty smart, ain't you?"

"What do you mean?" Mason asked.

"I mean that you were damned anxious to be searched."

"Of course I was."

"I think I'll be searched," Duncan said. "After all, I was in that room for a minute or two before Manning showed up, and it might be a good idea to be able to prove I didn't take anything away with me."

Mason's laugh was sarcastic. "You might just as well spare yourself the trouble, Duncan. You've had an opportunity to take anything you wanted out of that room, toss it overboard or hide it in any one of a hundred different places. Being searched now isn't going to help you any."

Duncan said, "I don't like the way you say that."

Mason grinned. "I'm so sorry. You could have left the room at the same time we did, Duncan, and then there wouldn't have been any necessity for searching you."

"Yes," Duncan sneered, "and left the place wide open for an accomplice of yours to have come back and…"

"Accomplice of mine?" Mason asked, raising his eyebrows.

"I didn't mean it that way," Duncan admitted. "I meant a client of yours, or an accomplice of the murderer."

Mason yawned. "Personally, I don't like the air in here. It's stuffy. I think I'll mingle around."

"You're sure you made a list of everything he had on him?" Duncan asked Perkins.

Perkins nodded.

"The lining of his coat?"

"You bet," Perkins said. "I used to be a jailer. I know something about where a man hides things. I looked in his shoes, in the lining of his coat."

"Did you look under the collar of his coat?"

Perkins laughed and said, "Don't be silly. Of course I looked under the collar of his coat and in the cuffs of his pants. I went over every inch of cloth with my fingers."

"How much money did he have in that wallet?"

"Twenty-five hundred dollars in hundreds and fifties, and three hundred and twenty dollars in twenties, and then he had four fives, three ones and some silver, six quarters, ten dimes, four nickels and six pennies."

Mason grinned and said, "When you make an inventory, you make a good one, don't you, Perkins?"

"I wasn't a jailer for nothing," Perkins admitted. "Lots of times guys would swear they had a lot more money than they did."

Duncan stared at Mason with narrowed eyes. There was no trace of a smile either on his lips or in his eyes.

"Twenty-five hundred in fifties and hundreds, eh?" he asked.

Perkins said, "That's right."

"Were you," Mason asked, "thinking of something, Duncan?"

"Yes," Duncan said, "I was just thinking that seventy-five hundred dollars from ten thousand would leave twenty-five hundred."

Perkins looked puzzled. Mason's grin was affable. "Quite right, Duncan," he said, "and ten thousand from twelve thousand five hundred would leave twenty-five hundred; and twenty-five thousand from twenty-seven thousand five hundred would still leave twenty-five hundred."

Duncan's face darkened. He said to Perkins, "Could he have folded or wadded up any papers and concealed them on him somewhere?"

Perkins said, with some show of impatience, "Not a chance. I know what to look for, and I know where to look. I've been searching guys for years. Some of 'em used to try putting a flexible saw around the inside of their collars or down the stiffening in the front of their coats. But they didn't get away with it. I'm telling you I searched this guy. He asked for it and he got it."

Duncan jerked the door open and pounded out into the outer corridor. Mason grinned at Perkins. "Did you inventory the chewing gum, Perkins?"

"Sure. Three sticks of Wrigley's Double-Mint. And I even looked at the wrappers to make certain they hadn't been tampered with."

"Well, how about having a stick?" Mason asked. "I think I'll put in another stick to freshen this one."

Perkins said, "No, I don't chew gum, thanks."

Mason paused with the stick of gum half in his mouth and said, "Wait a minute, Perkins. You didn't look in my mouth. Perhaps you'd better do that, just in case there's some question. Duncan, you know, might fight dirty if he had a chance."

"I was thinking of that," Perkins admitted, "-about looking in your mouth, I mean-when Duncan was making all those cracks, but I didn't want to say anything."

Mason moistened his thumb and the tip of his forefinger, pulled out the wad of chewing gum and said, "Well, you'd better take a look now."

Perkins turned Mason's head so that the light showed in his mouth. "Okay," he said, "now raise up your tongue."

Mason raised his tongue. Perkins grinned, nodded, and said, "I'm giving you a clean bill of health. I'll bet fifty bucks you haven't got anything on you except what I inventoried."

Mason slapped Perkins on the shoulder and said, "Let's mingle around and see what Duncan's doing. You can follow his mental processes. First he was damned anxious to have me searched, and then he didn't want me searched. Then, when he realized you were going to search me anyway, he wanted me gone over with a microscope. He figures that something's missing. He's not sure I have it; but if I haven't, he'd like to make me a fall guy, anyhow."

"Well," Perkins said, "so far as I'm concerned, this trip's a bust. I came out here to serve some papers. The man I was to serve them on is dead."

"By the way," Mason said, "how long have you been with Duncan?"

"What do you mean?"

"If it came to a question of an alibi," Mason asked, "how far could you go with Duncan?"

"He picked me up in Los Angeles at ten minutes to five," Perkins said, "-or right around there. It might have been quarter to five, or it might have been around five minutes to five."

"But it was before five o'clock?" Mason asked.

"Yes, I know it was before five o'clock, because he bought me a cocktail and I noticed the clock over the bar. It said five o'clock."

"Then what did you do?"

"We went to dinner; and Duncan explained to me what papers I was to serve and just how I was to go about doing it. He said he wanted to catch Grieb when the place was running full tilt. So I waited around with him until he said okay."

"Did he say why?"

"No, but I gathered it was something about Grieb keeping all the books and the cash. Duncan wanted to serve the papers when the cash was all on the tables and have me go around and make some sort of an inventory, I think."

"Did you have any authority to do that?" Mason asked.

"No, not unless Grieb consented to it, but that would have been the smart thing for Grieb to do."

Mason stepped to the porthole and casually tossed out the wad of gum he had been chewing. "Well, let's go out and see what's happening. Duncan's going to have a job on his hands with these people if he isn't careful. It'll be an hour or so before the officers can get out here."

"When you come right down to it," Perkins said, "this ship's on the high seas, and no one's got any authority here except a representative of the United States Marshal's office."

"Or the Captain," Mason suggested.

"Well, yes, the Captain's entitled to give orders. I suppose they have someone here who rates as a captain, but of course he's just a figurehead. Duncan and Grieb are the big shots. Now Grieb's dead, Duncan's the whole squeeze."

"Yes," Mason said, "and if you wanted to be cold-blooded about it, you could say that Grieb's death hadn't been the worst thing in the world for Charlie Duncan."

"Uh-huh," Perkins grunted noncommittally.

Mason went on, "Duncan, as the surviving partner, will have the job of winding up the partnership affairs. You know, Perkins, if I were you, seeing you have sort of an official status here, I'd stick around to make certain Duncan didn't go back into that room, perhaps long enough to open the vault and start prowling around. You know Manning, who's standing guard, is in the employ of the ship, and, now that Grieb's dead, he's dependent on Duncan for his bread and butter."

Perkins nodded. "I guess that's not a bad idea. The officers may figure I should take charge. I'm a deputy United States Marshal. Thanks for helping me out of a mean situation, Mason. If you'd wanted to be tough about being searched, it would have put me in an awful spot. As an officer, I'd have hated to watch you walk out of that room without being searched, but I'd hate like hell to have had to make a search without a warrant, you being a lawyer and all that."

Mason said, "Don't mention it, Perkins. You know your business, but I really think the place for you is keeping an eye on Manning."