"Half past two," he told her. She tried to walk, but swayed on her numb feet. The lawyer caught her in his arms as she staggered. "Steady," he told her, holding her close to him.


She smiled sleepily and said, "I'm all pins and needles from my knees down. Gosh, I've been asleep a long time. That's one of the best sleeping chairs I ever sat in."


He slid an arm around her shoulders while she pillowed her cheek against his coat and closed her eyes.


"Why did you come up here?" he asked.


"There was a news flash on the ten o'clock broadcast that Sam Grieb had been murdered on his gambling ship and that everyone aboard was being held pending a complete investigation, so I thought you might want something, or try to get some message to me, and I figured I could work things better from here than from the apartment house where I hang out."


"Did anything else come in?" Mason asked.


She puckered her forehead into a frown and said, "Gee, Chief, those legs are driving me nuts. Let me walk around."


He circled her waist with his arm. Together, they started walking around the office, Della Street stamping her feet, making little grimaces of pain. "Let me see," she said... "There was some hot stuff in the midnight broadcast. It seems that Perry Mason, the noted attorney, was aboard the ship at the time of the murder, and was detained by authorities for questioning. The police are looking for a mysterious white-haired woman somewhere around fifty or fifty-five years of age, who wore a silver gown, silver slippers, a string of pearls about her neck and had snow-white hair cut in a boyish bob. Everyone described her appearance as striking... Tell me, Chief, why did Mrs. Benson go aboard? Were you to meet her out there?"


"No," he said, "she claims she went out to back me up in case I got into any trouble."


"Then she must have been carrying a gun," Della said.


"How are your legs?" the lawyer inquired.


"Better. I can feel the floor now, but we were talking about a gun. Look here, Chief, are you keeping something from me?"


"Lots of things," he told her.


She looked down at her legs and said, "Regretfully, Chief, I must inform you that my circulation is now restored."


He released her. She danced a swift jig step, perched herself on the corner of the office desk, and said, "Let's get this straight while we have a chance. The landlady out at my apartment house is absolutely okay. She's a friend of mine and perfectly swell. I told her I had some friends coming to see me and I didn't have room to put them up in my apartment, so I wanted to rent the adjoining apartment for a few days. You see, my apartment was once part of a double, but they made it into two singles, and the other single is vacant. I paid her a week's rent and then went out to your place and picked up a suitcase. Gee, Chief, I hope I got everything you need. I didn't have room to put in an extra suit of clothes, but I got socks, shirts, underwear, ties, shaving things, toothbrushes and pajamas. I also put in the pair of bedroom slippers that were under the edge of your bed... I thought you might want to hide out."


"What did you do with the suitcase?" he asked.


"Planted it in this apartment I was telling you about. I figured that after they let you go they'd be watching you, and if they saw you leave your apartment with a suitcase they might..."


"Good girl," he interrupted. "Switch out those lights. We're on our way."


"You see," she said, turning out the lights, "in this way you can keep in touch with me and no one will be the wiser. There's a connecting door between the apartments, and I could have you in for meals and..."


He slipped an arm around her waist and said, "Della, you're a life saver. As a matter of fact, I have an idea they'll be trying to serve a subpoena on me within the next two hours."


"And you don't want to be subpoenaed?" she asked.


"Absolutely not. Where's your car, Della?"


"In the parking lot."


"Okay," he told her, "I'll get in my car and drive around the block. In case I'm shadowed, I'll ditch the shadows before I come out. If I'm not, I'll follow you out. After you get out to your apartment, put in a call for Paul Drake. Get him out of bed. Now, they may have tapped your line. So just ask him if he's seen me or heard anything from me. He'll tell you that he hasn't. Then you tell him it's important as the devil that you see him right away, and ask him if he can come out to your apartment. Tell him you're worried about me. Don't let him stall you along, but make him get in his car and come out at once. Do you follow me?"


"I," she proclaimed, "am two paragraphs ahead of you."


CHAPTER 9


PAUL DRAKE tapped at the door of Della Street's apartment. She flung open the door and said, "Come in, Paul."


He regarded her with a droll smile and said, "You're as bad as your boss. I was hoping I might get a couple of hours of sleep."


"I'm worried about Perry," Della said, "awfully worried about him. The news flash came through that he was out on that gambling ship when..."


Drake interrupted her to say, "He was out there, Sylvia Oxman was out there, Frank Oxman was out there, and some woman in a silver evening gown who tossed a gun overboard after the murder, was out there. Perry had lots of company. They can't pin anything on him just because he was there - but they're sure going to try!"


"Well," she said, "I don't know too much about it, but the chief's gone into hiding."


"Gone into hiding," Drake echoed. "Well, that's food for thought. Where did he go? Where is he?"


"I don't know. He telephoned in some instructions from a pay station. He says he may be classed as a fugitive from justice, and he doesn't want to get me implicated. He's worked out a method of communicating with me though."


Della Street picked up a shorthand notebook and said, "Here are his instructions: You're to find out everything you can about the murder, and particularly, he wants you to get a photograph from the newspaper men of the fingerprints that were developed on the glass top of Grieb's desk. It seems the fingerprint men got a lot of latent prints from it. There was one print of a hand, and the chief thinks it's a woman's hand. He couldn't see it clearly. He wants to get a copy of that latent print, if he can."


"Okay, what else?"


"The chief wants to find out exactly what Duncan's doing. Now there's a man on the ship by the name of Arthur Manning, who works as guard and bouncer. He figures he's due to lose his job as soon as Duncan takes over, because he'd sided with Grieb. The chief made a play to get Manning lined up with us, and thinks it's going to work. Manning's coming in to see me sometime after nine this morning. I'll get in touch with you when he comes in.


"Now, the chief figures that by sticking up for his rights, Manning can demand two weeks' notice and perhaps make it stick. Duncan will probably fire him, and the chief wants you to promise him a two months' job at a fair salary, with a chance to stay on regularly if he makes good. He's not to let anyone know that he's working for you, and he's to keep on out at the gambling ship just as long as he can. He'll make secret reports to you. The chief figures he can find out things.


"As soon as you've hired him, so the man's sympathies will be with you, the chief wants you to turn him inside out about just what he saw, and particularly just what Duncan was doing when Manning came into the office in response to the buzzer signal. Duncan may have been trying to plant some evidence in the chair where the chief had been sitting. Perry figures Manning might not have told all he knows about that - you know, figuring on trying to hold his job."


Drake nodded and said, "Okay, I'll put Manning to work. What else?"


"You're to report to me from time to time everything you've found out about the case, but you're to come into the office and do it personally. You're not to use the telephone. The chief thinks they may be looking for him and may try tapping telephone lines and..."


"For God's sake, is he going to stay hidden if they put out a dragnet for him?" Drake asked.


"That's what he said."


"He can't do it," Drake said positively. "They'll find him. He's mixed in this thing the way it is. He was waiting in the outer office when Duncan came in and discovered the murder. You can't let him..."


"Paul," Della Street interrupted in a tone of finality, "when the chief tells me to do something, I do it. I've learned by experience that it doesn't do any good to argue with him."


"Well, I want to talk with him," Drake said. "He's going to be in bad on this thing. He may even be accused of murder."


Della Street nodded lugubriously. "I'll tell him you want to talk with him the next time he gets in touch with me. And, in the meantime, he wanted you to give me a detailed report about what you know."


Drake said, "There isn't much to report. Sylvia Oxman went out aboard the ship about half or three-quarters of an hour before Mason went out, and Frank Oxman went out a short time later. Now, that's where the breaks went against my man. He tailed Oxman right down to the wharf and up to the point where Oxman bought a ticket for the speed boat. Then he ran into some tough luck. Oxman was the last passenger aboard the boat, which was loaded to capacity. As soon as he got aboard, the speed boat shoved off, and my man couldn't possibly get aboard. He had to wait quite a while before another launch was ready to shove off. Then, when he did get out to the gambling ship, he couldn't find a trace of Oxman anywhere. He searched all over the place for fifteen or twenty minutes. Finally he spotted Oxman just boarding one of the shore launches. So he got aboard that launch and tailed Oxman to the Breeden Hotel, where he's staying. I'd already stationed a plant - an operative staked out in the lobby - so if Oxman spotted his shadow, the operative in the lobby could carry on. Oxman was suspicious, and waited around in the lobby for a little while to make certain he wasn't being followed. So the tail turned him over to the plant. After a while Oxman went up to the desk and said he had some money he wanted to deposit in the hotel safe. He said it was money that belonged to someone else and he was particularly anxious to be relieved of the responsibility, so he made the clerk count it with him and check the amount, put it in an envelope, and deposit it in the safe.


"The money amounted to nine thousand five hundred bucks. You tell Perry about that and see if that means anything to him. I think it will. I've put a shadow on Oxman and we'll follow every move he makes.


"My men couldn't pick up Sylvia Oxman right away. She'd been out all day, but along late in the afternoon her maid came out carrying a fur coat, so one of the boys followed her and picked up Sylvia. Perry knows all about that. The shadow's name was Belgrade and I sent a relief for him down to the pier, but Sylvia had got aboard the ship before the relief arrived. Tell Perry that Belgrade shadowed her aboard and his report shows that she parked her coat with the hat check girl, stuck around for a while, and finally went into Sam Grieb's office. Now she'd been in there for maybe two or three minutes when a man who answered the description of Frank Oxman went down the corridor and was gone just a minute or two. Then he came out. Then, later on. Perry went in. Then Sylvia went out. Belgrade's instructions were to tag Sylvia, but Belgrade knew Perry was in there, and figured Perry might be having some trouble, so he stuck around, trying to keep Sylvia lined up and also watch the office entrance. Sylvia was nervous, did a little gambling and kept looking back at the offices.


"Then Duncan and a tall chap in a tweed suit went in, and a few minutes later the tall chap brought Mason out, and Mason's wrists were handcuffed. Sylvia went white as a sheet when she saw that, and dropped into a chair as though her legs had gone weak. She stayed there for three or four minutes. Then Duncan came out of the office, and Sylvia got up and started for the deck. Belgrade followed her up to the deck, then down to one of the speed launches.


"Now, there were a couple of neckers out on deck who saw some woman toss a gun overboard. Apparently Perry got to talk with them, and by the time he got through, about all they dare swear to is that they saw a gun somewhere in the air, just before it struck the water.


"Well, Sylvia went ashore, and when she landed Staples relieved Belgrade. Belgrade phoned in his report, and I told him to go pound his ear for a while. Staples made a good job of following Sylvia. He says she acted as if she was scared to death over something. She parked her car in the Central Garage at Fifth and Adams, then took a taxicab to the Pacific Greyhound Depot and bought a ticket on a bus that was leaving for San Francisco. Her ticket read as far as Ventura, but when the bus pulled into the depot at Hollywood, she got out and didn't get back aboard. My man followed her and she went to the Christy Hotel and registered under the name of Nell Yardley, and gave her address as 1260 Polk Street, San Francisco. She was given Room 318 and hasn't gone out since."


"You have men watching the place?" Della asked.


"Sewed up tighter than a drum," Drake told her.


"Okay, the chief wants you to keep her and Frank Oxman shadowed and he wants you to locate a Matilda Benson who lives at 1090 Wedgewood Drive, and shadow her. The chief says she's pretty cagey and you'll have some trouble with her. She's the white-haired woman in the silver dress who figures in the case, and the chief wants to find out if the officers have learned who she is. If they have, they'll be watching the house and your men can spot them. Let us know just as soon as any other men get on the job. And locate her if you can. She'll be under cover somewhere."


Drake said, "All right, I've got that. How about Duncan? He worked all day getting papers issued. He's filed a suit alleging the dissolution of the partnership and asking for an accounting in the federal court. Post, Wiker, Jones & Grayson are his lawyers and they're a reputable firm. After Duncan got the papers filed and an order issued to show cause why a receiver shouldn't be appointed, he and Dick Perkins, a deputy who specializes in serving papers, started down to the gambling ship.


"Mason only wanted a tail on Duncan long enough to find out when Duncan was starting out to serve the paper, so my man checked out when Duncan and the deputy reached the pier. Belgrade, the operative who was tailing Sylvia, knows Duncan personally. He identifies Duncan as one of the men who went into the offices, and the chap who was with him answers the description of the deputy marshal, Perkins. Perry will know because he was there."


"Then Frank Oxman went down the corridor to those offices while Sylvia was still there?" Della Street asked.


"That's right. The description checks."


"And that was after his wife had gone in, and before Perry arrived?"


"Yes."


"And Frank Oxman came right out?"


"That's right. He was only in there a minute or so."


"Then he went ashore and went to the Breeden Hotel and left nine thousand five hundred dollars with the clerk. Is that right?"


"Check."


"And his wife had been staying there at the same hotel?"


"No, they've separated. The wife has an apartment at the Huxley Arms, but now she's staying at the Christy Hotel as Nell Yardley."


"Anything else?" Della Street asked.


Drake shook his head.


"All right, Paul, keep on the job. I'll let you know as soon as I have any more instructions."


Drake frowned and said, "Now listen, Della, it's up to you to snap Perry out of this. He's going to get himself in an awful mess if he isn't careful. Somebody murdered Sam Grieb at just about the time he was out there. Now, my man, Belgrade, knows that Sylvia Oxman was there when Mason went in. I think I can trust Belgrade to keep his mouth shut, but that information's simply dynamite, and if it should get out to the officers or to the newspapers it would put Perry in an awful spot. Then there's that couple on the ship who saw the gun tossed overboard. That business isn't going to help any. By the time they get on the witness stand they'll have Sylvia taking that gun out of her handbag. That'll pin an accessory-after-the-fact charge right on Mr. Perry Mason. Now, you tell Perry I want to talk with him. He's sitting on a volcano."


"Okay," Della said wearily, "I'll tell him, but it probably won't do any good. He's the champion volcano-sitter."


"Going to buy me a drink?" Drake asked.


"What do you want?"


"Scotch and soda, if you've got it. And, just to show you I'm a good scout, I'll buy a bottle of Scotch and bring it up the next time I come. It'll be on the expense account as entertainment, and neither Perry nor his client will know who got it."


"Swell," she told him, and went to the ice box, brought out ice cubes, Scotch and soda, poured two drinks and clicked glasses with the detective.


"Confusion to our enemies," she toasted.


Drake gulped down three big swallows of the light amber drink. "You don't need to wish any confusion on them. The whole case is worse than a jigsaw puzzle." He slipped his arm around her waist and said, "Gee, Della, you're a good kid! I wish I could get someone who had just one percent as much loyalty for me as you have for Perry. How does he work it?"


Della laughed. "Take your arm away, Paul. Experience has taught me that when a man sticks around my apartment about daylight, drinking Scotch and soda and talking about my wonderful loyalty, he's getting ready to go out of control."


Drake sighed. "I see you're a good judge of character as well as a darned efficient secretary. Going to kiss me good-by when I leave, Della?"


"No. If I did you wouldn't leave."


"Well," Drake said, "there's no harm in asking. I'll drop in at the office later on and give you all the dirt I can dig up. So long, Della, and thanks for the drink."


"Don't forget that bottle of Scotch," she told him as she closed the door behind him.


Perry Mason stepped out from behind the screen where he had been sitting. "The big palooka, trying to kiss my secretary! Where the hell does he get that nerve?"


Della Street laughed at him. "If you're going to spy on my unguarded moments you'll hear a lot worse than that. He was positively platonic."


"And padding his expense account," Mason grinned. "So that's why his expenses are so big. Hand over that bottle of Scotch. If you're going to get another one on the expense account I might as well make a hole in this one."


CHAPTER 10


PERRY MASON was sleeping soundly when Della Street pulled up the shades and let sunshine filter into the apartment. She was trimly dressed in a neat-fitting gray tailored suit, as freshly radiant as though she had been in bed by nine o'clock.


"Hi, Chief," she said, "I hate to do this, but it's necessary."


Mason muttered a mumbling protest in a voice which was thick with sleep.


"Hurry up," she said, "I have to get to the office, because I'm working for a slave driver who insists on my being there by nine-thirty every morning and prefers to have me there to open the mail at nine o'clock."


Mason opened his eyes, blinked in protest against the sunlight and said, "Fire the boss, Della, and get a new one. Why not work for me? I'll let you stay in bed until noon every day."


"Well," she said slowly, as though deliberating his proposal, "I should give the other boss notice, shouldn't I?"


"To hell with the notice," Mason said sleepily, "give him two weeks' salary. And how about my breakfast?"


"All laid out on the table for you," she said. "Coffee in the percolator, orange juice in the ice box, eggs all ready to drop in the boiling water that's on the stove, and a plate of bread by the electric toaster, plenty of butter, strawberry jam and broiled bacon being kept warm in the oven. I let you sleep just as long as I dared, Chief."


Mason sat up in bed, rumpled his hair with his fingers and said, "Young woman, you're begging the question. How about quitting your other boss and going to work for me?"


"I'd have to get in touch with him first," she said, "and no one knows where he is."


He grinned. "You're trying to make me get witty, think up come-backs to your wise-cracks, so I won't go back to sleep after you leave. I'm on to you! Why all the early morning calls?"


"The newspaper," she said, "with an account of the crime, a diagram, a cross marking the spot, a statement from Perry Mason, the attorney, seems to have disappeared, and an awful wallop right between the eyes: one of Drake's men sold out."


"Give me that paper," Mason commanded.


"Not yet, Chief. You shower, breakfast, and think it over. Don't do anything until you've gone over it carefully. I'm going to open up the office. If I don't do that, some smart detective may figure I'm with you and start frisking my apartment."


"Who sold out?"


"George Belgrade."


"Whom did he sell us out to?"


"The newspapers. They paid a top price for his story."


"Let's see, Belgrade was the one who knew Duncan, wasn't he?"


"Yes, he was the man who was shadowing Sylvia Oxman. He sure put both of you in a sweet spot. She was in those offices when you went in, and she came out before you did. Therefore, she must have been in there either when the murder was committed, after it was committed, or before it was committed."


He grinned and said, "That's logical. And she must have either been sitting down, standing up or walking around."


"No," Della Street said, "I'm serious, Chief. This is the way the newspaper has doped it out: If she went in there after the murder was committed, there would have been no reason for you to have protected her. If she was in there while the murder was being committed, she must have done the killing. If she left before the murder was committed, you must have done it.


"Belgrade admits he was hired as a detective by Paul Drake, that he knows Paul Drake does your work, and thinks he was working for you on this case; that you apparently were representing Sylvia Oxman because you're trying to cover up for her. The newspaper's dishing out a lot of dirt, and it's putting you in an awful spot.


"Now, here's something else: the eight-thirty Newspaper-of-the-Air announces that the woman in the silver gown was Matilda Benson, the grandmother of Sylvia Oxman. Both women were evidently aboard the gambling ship at the time the murder was committed. Both women have vanished. Matilda Benson apparently committed suicide by jumping overboard."


Mason flung his legs out of bed and made a grab for the newspaper.


She tossed him the paper and said, "That isn't in the newspaper. It came over the radio as a news flash."


"How do they know she committed suicide?"


"They found her fur coat wrapped around the anchor chain of the gambling ship when it came daylight. Her name was in the coat, and it's been identified by some of her friends."


Mason laughed. "I know the answer to that. It isn't suicide."


"Okay, Chief, have breakfast and read the paper. I'm going up to the office and go through the motions of frantically wondering where you are. Now I won't dare to come back here before five o'clock tonight. You may want to get in touch with me in the meantime. If you want to give me any instructions, you can telephone Paul Drake and leave the message with him. He'll see that I get it. I've brought in my portable radio. There's a card with station numbers and the hours of news broadcasts beside it."


"What time is it?" Mason asked.


"Twenty minutes to nine. I want to be up at the office early so I can answer questions about you."


He nodded and said, "Where's the breakfast, Della, in your apartment or here?"


"Here," she told him. "I brought supplies over from my place. You lock the connecting door after I leave and keep it locked, because some smart dick may start prowling around my apartment."


"Okay, Della," he told her, drawing up his feet to sit cross-legged on the bed while he spread the newspaper open.


"Go on and get your breakfast," she told him. "You'll probably want to explode into some action, and you'll need food in your stomach. You can read while you're eating. I'm on my way. Toodle-oo." She blew him a saucy kiss and gently closed the connecting door to her apartment.


Mason found his bedroom slippers placed under the edge of his bed.


"The perfect secretary," he muttered, grinning, thrusting his feet into his slippers and straightening his pajamas. He went into the kitchenette where a coffee pot was sending forth steaming aromas. Water was briskly boiling on the stove. Three eggs were in a saucer near the water. Mason glanced across at the table, with its white cloth, glittering silver, coffee cup, cream, sugar, jam, butter, bread and electric toaster. He dropped the three eggs into the water, poured himself a cup of coffee, noted the time, and stood over the eggs to wait for the three-minute interval to elapse. He spread the paper fiat against the wall, holding it with his left hand pressed against the upper left-hand corner, while his right held the cup of coffee. As he read the paper, he sipped the coffee. The three minutes passed unnoticed, lengthened into five. Mason set down his empty coffee cup. The eggs danced about in the briskly boiling water.


Mason opened the paper to the inside page and studied the diagram of the gambling ship, the photographs of the hull, waded through a lot of extraneous detail concerning the previous history of the ship and its transition from a proud, square-rigged vessel which sailed the seven seas, to a fishing barge and then a gambling ship.


Suddenly he thought of the eggs, and glanced at his watch. The eggs had been in exactly fifteen minutes.


He turned out the fire, dumped eggs and water into the sink with a frown of disgust, poured himself another cup of coffee, took it over to the table, placed two slices of bread in the electric toaster and switched on the current. He buried his nose once more in the paper and studied the statement of George Belgrade with a frowning concentration which prevented him from noticing the wisping streamers which began to drift upward from the bread in the electric toaster. The streamers grew into a cloud. The apartment was filled with the odor of burning toast. Mason groped with his free hand for the handle of his coffee cup, raised the rim of the cup to his lips and then caught sight of the smoke billowing up from the toaster. With an exclamation, he switched off the toaster. He gulped down the rest of his coffee, forgot about the bacon, dropped the newspaper on the floor, divested himself of his pajamas on the way to the bathroom, showered and shaved. While he was shaving, he was staring with unseeing eyes at his reflection in the mirror. The motions of his shaving were purely mechanical.


Mason foraged around in the cupboard and the icebox and found no food. He tentatively opened one of the hard-boiled eggs in the sink, but it presented too substantial a problem for a breakfast dish. He took the charred toast from the toaster, dropped in two more slices of bread and switched on the radio. He kept a watchful eye on the toast, turned it when one side was a golden brown. The voice of the announcer on the radio finished droning through routine news and announced a flash. Officers who had been searching for Perry Mason, the noted criminal attorney, seeking to serve a subpoena on him to appear for questioning before the grand jury, were now seeking him on a much more serious charge. While they would not divulge the exact nature of the charge, informed sources stated that he was to be arrested upon suspicion of murder, criminal conspiracy, and compounding a felony. Following the spectacular statement of George Belgrade, which had been exclusively released through a local newspaper, the Federal Grand Jury had issued a subpoena for Belgrade. There had followed a battle of wits between the newspaper which had paid Belgrade for his exclusive statement, and the United States Marshal's office, which had been seeking to serve the subpoena and bring Belgrade before the grand jury forthwith. The marshal had won out. Belgrade had been found where he had been concealed by representatives of the newspaper which had hoped to print an exclusive follow-up story. A subpoena had also been issued for Paul Drake, head of the Drake Detective Bureau.


The radio announcer promised to report latest developments in the murder case at the next news broadcasting period. In the meantime, a search of Perry Mason's usual haunts had been fruitless. Perry Mason, Sylvia Oxman and Matilda Benson were all three missing.


By the time the broadcaster had concluded his statement, Perry Mason ruefully inspected the charred remains of his second attempt at toast making and switched off the current.


For more than half an hour, Mason paced the floor in frowning concentration, then, having reached a decision, he dressed, put on his hat, locked the door of the apartment, descended to the street and walked to the boulevard. He called Paul Drake's office from a pay station, asked to be connected with Drake, and a moment later heard the detective's voice on the line.


"Hello, Paul," Mason said. "You know who this is?"


"Yes. Where are you telephoning from?"


"A pay station."


"Where?"


"In a drug store. Is it safe to talk, Paul?"


"I think so. Listen, Perry, I'm sorry as hell about this Belgrade business. You know how it is. I pick my men the best way I can and I never put men on your work unless I've first tested them for honesty and ability and..."


"Forget it," Mason interrupted. "There's no use crying over spilled milk. Hell, Paul, we can't waste time swapping words over what..."


"I know," Drake interrupted. "But I want you to know how I feel."


"I know how you feel. You can't help what happened."


"Well, now I've got that off my chest," Drake said, "I want to see you. Manning's here in the office with some important information. I've been subpoenaed to appear this afternoon at two o'clock before the grand jury. I'm afraid Manning may be subpoenaed, and I think you'd better talk with him. Then you may want to let him stick around and get a subpoena. You know, of course, they're looking for you."


"Yes."


"I want to talk with you about that. You can't..."


"Think you can get away from your office without being followed, Paul?" Mason interrupted.


"I think so. I'll have a couple of the boys tail me, and if anyone's tagging along they can tip me off."


"Okay. You tell Della to leave any messages at your office. You bring Manning with you. Make sure you're not being followed, and go to the corner of Adams and Figueroa. Wait there on the corner. I'll pick up a taxicab, and if no one's on my trail I'll drive by to pick you up. If the coast is clear, take off your hat and stand on the corner with your hat in your hand. If you're at all suspicious, leave your hat on your head and I'll whiz right on by and call your office to pick another meeting place."


"Okay," Drake said. "I think I've got an out for you, Perry."


"That," Mason proclaimed, "will help."


"It's a swell break for you," Drake said. "It's spectacular, dramatic and logical. It clears you and your clients."


Mason said slowly, "Perhaps you think that won't be welcome. How soon can you make it, Paul?"


"If we're not followed, I can be there in ten or fifteen minutes. I'm bringing Manning with me. If we're followed, it'll take a while to ditch the shadows."


"Okay," Mason told him, "... be seeing you," and hung up the telephone. He stopped at the lunch counter in the drug store, ate two soft-boiled eggs, toast and bacon, then waited on the corner for a cruising cab. When one came along, he had it drive to a side street address. He paused there uncertainly, as though debating with himself, then said to the cab driver, "Turn around, go out Figueroa to Adams, turn west on Adams, and then I'll tell you where to go."


The cab driver nodded, turned the car and sent it into speed. Mason leaned forward in the seat, said, "Not too fast as you round the corner into Adams. I want to look at some property there."


"Okay," the driver told him.


Mason saw Paul Drake and Arthur Manning standing on the corner. Drake was holding his hat in his hand.


Mason said, "I think I'll stop and take a good look at this property. Here's enough to cover the meter and leave you a couple of cigars."


The cab driver pulled in to the curb, rang down the meter, opened the door of the cab and said, "I can wait if you ain't going to be long."


"No," Mason told him, "it may be some little time. Don't wait."


The cab driver thanked him and drove on. Drake continued to stand with his hat in his hand, taking no notice whatever of Mason. Not until the cab had rounded the corner, did Drake touch Manning's arm and move on toward the lawyer. He said, "My car's parked around the corner, Perry. We can talk there."


Mason nodded. Manning said, "I sure want to thank you, Mr. Mason, for what you've done for me. Mr. Drake's given me a job. He's going to try me out for a couple of months, and I think I can make good."


"How about Duncan?" Mason asked. "Has he said anything about firing you?"


Manning shook his head and said, "In some ways I feel like a rat with Duncan. He certainly has been square and aboveboard as far as I'm concerned. I took sides against him with Grieb, but Duncan called me in and said he wasn't holding any hard feelings, that he understood just how I'd been situated, and that I couldn't have done anything different. It was damn white of him. He said I could stay on in my regular job."


"Then perhaps you'd prefer to do that instead of working for Drake," Mason said, flashing Drake a warning look.


"No," Manning said slowly, "I think this job has a future, and I'm afraid of Duncan. I can't trust him."


"How do you mean?" Mason asked. "You think he's just kidding you along?"


"That's right. Duncan's clever as hell. Right now he needs me. I'm the only one who can back his story."


Drake said, "Here's the car, Perry. Wait until you hear his story. I've heard it, so you'd better let me ask the questions."


"Okay," Mason said, climbing in the back of the car. Drake slid behind the driver's wheel, and Manning sat next to him.


Drake said, "I want you to talk with Manning, Perry, and hear his story. Before we start on that, I've got something to tell you about Frank Oxman."


"What is it?"


"Something's in the wind there, Perry, sure as hell. Early this morning Oxman dashed out of the Breeden Hotel and went to the offices of Worsham & Weaver. They're lawyers, you know. P. C. Worsham, the senior partner, was there, and after a while a stenographer showed up. My men covered the corridor. They couldn't hear what was going on in the office, but they did hear the clack of a typewriter; and a little later a couple of detectives from the homicide squad came in. There was quite a bit of talking. When the dicks left, they took Oxman with them."


"Under arrest?" Mason asked.


"It looked like it."


"Where is he now?"


"At the D.A.'s office, apparently being turned inside out. Something's happening in a big way and one of the newspapers has a tip-off. A reporter is hanging around the Breeden Hotel waiting for Oxman to come back to his room."


Mason said slowly, "Then it isn't a pinch, Paul. If the newspaper has a tip-off and is waiting for Oxman to come back, that means the newspaper knows Oxman's going to be released."


"That's right," Drake agreed. "I hadn't thought of it in just that way."


Mason narrowed his eyes and said, "That could complicate matters, Paul."


For a moment they sat in silence. Then Drake said, "Perry, I want to explain to you about this man Belgrade, who sold us out. You see..."


"Forget it," Mason interrupted. "He sold us out, and that's that. You can't apologize it away, and you can't explain it away. It's happened, and that's all there is to it. It's one of those things that are bound to happen when you have to work through operatives. You can't expect a man who draws eight dollars a day and expenses to pass up a juicy chunk of coin when a newspaper offers it to him."


Drake fidgeted uneasily and said, "I should never have hired the fellow in the first place. His record isn't any too good. And I certainly shouldn't have let him get aboard that ship, in view of the fact that he knew Duncan and Grieb. I sent Staples down to the pier to relieve him. Sylvia Oxman had gone aboard before Staples got there, so he didn't pick her up until after she'd left the ship. Then he relieved Belgrade and took up the shadowing job. Staples was the man I wanted for the job all along. He'd been covering her apartment."


Mason said slowly, "Then Belgrade was relieved before Sylvia went into hiding, is that right?"


"Yes."


"Therefore," Mason went on, "Belgrade can't tip the newspaper off to where Sylvia is now?"


"That's right. Staples picked her up at the wharf and shadowed her into the Christy Hotel, and bribed a bellboy to give him her room number - 318. I reported to Della."


"Yes, I know," Mason interrupted, "Della told me."


Drake said, "Well, I wanted to get that off my mind, Perry. You've been damned white about it, but it was a blunder on my part. I shouldn't have let Belgrade have anything to do with the case. So much for the bad part. Now for the good part: I think we've got something that's going to put us in the clear."


Drake turned to Manning, said, "Turn around, Arthur, so Mr. Mason can see your face. I'm going to ask you some questions and I want you to..."


"I can tell my story," Manning said eagerly, "and then you can..."


"No," Drake interrupted, "I want to ask you questions. That's the way your story would come out in court or in front of a grand jury, and I want Mason to see how you handle yourself on answering questions."


"Okay," Manning said with a grin, "fire away."


"How long have you been out there on the gambling ship?"


"Ever since it started."


"And you were friendly to Grieb and unfriendly to Duncan?"


"Not exactly. My original contact was with Duncan. He got me the job. But Duncan was the outside man. Grieb was the inside man. Duncan was in the city most of the time buying supplies, handling publicity, making arrangements with the speed boat men, looking after political fences to keep the beach cities from passing ordinances putting the speed boat men out of business, and all that sort of stuff. So naturally I was thrown more and more in contact with Sam Grieb. Then they commenced to start fighting over little things, and I tried to keep neutral. Gradually I found Duncan was steering clear of me, and Grieb was taking me into his confidence. I tried to keep things from drifting too far that way, but I didn't want to put myself in a position where I had both Grieb and Duncan sore at me; and I figured Grieb was going to come out on top because he was the one who had the money."


"Now then," Drake said, glancing meaningly at Mason, "who murdered Grieb?"


"Nobody."


"How do you figure that?" Drake asked.


"Well, Grieb and Duncan had some IOU's signed by Sylvia Oxman. Grieb was trying to peddle them at a premium, if he could. He had an idea Frank Oxman would pay a bonus to get hold of them.


"Duncan was anxious to get them in the form of cash, because Duncan knew there was going to be a bust-up of the partnership and he figured it would be easier to divide cash than to hold the sack of notes. So Duncan and Grieb had a big fight yesterday afternoon and Duncan made Grieb promise that he'd get those IOU's reduced to cash by seven o'clock that night. Grieb was going to get a premium for them if he could, and, if he couldn't, he was going to let them go for their face value. It seems Mr. Mason had thrown an awful scare into them when he started handling Sylvia's case.


"Now, I was sticking around the offices until about fifteen or twenty minutes before Duncan came in and discovered the murder, and I know Grieb was alive when I left. He sent for me and said the crap table had a slicker working the game, and sent me over there to take a look. Now, no one had come in who could have paid off those IOU's before I went over to the crap table. Three people went in afterward - Sylvia, Frank Oxman, and Mr. Mason. After Duncan found the body, the IOU's were gone, and there was seventy-five hundred bucks in the desk drawer. That was just the amount of those IOU's, so I figured Oxman must have paid them off. Sam held out for a premium and Oxman wouldn't give it to him, so finally Sam took just the face value of the IOU's."


"Then Oxman must have been in there long enough to have talked with Grieb. Is that right?" Drake asked.


"Yes, that's right. I saw him go in. I didn't see him come out. I thought I was keeping my eye peeled all the time, but you know how it is when you're watching a dice slicker, and Oxman must have gone out without my seeing him. It's a cinch someone paid off those IOU's. I don't think the dame did it. She didn't have the dough for one thing."


"Well, then," Mason said, "what you're getting at is that Oxman must have killed him."


"No," Manning said, vigorously shaking his head, "it all builds up to the fact that Oxman didn't kill him."


Drake said, "Wait a minute, Perry, and let me handle this. I know the whole story... Now, Arthur, why do you think Oxman didn't kill him?"


"Because if Oxman had paid off those IOU's and then killed him, he certainly wouldn't have left the seventy-five hundred dollars in the desk drawer, and if he'd killed him before he'd paid the IOU's, he'd never have left the money there."


Mason's face showed disappointment. He said, "I'm sorry, Paul, but this isn't getting us anywhere. This guy's deductions are just deductions. Anyone can guess what happened from..."


"Wait a minute," Drake interrupted significantly.


Mason caught the look in the detective's eye and became silent.


"Now then," Drake said, "having figured that Oxman didn't kill him, who did?


"Well, like I said," Manning remarked, "I don't think anyone killed him."


"How did he die, then?"


"He committed suicide."


"What makes you think he committed suicide?"


"I think Duncan had the goods on him. I think Sam had been dipping into the partnership funds. Duncan suspected it. Grieb put most of his money in the business and then had some losses in the stock market. Grieb handled all the money. I think he knew Duncan was calling for a showdown and knew that, as soon as a receiver stepped in, Duncan could send him to jail, and he knew Duncan wouldn't want anything better than that.


"The only chance Grieb had to make a killing was to get Oxman to pay a fancy sum for those IOU's. I think at first Grieb thought he could get maybe ten thousand bucks premium and make Oxman promise never to say anything about it. Then Grieb could have told Duncan that Oxman wouldn't pay any premium for the notes and he'd had to let them go for their face value. That would have suited Duncan all right for he'd never have checked up on it, and Grieb could have used the extra cash to square off his shortage."


Mason said impatiently, "Damn it, Paul, this isn't getting us anywhere. I can think up a dozen different theories that..."


He once more stopped in mid-sentence as he caught the look in Drake's eyes.


"Now, what makes you think Grieb could have committed suicide?" Drake asked. "The police experts all say it was murder."


"I know they do, but the reason they say that is because they can't find the gun. Now, Grieb was killed with a .38 caliber automatic that he ordinarily kept in the upper left-hand drawer of his desk."


"How do you know?" the detective asked.


"Why, we went over all that in your office," Manning said.


"Never mind what we went over in my office," Drake told him. "You just begin from scratch and tell Mr. Mason the whole story. I want him to hear it the way you tell it and not the way I'd try to tell it."


"Well," Manning said, "it's this way. First, you've got to consider the type of man you're dealing with. Charlie Duncan is a smart hombre. He keeps his face buttoned up until he's ready to say something, and when he says something it's a mouthful. But most of the time he's just sitting on the side lines sizing things up; but he doesn't give you that impression, because of those gold teeth of his. He keeps his mouth open in a grin and the gold teeth sort of draw attention to the fact that he's grinning. People don't look at his eyes, they look at his teeth. Now, I know this, because I know Charlie Duncan. I've known Charlie Duncan for ten years, and I know the way he works. He thinks fast and he doesn't say much. Most people figured Sam Grieb was the big-shot of the business, because Sam was always acting like the big executive. Sam liked to sit behind his desk and impress people, while Duncan liked to get out on the firing line and slip things over. Left to himself, Grieb could never have kept that business going because he didn't have brains enough to handle the political end."


"All right," Drake said, glancing again at Mason, "that gives us a pretty good sketch of Duncan's character. What's that got to do with the suicide?"


"Well, when they started business," Manning said, "they took out one of these policies of business insurance by which each man insured his life in favor of the other for twenty thousand dollars. If one of them died, the twenty thousand dollars was to go to the other partner, who would use that twenty thousand to pay the heirs of the dead partner for the dead man's share in the business. That's usual in lots of partnerships, I understand. Anyway, that's what the insurance salesman told them. I was there when he talked with Sam. You see, when a partner dies, the surviving partner has to wind up the business and then he has to turn over half of the net assets to an administrator or something. That means that the business is wrecked, because the living partner isn't supposed to buy it in; but when the partners all agree on having an insurance provision of this kind, it's legal, and the other partner simply takes the twenty thousand, pays it over to the heirs in the form of cash, and that represents the value of the dead partner's share in the business. Anyway, that's the way the insurance man put it up to them, and..."


"Mason's a lawyer. He knows all about business and partnership insurance," Drake interrupted. "Go ahead and tell us the rest of it."


"Well, those policies had a provision that if a partner committed suicide within the first year, the insurance company only had to pay the amount of the premiums which had been paid in. On the other hand, if the death took place by violence or by accident, the surviving partner got double the face of the policy. Now then, you see where that leaves Charlie Duncan. If Sammy committed suicide, Duncan can't collect a cent under the policy except a few hundred dollars which were paid as premiums. He has to wind up the partnership business and he has to give one-half of all the assets to Sammy's heirs. But if he could prove Sammy was murdered, then he'd get forty thousand dollars instead of twenty. He could keep the whole partnership business, and he'd only have to pay over twenty thousand to the heirs.


"You see what I mean. When they took out the partnership insurance, the insurance had this clause about death by violence, but in the agreement they overlooked that and agreed on a payment of a flat amount of twenty thousand dollars, which one partner would pay to the other."


Perry Mason pursed his lips in thought, met Drake's significant glance and nodded his head.


"Go ahead, Arthur," Drake said.


"Well, Charlie's a quick thinker. Now, I'm just betting that as soon as he walked into that room and saw Grieb dead, he realized the position that he'd be in. I think he knew Sammy had been dipping into the till, and that was one of the reasons he was so anxious to have a receiver appointed.


"Now then. Charlie busted into that room and saw Sammy sitting at his desk, dead. He knew damn well it was a suicide, but Perry Mason, the lawyer, was right there in the office, and Charlie had a deputy United States marshal with him who had been called in to serve the papers on Sammy. Now, I think that Charlie knew there was evidence there which would prove Sammy had killed himself, and what he wanted was to ditch that evidence. In order to do it, he had to get rid of both this man Perkins and Perry Mason, and the best way he could think of was to pretend Perry Mason had bumped Sammy off, and, of course, to protect his own interests, he kept yelling murder right from the start. Charlie's an awfully smooth guy when he has to be. He's a fast worker and a quick thinker, and..."


"Yes, you've told us all that before," Drake interrupted.


"Well, the logical thing for Charlie to do was to make a build-up so he could accuse Perry Mason of murder and order Perkins to take Mason and lock him up somewhere. Now, Charlie knew just as well as I do - in fact a damned sight better - that it wasn't murder, that it was a case of suicide, but he wanted to get Mason and Perkins out of there, so he accused Mr. Mason of the murder and got Perkins and Mason to go out.


"Now, I was watching that runway which led to the offices, and I saw Perkins and Mason go out. I went in just a second after they went out. I told the officers that Charlie was looking around in the chair in the entrance room when I went in there, and that's the truth, but before I went in that room, Duncan had been in the room where Sammy's body was slumped over the desk. I know that because when I opened the door to the outer office I could hear the sound of someone moving fast on the other side of the door, just as though Charlie had come running out of that inside office.


"Now, I'd gone in there on an emergency signal. I didn't know what was up and when I heard all the noise of running feet I stopped long enough to get my gun out of my holster and into my fist. I wasn't going to walk in and have someone stick a gun in my ribs.


"My gun didn't come out easy, and maybe I was a little yellow. I hated like hell to push that door open the rest of the way, but I did it - and there was Charlie fumbling around in the chair, just like I told the officers.


"Now, I think that Sammy killed himself, that the gun had slipped down from his hand and was lying on the floor by the desk, that Charlie saw it there. He got rid of Mason and Perkins long enough to run in and pick up that gun. At first he intended to frame the killing on Mr. Mason. So he figured he'd slip the gun down in the cushions of the chair in which Mason had been sitting. But I came in there and found him fussing around that chair, and he didn't dare to do it then, because he was afraid I'd squeal. So he kept the gun in his pocket and ditched it later."


"How do you know what gun Grieb was killed with?" Mason asked.


Drake nodded and said, "That's the part that's important, Arthur. Just how do you know that?"


"Well," Manning said, "I know something about guns. I fooled around quite a bit with ballistics when I was in the army. The marks on a gun barrel fingerprint a bullet which goes through it just the same as a man's fingerprints on a piece of glass..."


"Yes, we know all about that," Drake said. "Go on."


"Something else that isn't so generally known," Manning said, "is that the firing pin leaves a distinctive mark on the exploded shell. Firing pins aren't centered dead to rights. They're always a little bit to one side or the other.


"Well, one day Charlie Duncan and Sammy Grieb got in an argument about who was the best shot. They were both army men. Charlie bet Grieb fifty bucks he could come closer to a mark than Sammy could. Sammy got sore and put up the fifty. I was in the room at the time and they used me as stake holder. We went below the casino into a long storeroom where there were some heavy timbers and put up a target."


"Who won?" Mason asked.


"Grieb did. That was where he outsmarted Charlie. Charlie's a crack shot, but Grieb was familiar with the gun and Grieb stipulated that they were only to shoot one shot apiece.


"Now, after I got to thinking about what might have happened, I went down there below decks and started prowling around. Sure enough, I found one of the exploded shells that had been ejected by the gun and dug one of the bullets out of this heavy beam. Now I can swear those bullets came from Sam's gun and that's the same gun that Sam was killed with."


Mason raised his head and said to Paul Drake, "Have you checked up on this, Paul?"


Drake nodded. "I've got a photograph of the exploded shell which they found on the floor in the room where Grieb was killed and checked the mark made by the firing pin with that on the shell Manning found down there in the passageway beneath the casino. There's no question but that they were both fired from the same gun."


"And how about the bullet he dug out of the beam?" Mason asked.


Drake took a little glass tube from his pocket. The tube had been sealed up with a strip of gummed paper, on which appeared words written in pen and ink and a scrawled signature.


"I put the bullet Arthur gave me in this tube and sealed it up in his presence," Drake said. "That tube can't be opened without breaking the seal. You see, I've put the wax over the paper at the top."


"Good work," Mason said. "They'd probably accuse us of switching bullets if they could. Have you made a microscopic examination, Paul?"


"No, because I'll have to pull a few wires to get enlarged microscopic photographs of the fatal bullet, but it's a cinch the indentations made by the firing pin on both shells are the same."


Mason said slowly, "You know, Paul, this is important as hell."


"Of course it is," Drake said. "That's why I wanted you to hear Manning's story yourself."


"It's important to a lot of people," Mason went on slowly. "It means the insurance company can save forty thousand bucks in hard cash. It means Charlie Duncan will be out forty thousand bucks, hard cash. It means that, no matter what else happened aboard that ship, a murder charge can't be pinned on anyone for Grieb's death. Now that's going to make quite a commotion in a lot of places."


Drake nodded.


Manning said, "I hope it's going to help you, Mr. Mason. You and Mr. Drake have been on the square with me."


"It'll help us, all right," Mason said, "but I don't know yet just how I'm going to spring it, or when I'm going to spring it. I want you to forget all about this for the time being, Arthur, and don't tell anyone anything about it."


Manning said, "Whatever you two say."


"Well," Mason pointed out, "they may subpoena you before the grand jury that's making the investigation. If they do, you answer questions, don't tell any lies; but, answer the questions in such a way you don't volunteer any information - that is, unless Paul instructs you to play it differently."


"Yes, sir," Manning said, "I can play the game, all right."


"Who else knows about this shooting match?" Mason asked.


"No one except Charlie Duncan, and of course he isn't going to talk."


"Where did you say it took place?"


"Right under the casino; there's a long passageway running the length of the storeroom. They keep a lot of canned goods down there."


"Which way did they shoot, toward the bow or toward the stern?"


"Toward the bow."


"What was the distance?"


"Oh, I'd say about thirty or forty feet."


"And Grieb beat Duncan shooting?"


"Yes."


"But Duncan's a good shot?"


"Yes, but you see, it was Grieb's gun and Grieb knew just how to handle it."


"Is Duncan left-handed?"


"No, he's right-handed. Sam was left-handed. That's why he kept the gun in the upper left-hand drawer of his desk."


"They shot into a beam at the end of the passageway?"


"That's right."


"What was the target they were shooting at?"


"A round piece of tin they'd cut from a can with a can opener."


"How did they hold it in place?"


"Drove a nail through it and stuck it into the beam."


"That piece of tin would have been about two or three inches in diameter?" Mason asked.


"Yes, you know, just the top of a tin can, an average-sized tin can."


"But neither one of them hit it, did they?"


"Sure they did. Grieb hit it almost dead center. Duncan missed the center by about half an inch."


Mason regarded Paul Drake with speculative eyes and said, "How about Duncan, Paul? Is he telling the truth about having been ashore filing papers and all that stuff?"


Drake said, "Yes, Perkins was with him, and then you'll remember that I had men shadowing him. Why, Perry? You don't think..."


"How about those fingerprints on the glass top of the desk? Did you find out anything about them?" Mason interrupted.


"A leak from the D.A.'s office," Drake said, "is that the print of the hand and fingers on the desk was made by Sylvia Oxman. I don't know how they found out, perhaps by getting her fingerprints from the articles in her house. It's a cinch they haven't been able to take any fingerprints from her. She's crawled into a hole and pulled the hole in after her."


Mason said thoughtfully, "And you don't think the police know where she is?"


"No... What do you think about this Benson suicide, Perry?"


Mason said, "I don't think, Paul," and closed one eye in a warning wink. "You'd better go back to the office and tip Della off to play 'em close to her chest. And it'd be a good plan to put Manning some place where the dicks can't find him."


"You're not going to release this story now?" Drake asked.


"No. I want to wait until Duncan has sewed himself up good and tight on the incidental details. I want to let the police build up a swell case against Sylvia. Then I want to smash down the house of cards with one big grandstand. I want to do it in a way that'll stampede the witnesses and hit the grand jury with such a smash the whole case will blow up. There are some things about what Sylvia did that would be better hushed up. And I'm not in such a sweet spot myself if the going gets rough. To make Manning's story hold water it's got to be played up just right... You, Manning, keep absolutely quiet about this. Paul will hide you somewhere..."


"You won't need me out on the ship?" Manning asked. "Getting stuff on Duncan?"


"Hell, no," Mason said. "Not now. We've got enough on him now to raise merry hell with a murder case. That's all I want. I'm not representing the insurance company."


"How about you, Perry?" Drake asked. "Can I take you some place?"


Mason shook his head and opened the car door. "I'm on my way," he said, reaching through the open window on the driver's side to give the detective's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Damn good work, Paul," he said. "It's probably saved my bacon."


CHAPTER 11


MASON, DRIVING a rented car, slid into a parking space opposite the Christy Hotel, looked up and down the street, then crossed Hollywood Boulevard. A newsboy waved a paper in his face and Mason caught a glimpse of headlines reading:


LAWYER WANTED IN CONNECTION WITH GAMBLING SHIP MURDER


He bought a paper, walked through the lobby of the hotel, toward the elevator. He paused abruptly as he saw the trim figure of Sylvia Oxman emerge from one of the cages and stand for a moment searching the lobby with her eyes.


Mason abruptly whipped open the newspaper, held it up so it concealed his chest, shoulders, and the lower part of his face, only his eyes being visible over the upper edge.


Sylvia Oxman, her survey of the lobby completed, walked directly to the telephone booths. Mason followed. Still holding the newspaper in front of his face, he stood where he could observe her through the glass door of the telephone booth. She dropped a dime into the slot and dialed a number. Mason was at some pains to watch her gloved forefinger as it spun the dial. He mentally checked each number as she dialed it.


She was, he realized, calling his office.


He stepped into an adjoining booth, and pulled the door shut behind him. Through the partition he could hear Sylvia Oxman's voice. "I want to speak to Mr. Mason, please... This is a client... He'll want to speak with me, I'm sure... Well, when do you expect him?... Will you please tell him that he was called by Miss IOU. I'd better spell that for you. It's I, for Irma, O, for Olga, Y-e-w, but please see that he gets the name as just Miss I. O. Yew. Tell him that I'll call later."


She hung up the receiver. Mason cupped his hands about his mouth, leaned against the thin partition, and called, "Hello, Sylvia, this is Mr. Mason talking."


He could hear her grab at the receiver in the other booth, heard her frantic "Hello! Hello!" - then silence. He stood leaning against the partition, grinning and listening.


Abruptly the door behind him opened, and he turned to confront Sylvia Oxman's smile. "Do you know," she asked, "that you scared me to death for a minute? I recognized your voice and couldn't imagine where in the world it was coming from... Why don't you stay in your office during office hours?"


"Can't," Mason told her.


"Why not?"


By way of answer, he unfolded the newspaper and let her read the headlines.


"Oh!" she exclaimed, her eyes dark with consternation, "I didn't know it would be anything like that."


"It is," Mason told her. "Why did you run out on me?"


"I had to. Frank was aboard."


"How did you know?"


"A man told me."


"Who was the man?"


"I don't know."


Mason said, "Look here. We'd better get where we can talk. How about your room?"


"How did you know I was registered here?"


"A little bird told me."


"The maid's making the room up," she said. "That's why I came downstairs to use the telephone. Let's go over in a corner of the lobby."


"All right," Mason said, and followed her to a comfortable nook. He seated himself beside her, stretched out his long legs, and gravely offered her a cigarette. They lit from the same match, and Mason said, "All right. Let's talk."


She motioned toward the newspaper. "How much of this," she asked, "is because of what you did for me?"


"All of it."


"I'm frightfully sorry. Would it... Would it have helped any if I hadn't run out on you?"


"Not a bit," he told her. "The breaks went against me. But, first, suppose you tell me your story."


"I'm in a mess," she said.


"How much of a mess?"


"The worst possible."


"Go ahead and tell me."


"I lied to you last night," she said. "I haven't been able to sleep thinking about it. Tell me, how can I square myself?"


"By telling me the truth now," the lawyer told her.


"All right, I will. I gave Grieb and Duncan my IOU's for a gambling debt. Yesterday afternoon someone rang me up and told me that Sam Grieb was going to sell those IOU's to my husband. He said Frank was going to use them to keep me from getting my trust fund, and as evidence that I wasn't a proper person to have custody of our child, and couldn't be trusted to handle the monies she'd receive under her trust."


"What did you do?" Mason asked.


"I went right out to the ship, of course. I wanted to see if I couldn't do something about it."


"Did you have any money?"


"About two thousand dollars. That was all I'd been able to raise. I thought perhaps I could pay that as a cash bonus and get them to wait for the rest of it."


"Go ahead," Mason told her.


"I went aboard the ship," she said, "and went down to Grieb's office. There was no one in the reception room. The door to the private office wasn't closed. Before, whenever I called on Grieb, he'd hear the electric buzzer and push back the peephole in the door to see who it was."


"Had you ever found the door unlocked or open on any of your prior visits?" Mason asked.


"No. It was always locked and barred."


"What did you do this time?"


"I stood in front of the door for several seconds, waiting for Grieb to come. When he didn't come, I tapped on the door and called, 'Yoo-hoo. Anyone home?' or something like that. Then, after a moment, I said, 'This is Sylvia Oxman. May I come in?'"


"What happened?" Mason asked, studying her intently over the tip of his cigarette.


"Nothing. No one came to the door so I pushed it open and... There he was."


"You mean he was dead then?"


"Yes. Just like you found him."


"What did you do?"


"At first," she said, "I started to run. Then I realized that the papers on the desk might be my IOU's. I'd just caught a glimpse of them as I pushed the door open. But you know how something like that impresses itself on your mind. It was just as though the whole scene had been etched on my consciousness."


"Go ahead," Mason told her.


"I tiptoed over to the desk," she said. "I didn't want to touch the papers unless they were my IOU's, so I leaned across the desk to look down at them. I found they were my notes, and was just reaching for them when you came down the corridor. That rang the electric signal and threw me into a panic. At first I started to grab the IOU's, hide them and claim I'd paid cash for them before Grieb was murdered, but I realized there might not be seventy-five hundred dollars in the safe. So I decided to dash out in the other room, leave the door partially open, as I'd found it, and wait to see who was coming. Then, later on, I might be able to get rid of whoever it was and get the notes. So I ran back to the office, carefully pulled the door so it lacked about an inch of being closed, went over and sat down. I picked up a movie magazine and pretended to read."


"Then what?" Mason asked.


"Then after a while you came in," she said.


Mason scowled at her and said, "Are you telling me the truth, Sylvia?"


She nodded.


"Why didn't you want me to search your handbag?" he asked abruptly.


She met his eyes steadily and frankly, "Because I had a gun in that bag."


"What did you do with it?"


"I went up on deck and tossed it overboard. I didn't dare to let anyone know I had that gun."


"What sort of gun was it?" the lawyer asked.


"A .32 Smith and Wesson Special."


Mason studied her through half-closed eyes and said abruptly, "Sylvia, you're lying."


She straightened in her chair. Her face flushed under the make-up, then grew white. "Don't you dare accuse me of lying, Perry Mason," she said.


The lawyer made a casual gesture with the hand which held his cigarette, "All right, then," he said, "I'll point out to you the places where your story doesn't hang together."


"Go ahead," she challenged.


"In the first place, I was walking rather rapidly when I came down the corridor which leads to the office. That section of flooring which is wired to the office is within thirty feet of the door. I covered that thirty feet within six seconds. The things you've said that you did would have taken a lot more time than that."


"But it was a long time," she insisted. "You didn't open that office door for two or three minutes after the signal sounded. You must have been standing by the door or something."


Mason shook his head. "It wasn't more than six seconds at the most."


"I know better," she told him. "I heard the sound of the buzzer. That frightened me. At first I was so scared I couldn't do anything. I just stood there, leaning over the desk. Then I straightened, faced the door and waited. When nothing happened, I decided I might be able to sneak out into the other office. I didn't waste any time doing it, but I took pains to adjust the door rather carefully. Then I went over, sat down, picked up a magazine and pretended I was reading. It was quite a while after that when you opened the door. It might have been two or three minutes."


"You were excited," he told her, watching her closely. "Your judgment of time..."


"Forget my judgment of time," she interrupted. "The fact remains you didn't come right down that corridor as you claim. You paused for a minute or two outside the door."


Mason shook his head.


Her mouth was obstinate. "I heard the signal," she insisted.


"Wait a minute," Mason said, "is there any chance someone could have been hiding somewhere in that outer office? Then he could have slipped out when you went into the private office, and the signal you heard..."


"Not a chance," she interrupted.


"You're sure?"


"Yes."


"All right, we'll pass that up for the moment. You say you had a gun in your bag?"


"Yes, that's why I didn't dare to let you touch it."


"And you went on deck and threw the gun overboard?"


"Yes."


"But you didn't kill Grieb?"


"I kill Grieb? Of course not."


"Then why did you throw the gun overboard?"


"Because I'd been in that room, and Grieb had been shot. I didn't want to have people think I'd done it."


"Don't you know," he said, "that a gun leaves distinctive marks on every bullet which goes through the barrel? Don't you know that the experts can tell absolutely what gun fired a fatal bullet?"


"I've heard something like that," she admitted. "But I'd been in a room where a man had been murdered. I thought the safest thing to do was to get rid of my gun. So I got rid of it."


"And in doing that, put it forever out of my power to show that your gun did not kill Grieb," Mason said.


"No one needs to know I had a gun."


"How long had you been carrying it?"


"Some little time. I'd been doing quite a bit of gambling. Sometimes I won and sometimes I lost. I carried considerable cash with me on occasion and I didn't want to be held up."


Mason smoked for a few moments in thoughtful silence, then said, "That story doesn't hang together. It doesn't fit in with the other facts. No jury on earth would ever believe it. But years of practicing law have taught me to put more reliance in my judgment of character than in my ability to correlate events. Looking at you when you talk, I feel you're telling the truth. I'm going to stick with you, Sylvia; but God help you if you ever have to tell that story to a jury."


"But I won't have to," she said. "No one knows I was in there... except you."


He shook his head, watched the smoke eddy upward from the tip of his cigarette, and said, "In addition to Belgrade's sell-out, there's another hurdle. You left fingerprints, Sylvia."


"Where?"


"On the desk. When you put your left hand on the glass top and leaned over to look at the IOU's, you left a perfect print of your palm and fingers."


She frowned. "Couldn't you claim that had been done earlier in the day?"


"No. They know better, Sylvia. There were no other prints on top of that hand print. It wasn't even smudged."


"All right," she said, "I'll take my medicine if I have to. But don't think you'll ever get me to go on the witness stand and tell a story which isn't the truth. I'll tell the truth if it kills me."


"It probably will," Mason said grimly... "Why did you run out on me, Sylvia?"


"I told you why. Because I'd learned my husband was aboard."


"How did you learn it?"


"A man told me."


"Who was this man?"


"I don't know."


"Had you ever seen him before?"


"Not before that night, but I'd seen him two or three times during the evening. I..."


"Go on," he urged, as her voice trailed away into silence.


"I have an idea he may have been following me."


"What did he say to you?"


"He said, 'Beat it, Sylvia, your husband's aboard,' or something like that. I remember he used the words, 'Beat it.'"


"When did he tell you that?"


"Just as I stepped out on deck."


"Could you describe him?"


"Yes. He wore a blue serge suit, black shoes with thick soles, a blue-and-black striped tie with an opal tie pin. He was about fifty years old, with thick, black hair, and a stubby black mustache. He wasn't particularly tall, but he was quite heavy."


"Had you spoken to him during the evening?"


"No."


"And you thought he might be following you?"


"Well, you understand how it is with an unattached woman on a gambling ship. People look her over. Some of the more persistent hang around."


"In other words, you thought this man was a masher?"


"Yes."


"Do you still think so?"


"I don't know."


"He evidently knew your husband."


She nodded.


"And for some reason warned you that your husband was aboard."


Again she nodded.


"Did you see your husband?"


"No."


Mason ground out the stub of his cigarette in the ash tray, doubled up his knees, leaned forward, placed his elbows on them, interlaced his fingers, and stared thoughtfully at the carpet. "This didn't look so hot when I started in, Sylvia," he said, "and it keeps getting worse as we go along."


"Well, I can't help it. I've told you the truth, and..." She broke off as a newsboy delivered an armload of papers to the bellboy. As the bellboy stacked the papers on the glass top of the cigar stand, Mason, glancing at Sylvia Oxman's face, saw her eyes widen.


"What is it?" he asked, without taking his eyes from her face.


"Those newspapers."


"What newspapers?"


"The ones the boy just brought in."


"What about them?"


"Look at the headlines... No, he's turned the papers down now so you can't see the headlines... Here, boy..."


"Wait a minute," Mason interrupted. "You sit tight. I'll stroll by and pick up a couple of papers."


He sauntered over to the cigar stand, bought a package of cigarettes, and then, as an afterthought, bought two of the noon editions. Huge headlines across the front page read:


OXMAN ACCUSES WIFE IN GAMBLING SHIP MURDER


Down below appeared in smaller headlines:


PROMINENT ATTORNEY SHIELDING WIFE, BROKER CLAIMS.


Mason tucked the papers under his arm, crossed over to where Sylvia Oxman was waiting, sat down beside her and said, "This looks bad, Sylvia. I think it's a jolt you're going to have to take right on the chin. Don't show any emotion. Someone may be watching us. Read it as though you were only casually interested."


The cold tips of her fingers brushed across the back of his hand as she took one of the papers, nodded, and settled back in the chair. Mason hitched his chair around so the light came over his shoulder, and read:


"In a surprise statement made to police today, Frank Oxman, well-known broker and popular clubman, disclosed evidence which police claim completely solves the mysterious murder of Sam Grieb, proprietor of the gambling ship, The Horn of Plenty.


"Prior to Oxman's statement, the case had presented some of the most spectacular and mystifying angles ever encountered by local police. While there is a technical question of legal jurisdiction, because, at the time of the murder, the gambling ship was anchored beyond the twelve-mile limit, both local police and the sheriff's office are co-operating with the federal authorities in an attempt to solve the murder. The federal authorities, following their usual procedure, refused to comment, other than to state they were making progress. It was, however, learned from a source high in police circles that the case is now completely solved. It only remains to dispose of incidental matters, including among others, the part played by a well-known criminal attorney whose recent spectacular successes have made his name a family byword.


"The authorities were frantically running down numerous clues in the most mystifying murder of the year, when Frank Oxman's surprise statement, released through Worsham & Weaver, his attorneys, came with the force of a bombshell. Its repercussions will undoubtedly involve at least one well-known lawyer, and may drag a wealthy, white-haired great-grandmother into the toils of the law. This woman was at one time supposed to have committed suicide. In the light of Oxman's statement, police are now inclined to scout the suicide theory.


"While the broker's statement was given secretly by his attorneys to the authorities, it is understood the police may shortly make the statement public. In the meantime, while Worsham & Weaver refused to discuss any matters contained in the statement, they did admit such a statement had been prepared in their offices and submitted to the federal investigators. The attorneys refused to divulge the location of their client, but Oxman was run to earth by an Associated Press reporter, and admitted he had disclosed facts involving his wife in the murder.


"Evidently in the grip of strong emotion, he admitted that he and his wife had been estranged for some weeks. A mutual love for their child had, according to the broker, been instrumental in delaying the institution of legal action seeking to dissolve the marriage.


"In short broken sentences, Oxman, pacing the floor of a downtown-hotel bedroom, told a story so filled with drama, so startling in its implications, as to rival any situation ever created in the field of mystery fiction.


"'My wife and I had been separated for several weeks,' he said. 'I didn't know whether she intended to file a divorce complaint, but presumed she did. I was waiting for her to take the initiative. Then, by chance, I learned that not only had she lost all of her available cash, but had given demand IOU's to a firm of gamblers.


"'I had, of course, known she made trips to Ensenada and Reno. I knew that she liked to gamble, but had supposed she did it only as an amusement. I had no idea she was jeopardizing her future as well as that of our child, by plunging wildly at the tables.


"'Immediately upon learning the true situation, I tried, without success, to get in touch with my wife. Twice during the day the gamblers advised me that, unless these IOU's were taken up before midnight, they were going to collect by legal proceedings. I saw no reason why I should take up my wife's gambling debts; but I wanted to spare our daughter the publicity which I knew would result if suit were filed.


"'So I raised the amount of the IOU's in cash and took the money out to the gambling ship. It was exactly seventy-five hundred dollars. I don't know at just what time I reached the vessel, but it was during the early evening. I asked an attendant to direct me to the offices, and was sent down an L-shaped passageway to an entrance room, and told to knock upon a heavy wooden door. I did so, and a wicket shot back. A man asked me what I wanted. At the time, I didn't know this was Mr. Grieb as I had never seen him before.


"'I told him who I was. He said he was Grieb. He opened the door, let me come into the private office, and closed the door behind me. He explained he had to keep this door locked because the ship was on the high seas and beyond police protection and they kept a lot of money aboard.


"'I found Grieb affable but businesslike. He was, he explained, not in the banking business. He claimed my wife had given the IOU's with the positive assurance they would be taken up within forty-eight hours. Grieb said he didn't intend to be left, as he expressed it, "holding the sack." He said unless the IOU's were taken up immediately, he was going to commence proceedings to subordinate the trust fund to the lien of his notes.


"'I pointed out to him that he couldn't do that. The IOU's were given for a gambling debt. No court would subject a trust fund to any such lien. Grieb knew that I was prepared to take up the IOU's rather than have any publicity. While he didn't say so in so many words, he intimated that publicity was his chief weapon. I had to pay, and he knew it. I paid him seventy-five hundred dollars in cash and received in return three IOU's signed by my wife. I naturally expected eventually to collect these from her. I have a good brokerage business, but I'm not wealthy, and my entire assets are small as compared with the large amount of money which will be coming to my wife within a few months. I wanted to spare our child the publicity incident to a suit such as Grieb might have filed; but I certainly didn't intend to stretch my credit to pay for my wife's gambling.


"'I put the IOU's in my wallet and left the gambling ship, refusing an invitation from Mr. Grieb to be shown around the ship. Mr. Grieb was obdurate insofar as the business transaction was concerned, but was very affable once it had been concluded.


"'I left his offices, went into the bar, and had a couple of drinks. I went to the dining room and had a steak sandwich. I started to leave the ship, and then remembered that Grieb had given me no receipt and had made no written assignment of the IOU's. Under ordinary circumstances this wouldn't have been necessary, but my relationship to Sylvia, coupled with the fact that these IOU's were demand notes upon printed forms, convinced me I should have a written assignment. I'd had to borrow some money to get the necessary cash and I wanted to have everything done properly. I walked down the L-shaped passageway which led to Grieb's offices, paused while I took the IOU's from my wallet. Then I pushed open the door to the reception office. As I did so, I noticed that the door of the inner office was standing wide open.


"'I was surprised at this, because Grieb had explained to me this door was always kept closed and locked.


"'I tiptoed across the outer office, being afraid that might perhaps be interrupting a business conference. What I saw left me utterly speechless.


"'My wife was standing in the inner office, an automatic in her right hand. I saw Grieb slumped over the desk, his head and shoulder resting on the corner of the desk. There was a gaping wound in the left-hand side of his head, and blood was trickling from this wound.


"'For a moment I was at a complete loss. I wasn't certain but what my wife might turn the gun on me. So I stepped back into the outer office, then walked rapidly down the corridor, intending to wait for Sylvia to come out, then ask her what she had done, and demand that she surrender to the police. I was badly shaken by what I had seen.


"'I was standing near the entrance to the offices when I saw a tall, athletic-looking man with broad shoulders start for the offices, I couldn't place this man at first, but within a second or two I identified him as Perry Mason, the noted attorney. Mr. Mason had been pointed out to me once at a banquet, and he is not one to be readily forgotten.


"'I knew then that he must inevitably stumble upon a scene such as I had encountered. I was, therefore, content to leave the responsibility on the lawyer's shoulders. So I went at once to the deck, where I waited for a few minutes, trying to compose myself, and wondering what I should do. I remembered reading somewhere that a husband couldn't testify against his wife in court, but I wasn't certain whether my failure to report what I'd seen would make me a legal accessory to the murder.


"'I decided to go ashore and see a lawyer.


"'The only lawyer I trusted was Mr. P. C. Worsham, of Worsham & Weaver. Mr. Worsham has handled all my legal business, and knows Sylvia and knows me. I tried to reach him by telephone, but didn't actually talk with him until nearly daylight this morning. He went to his office at once and I told him exactly what I had seen. He insisted I should prepare a written statement. He said I owed it to myself and to the authorities to report what I had seen. Under his direction I prepared such a statement.


"'I don't know what happened after Perry Mason went into those offices. But I do know he walked down that corridor leading to the offices, while my wife was there. I didn't see either my wife or Perry Mason come out. I didn't wait for that. I went to the deck of the ship, and remained there for several minutes, trying to clarify my thoughts. I don't know exactly how long I was on deck. Unfortunately, I didn't think to look at my watch. I was completely unnerved.'


"Oxman refused to state whether he retained a copy of the written statement he had prepared at the suggestion of his attorneys and which has, it is understood, been submitted to the federal authorities. He was in a highly nervous condition when interviewed. The three IOU's which he had redeemed were in his possession and he produced these readily enough.


"It was learned that police have accepted Oxman's statement at its face value, as it is supported by an array of corroborating facts. Oxman was questioned, and released upon his assurance that he would appear before the Federal Grand Jury late this afternoon."


(Continued on page three.)


Mason turned the newspaper to page three, and saw facsimiles of three IOU's bearing the signature of Sylvia Oxman. There were also photographs of the gambling ship, a picture of Sylvia Oxman, and one of Frank Oxman. Various articles rehashed the front-page story from different angles:... sob-sister had written about the plight of a husband who must testify against the woman who has borne him a child; another article took up the Matilda Benson disappearance. Glancing hastily through it, Mason saw there was conjecture as to whether Sylvia Oxman's grandmother had learned of Sylvia's connection with the crime and committed suicide, or if, perhaps, she had been an accomplice whose disappearance was connected with that of Sylvia Oxman. Some prominence was given to the statement of an eye-witness who claimed to have seen Perry Mason and a woman who answered the description of Matilda Benson talking earnestly in the bar of the gambling ship shortly before the arrival of the officers. The witness was positive that this was after the murder had been discovered, because he had tried to leave the ship. The crew were making repairs to the landing-stage, repairs which were admittedly unnecessary, and which had been ordered following the discovery of the murder, as a subterfuge to keep patrons aboard the ship until the officers could arrive.


Mason looked across at Sylvia Oxman. "How much of that," he asked, "is the truth?"


"None of it," she said. "He didn't see me in that office. He's lying."


"And he didn't see you with the gun?"


"Of course not. That's Frank Oxman for you. You can't trust him for a minute. He'll stab you in the back whenever he has an opportunity. He wanted to divorce me... Sending me to prison on a murder charge would suit his purpose just that much better."


Mason indicated the facsimiles of the IOU's. "Where did he get those, Sylvia?" he asked.


"Why," she said, "he must have picked them up from Sam Grieb's desk... unless... unless he got them through you in some way."


Mason pulled another cigarette from his cigarette case, tapped it on his thumb, and said, "Sylvia, I paid off those IOU's."


"You did what?"


"Paid them off."


"But you couldn't have. They were there when..."


"I know," he told her. "I burned them before Duncan came in."


"But isn't that illegal?" she asked. "Couldn't they...?"


"No," Mason said. "I paid them off. Acting as an attorney who had been retained to represent your interests, I found those IOU's and paid them."


"But couldn't they make trouble for you over that?" she asked.


"They could make trouble for me," he admitted, "over lots of things I do. That doesn't keep me from doing what I think is right. And when I'm doing something which furthers the ultimate ends of justice, I think it's right. Take another look at those IOU's, Sylvia."


She studied the facsimiles carefully, then leaned forward to stare more intently at the paper. "Why," she said, "they're forgeries!"


"Good forgeries?" Mason asked.


"Yes, they look exactly like my signature. I know that they're forgeries, however, because I remember that I didn't have my own fountain pen with me when I signed the first of those IOU's. I had to use a pen Grieb gave me, and it wasn't suited to my style of writing. The pen point ran through the paper at one place and made a blot. I thought perhaps I'd better make a new note, but Grieb said that one would be all right. I remember it particularly, because I noticed that blot on the signature last night when I saw the notes on Grieb's desk."


Mason said, "Come to think of it, I noticed it myself. Well, that's that." He smoked in thoughtful silence for several minutes while Sylvia finished reading the newspaper account of Oxman's accusation and the current developments in the case.


Sylvia Oxman folded the paper and said indignantly, "It makes me sick! Of all the lies..."


Mason interrupted her to say, "Wait a minute, Sylvia. I think I can tell you what happened."


"What?" she asked.


"There's some chance," he told her, "that Frank actually did see you in that office."


"I tell you it's a lie! He's just..."


"Hold everything," Mason warned. "Don't jump at conclusions. The evidence of the man who was shadowing you is that Frank Oxman went down the corridor to the offices while you were still in the offices. He was only gone a minute or so, then turned around and came out. Now then, let's suppose, just for the sake of the argument, that while you were sitting in the outer office, you couldn't have heard the electric buzzer in the inner office. Now, let's suppose that Frank Oxman came down the passageway while you were still in the outer office, but just as you were about to push open the door to the inner office. You, therefore, wouldn't have heard the buzzer which announced his coming down the corridor. His statement says he hesitated for some little time in front of the door to the outer office. Let's suppose, for the sake of the argument, that he did.


"Then he opened the door, walked in, saw you leaning over the desk, and saw Grieb's body. He was at first frightened, then recognized the wonderful opportunity he'd have to pin a murder charge on you. He felt, of course, that you'd take and destroy the IOU's which were lying in plain sight on Sam Grieb's desk. Having done that, he felt that you were completely in his power. So he retraced his steps back down the corridor. As he went over that wired section of floor, you heard the signal, because you were then in the inner office. You thought it was someone coming, so you went back to the outer office, picked up the magazine and sat reading. A few minutes later, I came down the corridor, but you couldn't hear the electric signal then, because you were in the outer office. That would tie everything together. What you heard when you were in the inner office wasn't the signal of my approach, but the signal made by Frank Oxman as he left."


There was dismay in her eyes. "You make it sound so d-d-damn logical," she said. "I could almost hate you for it."


"Keep cool," Mason told her, "and don't cry."


"I'm not crying," she said in a harsh, strained voice.


Mason flipped ashes from his cigarette and said, "Okay, Sylvia, I think I know what to do."


"What?"


"I had to destroy those IOU's," he said, "because I didn't want them found on the scene of the crime, and I certainly didn't want them found on me. But you're the only one who knows I destroyed them. Now then, I'm going to step into a stationery store and get a book of blank notes. I can find exactly the same form which Grieb and Duncan kept aboard the ship. Then, using these facsimiles to go by, we'll make duplicate IOU's, duly signed and dated."


"But won't that put my head right back in the noose?" she asked.


"It will if we make them public," he said, "but think of the spot it's going to put Frank Oxman in if he thinks the original IOU's are in the hands of the district attorney. That will brand his IOU's as forgeries and his whole statement as a lie, fabricated out of whole cloth."


She nodded and said, "I see your point. Go get the blanks."


CHAPTER 12


MASON CALLED Paul Drake from a pay station in an isolated side-street restaurant. "Hello, Paul," he said cautiously when he heard the detective's voice on the line. "What's new?"


Drake said, "Seen the papers?"


"Yes."


"How do you figure it?"


"I don't figure it yet. Where's Oxman?"


"He signed that written statement and was released. He went to his hotel. A couple of reporters nailed him there for an interview. Then he sneaked out the back way and went out to Hollywood. He's registered in the Christy Hotel in five-nineteen, under the name of Sydney French."


Mason gave a low whistle. "Think he knows his wife is there?"


"I don't see how he can."


"Then what's his idea?"


"I think he's trying to dodge reporters."


Mason said slowly, "I don't like it, Paul."


"Well, after all," the detective said, "it's a reasonably prominent hotel. It may be just a coincidence they both picked it."


Mason thought for a moment, then said, "Hardly a coincidence, Paul, but it may be that the hotel has associations for them or they may have used it before when they wanted to hide out... Tell me, Paul, what's the latest on Belgrade?"


Drake's voice was bitter. "If I told you what I think of that snake it'd melt the telephone wire."


"Never mind what you think of him; what's he doing, Paul?"


"Hell, I don't know, Perry. I haven't kept tabs on him. They served him with a subpoena to appear before the Federal Grand Jury this afternoon. They also served one on me and they're trying their damnedest to serve one on you. One of the newspapers was trying to keep Belgrade sewed up, but after the subpoena was served it was no dice."


"Where did he spend the night, Paul?"


"How the devil should I know?... Who cares where he spent the night?"


"I do."


"Why?"


"Because," Mason said, "he's going to be wanting some clean clothes, a bath, a shirt, socks, change of underwear, and, if he's going before the Federal Grand Jury and have his picture taken for the newspapers, he'll probably want to put on his best suit."


"So what?"


"So," Mason went on, "I thought perhaps we could drop around to his house and find him there."


"Now listen, Perry, if we go around there and start making a beef, it won't do us a damn bit of good and the first thing he'll do will be to get on the line and tell the detectives where they can find you. I feel the same way you do about him, but..."


"Forget it," Mason interrupted. "I'm working on an entirely different theory. What does he look like, Paul?"


"You mean a physical description?"


"Yes."


"He's around fifty, weighs about a hundred and ninety pounds, is five feet six-and-a-half inches, wears a short mustache, and has a little scar on the top of his right ear where a bullet nicked him, and..."


"What kind of a suit was he wearing?"


"He wears a blue serge suit when he's on duty," Drake said. "Figures it's less conspicuous and blends well in the dark. Most of the men who do shadow work wear dark clothes."


"What's his residence address, Paul?"


"A little bungalow just off Washington Boulevard on Fifth Avenue. It's pretty well out."


"How far from Washington?"


"Only a couple of blocks, as I remember the place. I drove out to see him two or three days ago."


"Tell you what you do, Paul," Mason said. "Climb in your car and meet me out at the corner of Fifth Avenue and Washington. I'm in Hollywood, driving a rented car. We should get there just about the same time."


"Now wait a minute, Perry. You're in bad enough on this thing already. For God's sake, don't go messing around..."


"Better start right now," Mason said, and hung up the receiver.


The lawyer beat Paul Drake to the rendezvous by more than five minutes. Drake drove up, parked his car, and came across to the lawyer and renewed his protestations. "I don't think this is going to get us anywhere, Perry," he said.


"Well," Mason told him, "I want you to know more about Belgrade. He's the only one of your men who was on the ship when the murder was discovered. I'm particularly anxious to know whether his report of what happened out there is accurate."


"He's a double-crosser, or he'd never have betrayed you," Drake commented bitterly. "I'll see he never gets another detective-agency job as long as he lives."


"Forget it," the lawyer told him. "It was a chance for a clean-up and he fell for it. Aside from that one slip, he may be okay."


They walked in silence for a block, then Drake said, "There's the house over there, the one which sits back from the street."


"Does his wife know you?"


"Yes."


"But she doesn't know me?"


"I don't think so. Not unless she's seen your picture somewhere."


Mason said, "That'll be swell. Now, what I want to do is to get into that house, so don't make any explanations, don't perform any introductions. When his wife comes to the door, put on an act and we both go in, see?"


"Maybe we both go out," Drake said.


"What sort of woman is she?"


"A blonde. She does things with her eyes."


"Think she's on the up-and-up?"


"Not this baby. I've seen her only once, but I wouldn't trust her around the block. She has one of those baby stares veneered on a face that's hard as cement, if you know what I mean."


"I know what you mean," Mason told him. "The last time I saw an expression like that was on the face of a nineteen-year-old blackmailer." He chuckled and added, "While she was waiting in the outer office, I asked Della Street what she looked like, and Della said she looked like a synthetic virgin."


"That's the type," Drake said. "Only this dame is in the late thirties."


"Okay," Mason told him, "let's barge in."


They turned from the sidewalk, walked up the narrow strip of cement to the porch stairs. Mason hung behind while Drake climbed the stairs first and rang the bell.


A few moments later a woman wearing a printed house dress opened the door and said with over-effusive cordiality, "Why, it's Mr. Drake! Why, good morning, Mr. Drake! How do you do? Did you want to see George?"


Drake said, "Yes," and stepped forward.


For a moment the woman's eyes became hard as blue quartz, but her full red lips maintained a fixed smile. "He isn't here," she said.


"I'm to meet him here," Drake told her, very apparently waiting for her to move.


"Oh, all right," she said sullenly, and stepped to one side. As Mason was walking past her, she said, "Won't you gentlemen come in and sit down? When was George to meet you here?"


Mason selected a comfortable chair, caught Drake's questioning glance, and asked, "When did you see him last, Mrs. Belgrade?"


She turned to face Mason, her eyes cautious, her face expressionless. "You're Mr. Mason, aren't you?"


"Yes."


"I thought so."


"When did you last see your husband?"


"Why?"


"I just wanted to know."


"Not since last night. He couldn't get home. He was detained."


"How was he dressed when you last saw him?" Mason asked.


"Why do you want to know?"


The lawyer indicated Paul Drake and said, "After all, he's working for Mr. Drake. He's been out on a case. We want to talk with him."


"You mean," she asked Paul Drake, "that he's still working for you?"


"Of course."


"He thought perhaps you'd feel sore at what you read in the papers and..."


Her voice trailed away into silence, and Drake said, "Of course I'm sore; but, after all, he's still working for me."


Mason inquired again, "How was he dressed, Mrs. Belgrade?"


"Why, he wore his business suit, his blue serge suit."


Mason said casually, "Well, we're all subpoenaed to appear before the Federal Grand Jury this afternoon. I thought it might be a good plan for us to have an informal chat before they ask us questions."


A look of relief came over the woman's face. "Oh," she said, "that's it. Well, I'm glad you men feel that way. George had a chance to make some big money giving a story to the newspaper. He'd have been a chump not to have done it. I can understand how you gentlemen feel; but you must make allowances for a man who's working on wages. Both of you make big money. George doesn't. Lots of times we have to struggle along to make both ends meet."


Mason nodded. "Yes, I know how he must have felt. Too bad he got gypped."


She said bitterly. "That subpoena certainly put George on the skids. He was in a position to sell some follow-ups to the newspaper. Then this subpoena was served, and the newspaper wouldn't have anything more to do with him. They figure whatever he says now is going to become public property."


Mason nodded, said, "Uh-huh," looked at his watch, asked, "How soon were you expecting him?"


"He telephoned me about an hour ago and said he'd be home in an hour. I'm expecting him any minute. He wanted to change his clothes."


Drake looked at his wristwatch, then glanced across at Mason. Mrs. Belgrade said nervously, "I think he'll be here any minute now... That sounds like his car." The worn rivets on brake linings squeaked against drums as a dilapidated car swung wide in the street and turned into the driveway.


"There he is," Mrs. Belgrade said. Mason nodded, walked to the door.


Steps sounded on the porch. Mason pulled the door open and said to the heavy-set individual who was pounding his way across the porch, "Welcome home, George. Come in and join the party."


Belgrade came to a dead stop. Paul Drake appeared in the doorway beside Mason and said, "Well, don't stand there gawking. Come on in."


Belgrade slowly walked toward the door, his eyes glancing about him apprehensively as though he were seeking some means of escape.


"I'd feel the same way myself if I'd sold out a client," Paul Drake said.


"Skip it, Paul," Mason cautioned.


Belgrade, avoiding their eyes, entered the house. His wife came running across, flung her arms about him, and clung to him for several seconds.


Drake coughed, and they separated.


Belgrade said, "I'm sorry about this whole business, Mr. Mason. I owe you an apology. I know how you fellows must feel. You think I'm a two-time, chiseling crook."


Mason said, "Suppose we sit down and talk things over for a while, George. I've practiced law long enough to know that people are only human, after all."


Belgrade glanced across at his wife. "You got my things all ready, Flo?" he asked.


She nodded.


"Sit down, George," Drake said.


Belgrade kept his eyes fixed on his wife. "How about mixing up some Scotch and soda, Flo? Perhaps the gentlemen would like..."


"Would like nothing better than to have Mrs. Belgrade stay right here in the room," Mason said, grinning.


Belgrade looked puzzled.


"She might want to telephone a friend," Drake explained.


"Oh," Belgrade said.


When they were all seated, Belgrade looked across at Drake. "So I'm all washed up in the detective business, am I?" he asked.


"That depends," Mason told him, before Drake could answer. "We want you to tell us just how you happened to sell out, George. Perhaps it won't look so bad after we hear your side of it."


Belgrade turned to him. "You're certainly taking this mighty fine, Mr. Mason. You make me feel like an awful heel. I don't know as I can explain it, but I'd like to have you gentlemen understand my position. I haven't been working steady, and I have a wife to support, a house to keep up, and all sorts of expenses.


"Well, I went out on that gambling ship and walked right into the middle of a murder case. It's the first time I've ever stacked up against anything quite like it in all the time I've been working as an operative. I was tailing Sylvia Oxman, you'll remember, and when I'd followed her back to the wharf, Staples stepped up and said he'd been instructed to relieve me. That left me standing there, all washed up for the evening. I telephoned in my report, and Drake said that'd be all. I knew Drake was working for you, Mr. Mason, and I knew you were still out aboard the ship, so I thought I might do you a good turn by going back to the ship and seeing if I could help you."


Drake said, "Wait a minute, Belgrade. Do I understand you went back to the ship?"


Belgrade nodded. "That's right."


"Why?"


"I told you why. I wanted to see if I could help Mr. Mason."


Drake said, "Why the devil didn't you go on home after I told you you were through for the night?"


"Well," Belgrade explained, shifting uncomfortably in his chair, "... well, to tell you the truth, Mr. Drake, I may as well come clean. I knew that Mr. Mason kept you busy most of the time. I didn't think I stood very high with you. There were too many men ahead of me who copped off all the important jobs. You remember, you'd given me the job of tailing Sylvia Oxman's maid. The only reason I got into the big-time stuff was because the maid went to Sylvia. And as soon as I contacted Sylvia, you yanked me off the case and put Staples on. Well, I figured that I might be able to make a good impression with Mr. Mason and then perhaps he'd speak to you about keeping me on his work regularly. Then I'd get the important jobs."


Drake said, "If that's the case, how did it happen you..."


"Wait a minute," Mason interrupted, without taking his eyes from Belgrade's face, "let me handle this, Paul."


Drake started to say something, then checked himself, and settled back in his chair.


"Then what happened?" Mason asked.


"Well," Belgrade said, "by the time the speed boat got back to the ship, the landing-stage had been pulled up and they told us they were making some repairs to it, that it would only be for a few minutes, and for us to stand by. We stuck around there for some little time, and then a launch came out with officers aboard, and we heard there'd been a murder. They told us to turn around and put back to the wharf, that no one could come aboard, and there'd be no more gambling.


"That started me thinking. I was doing a lot of thinking all the way back to the wharf. When we arrived, a bunch of newspaper men who'd been rushed down were questioning everyone who came off the speed boats. Now, one of the reporters knew me and knew what I did for a living. He started asking me questions, and found out from what I told him that I could give him a story if I wanted to, so he took me in and telephoned his city editor and the city editor sent another man down to cover the story on the boat and had my friend take me into Los Angeles.


"They made me a proposition and it just meant so much to me I couldn't afford to turn it down. I didn't figure it made any great amount of difference to you fellows. They told me that Mr. Mason was aboard and had been arrested; that the whole story was bound to come out within the next twenty-four hours, but they wanted an exclusive on it. They said I didn't have anything to gain by keeping quiet, and that I was going to lose a lot of money if I didn't tell them. It sounded reasonable to me, so I told them what I knew. Then the editor got the idea he could string it out for a couple of follow-ups and wanted to keep me sewed up where no one could get at me. But one of the other reporters had seen what happened, and somehow the Federal District Attorney got tipped off to where I was. The newspaper tried to keep me under cover, and the United States Marshal's office kept trying to serve a subpoena. The marshal's office won out, and just as soon as they served that subpoena on me, the newspaper dropped me like a hot potato. They figured I couldn't be any good to them any more. I got a piece of change for the first story and that's all."


"How about that report you telephoned me?" Drake asked.


"What do you mean, how about it?" Belgrade asked.


"I want to know whether it was accurate."


Belgrade flushed. "Of course it was accurate. I told you the absolute truth. Just because I saw an opportunity to make a piece of change on the side without hurting anyone, doesn't mean that I'm a crook."


"Have you," Mason asked, "reported everything which happened out on the gambling ship?"


"Why, yes, of course - that is, I reported it to Mr. Drake over the telephone."


"You followed Sylvia Oxman out to the ship?"


"Yes."


"Now, how long was she aboard before she went down to the offices?"


"Not very long. I didn't keep an accurate count of the minutes. She went in and had a drink, checked her coat, and then went down to the offices."


"How long after that before I showed up?"


"I'd say about eight or ten minutes, but remember, Mr. Mason, before you showed up, Frank Oxman was prowling around there."


"How did you know..." Drake began, but was silenced by a warning glance from the lawyer.


"Then, after Oxman had left, I entered. Is that right?" Mason asked.


"That's right. Then, after you'd been in there for a while, Sylvia Oxman came out. Then Duncan and this deputy marshal dashed in there. Then in about ten minutes the marshal brought you out and you were handcuffed."


"Now, let's get this straight," Mason interposed. "Sylvia had already left the offices?"


"That's right."


"And you were supposed to be shadowing her?"


"Yes, sir, I was."


"But after she went out, you still continued to keep an eye on the offices. Now which were you doing, watching the offices or shadowing Sylvia?"


"Both, Mr. Mason. Mrs. Oxman had taken a seat at one of the crap tables. I stood where I could watch her and the entrance to the offices at the same time."


"All right, go on - tell me what else you saw."


"Well, Duncan came out, and then Mrs. Oxman went up on deck. I followed her up there."


"How long after you saw me leaving the offices was it that Duncan came out?"


"Three or four minutes - not very long."


"How long after that did Sylvia go up on deck?"


"Almost immediately, Mr. Mason."


"Then what?"


"That's all. I followed Mrs. Oxman ashore, and then Staples told me to check out..."


"Now, wait a minute," Mason interrupted. "Have you told us absolutely everything that happened, Belgrade?"


"Why, yes, as nearly as I can remember it."


"Did you speak to Sylvia?"


Belgrade's face twisted with sudden expression. "Yes, that's right I did tell Sylvia to beat it because her husband was aboard."


"Ah," Mason said. "Now we're getting somewhere. Just why did you tell Sylvia to beat it?"


Belgrade said, "I knew something was wrong. I didn't know what it was, but I could see that you were handcuffed when you came out of that office. Now, you're a big-time lawyer. No one's going to handcuff you unless something pretty serious has happened. I had an idea you were covering for Sylvia and that you'd want her off the ship, but I didn't know how to get her off. Then suddenly it occurred to me I could stick my head out the door and say, 'Your husband's aboard, beat it,' and then duck back out of sight, make a dash for the speed boat, and get myself aboard. I figured Sylvia would come rushing down from the deck and take that same speed boat. If she didn't, I could pretend I'd changed my mind and get off."


"And that's what you did?"


"Yes, sir. I ran down and got a seat in the speed boat and she followed within less than a minute."


"Now," Mason told him, "I'll ask a question Paul Drake was going to ask a minute ago. How did you happen to know Sylvia Oxman's husband?"


Belgrade twisted uneasily in his chair, glanced at his wife, then dropped his eyes to inspect the toes of his shoes.


"Go ahead," Mason told him. "You're in this thing pretty deep, George. Half-way measures won't get you out of it. You'll have to come clean."


Belgrade raised his eyes to Mason's. "I'd prefer not to answer that question, Mr. Mason."


"You'll have to."


"I'd be betraying a confidence someone had placed in me."


Drake's laugh was sarcastic. "You haven't shown any reticence about betraying confidences so far," he said.


"Shut up, Paul," Mason remarked, without taking his eyes from Belgrade's face. "What is it, George?"


"I worked for Frank Oxman," Belgrade blurted.


"When?"


"About a month ago."


"How long did you work for him?"


"A little over two weeks."


"How did you happen to work for him?"


"Oxman contacted an agency where I'd been doing some work," Belgrade said. "He was looking for an experienced operative. The agency took a cut and referred him to me.


"You understand how it is, Mr. Mason. Us detectives don't work steadily. We work by the job. For instance, you'll have a job for Drake's agency and Drake will hire ten or fifteen, or perhaps twenty of us boys who are registered with him. We're also registered with half a dozen other agencies. When we're not working for one agency we work for another. That enables us to work more or less steadily, but keeps the agencies from carrying a big pay-roll when they ain't busy."


"Then you register with various agencies in advance?" Mason asked.


"That's right."


"And you furnish references or something of that sort?"


"Oh, sure. We have to fill out a questionnaire, give references, tell all about our past employment, the amount of our experience, the type of work we're best adapted to, whether we can go out in evening clothes, whether we have a car of our own, and all that sort of stuff."


"Now, Frank Oxman wanted someone to shadow his wife?"


"Yes, sir."


"And you did the job?"


"Yes, sir."


"For how long?"


"Sixteen days, I think."


"What did you find out? Anything?" Mason asked.


Belgrade lowered his eyes. "I found out enough to sympathize with her," he said, "but sympathies don't put any butter on my bread. She's every inch a lady, but she's impulsive and she's out for a good time. A couple of times men picked her up on the gambling ship, and she played around a bit with them."


"What do you mean by playing around?"


"Nothing serious."


"You reported this to Frank Oxman?"


"Yes."


"Why didn't you tell me about this?" Drake asked.


"I never had a chance to," Belgrade said. "You told me you wanted me to do some work on a case Mr. Mason was interested in. You simply told me to go out to a certain address and shadow the maid who was working there. And you gave me a description. I recognized the address as that of Oxman's house, but I supposed you were working on the maid. I didn't know you were after Mrs. Oxman. Then, after a while, when I telephoned in a report that the maid was starting out with a fur coat, you told me to tail her and switch to Mrs. Oxman in case the maid contacted her. Even then, I supposed Mr. Mason was working for Frank Oxman and was getting ready to bring a divorce case or something. But, after we got on the ship, and I saw Mr. Mason apparently taking a rap for Mrs. Oxman, I knew he wasn't working for Oxman and figured there must be bigger game at stake."


"That's a hell of an explanation," Drake said skeptically.


"But it's the truth," Belgrade insisted.


"Did you know Oxman had gone ashore before his wife left the gambling ship?" Mason asked.


"No, sir, I didn't. I thought Oxman was still on the ship."


Drake said, "As far as I'm concerned, Belgrade, you're finished with detective work. You're altogether too damned loquacious for a detective."


"I'm sorry, Mr. Drake. I tried to give you a square deal."


Mrs. Belgrade's voice was bitter. "Don't give him anything, George. He pays you eight dollars a day and expenses, and expects you to give him your soul."


"Shut up, Flo," Belgrade said tonelessly.


"I won't either shut up. I think it's an outrage! You work day and night, take all sorts of chances, and are out in all kinds of weather, and what does it get you? The first time you..."


"You keep out of this, Flo," Belgrade said, raising his voice. "Don't you understand Mr. Drake can fix it so no other agency will ever employ me?"


"Well, what if he does? You got out of the detective business once, and you can get out of it again. There's lots of ways to make a living without working for a bunch of slave-drivers, who don't appreciate honesty when they see it."


"Did you see Sylvia Oxman toss a gun overboard?" Mason asked Belgrade, interrupting.


"No, sir, I didn't."


"Could she have done so without you seeing her?"


"I guess so. Yes. You see, I thought she'd taken a tumble to me. I wanted to get her off the gambling ship, and I wanted to be in the same speed boat she took; but I didn't want her to see me. I knew my only chance was to figure what speed boat she was going to take, and get aboard first. If I followed her down to the speed boat, I figured she might take a tumble. I just did the best I could, Mr. Mason."


Mason nodded to Drake and said, "I think that's all, Belgrade. Come on, Paul. Let's let Belgrade change his clothes."


"They've served you with a subpoena?" Belgrade asked Mason.


The lawyer avoided the question, saying easily as he started for the door: "You'll want to make a good impression with that Federal Grand Jury, George. I'm going to talk with Mr. Drake about you. The more I think things over, the more I realize you were placed in a very peculiar situation, one which wouldn't confront a detective once in ten years. I can understand just how you felt."


Drake's fingers closed about the lawyer's elbow. "Come on, Perry," he said.


"You're one swell guy, Mr. Mason," Belgrade said. "Do you forgive me, Mr. Drake?"


Mason said, "Don't press that question now, George. I'll have a chat with him and then we'll let you know the answer."


"Thanks a lot, Mr. Mason. I can't begin to tell you how much I appreciate the way you're taking this."


As the two men walked from the house, they could hear Florence Belgrade's voice rising in machine-gun rapidity. A door slammed shut, cutting off the sound. Drake remarked with feeling, "I wish you'd let me cut loose on that rat."


"No," Mason told him, "we can't afford to antagonize him now. He's important. He's going to be about the most important witness who'll appear before the Federal Grand Jury. It might be a lot better to have him feeling friendly toward our side of the case, Paul. He's already received his money from the newspaper. Personally, I don't blame him too much. I know just how he felt. He'd been working on a salary, and suddenly had an opportunity to make a wad of dough by telling something to a newspaper that he thought wouldn't make any particular trouble for anyone."


Drake said, "I wish to hell I knew why you're so damned anxious to stick up for Belgrade."


"Because," Mason told him, "I make my living by dealing with people. Remember, Paul, if Belgrade was a man of outstanding ability, without any soft spots in his make-up, you couldn't hire him to work for you at eight dollars a day. You have to make allowances for people. Belgrade sold us out. That's admitted. He did it, not because he had anything against us, but because he needed the money. Now then, he's already received that money. He's facing the future. His ability to get work in the future depends a lot on placating you. If you let him feel, in advance, you're going to turn him down cold, he'll turn against you and be bitter. If you let him feel that you're holding his case under advisement, he'll do anything in the world to accommodate you. That means that when he gets in front of the Grand Jury he'll be trying to say what you want him to say - that is, as far as it's in accord with his recollection."


"Well," Drake admitted, "I see your point. But, as far as I'm concerned, he can go to hell. He sold us out."


The men walked to the corner in silence. Mason said, "Well, here are the cars, Paul. I guess I hadn't better stick around this neighborhood."


"Where are you going, Perry?"


"Oh, places," Mason said casually.


Drake stared steadily at him. "You're not going to the Christy Hotel, are you?"


"Why?"


"I have an idea you're figuring on calling on Frank Oxman."


"So what?"


"Don't do it," Drake said earnestly. "That man's dangerous, and you're already in one hell of a hot spot, Perry."


"It won't get any cooler if I stick around in that one spot," Mason told him.


"Well, lay off Frank Oxman. He's dangerous... Oh, by the way, Perry, I think we've found out who's backing him."


Mason, looking up and down the street to make certain there were no radio cars in sight, said, "All right, Paul. Give it to me fast."


"We're keeping a tail on Oxman, just as you instructed," Drake said, "and we find that he telephoned a man by the name of Carter C. Squires, at the Poindexter Hotel. Squires is the head of a gambling ring that dopes race horses, fixes prize fights, and bets on sure things. He spends most of his time in the lobby of the Poindexter and hanging around the bar. Incidentally, he has a police record somewhere, and he's crooked as a corkscrew, but he has money. He finances a lot of crooked schemes and takes a big cut. Oxman talked with Squires on the telephone. He seemed in an awful lather trying to get the call through."


"You couldn't get in on the conversation?" Mason asked.


"No, I couldn't. But Oxman was talking for almost ten minutes."


"That was after he went to the Christy Hotel?"


"Yes."


"Well," Mason said slowly, "I think I'll take a chance on Oxman, at that... I have a little surprise for Oxman... I want to see how he can take it. So far, he's only been dishing it out."


CHAPTER 13


MASON ENTERED the lobby of the Christy Hotel, and paused to take mental inventory. Sylvia Oxman was nowhere in sight. Mason walked to the elevators, went to the fifth floor, walked rapidly down the corridor to Room 519, and tapped on the door. After a moment he heard motion, the sound of a bolt sliding back, and the door opened.


A thin, almost foppishly dressed man in a double breasted gray suit stood on the threshold and surveyed Mason with hostile eyes.


Mason said simply, "I'm coming in, Oxman."


Oxman hesitated a moment, then stepped to one side, and held the door open. After Mason went in, he kicked the door shut and twisted the bolt.


"You left your hotel rather suddenly," Mason remarked affably.


Oxman indicated a chair with a well-manicured hand, on the third finger of which appeared a huge diamond. His hair, neatly waved back from his forehead, reflected glinting highlights from the window. His suit was spotless and freshly pressed, his shoes burnished to a resplendent shine. After Mason had seated himself, Oxman perched on the edge of the bed and propped pillows between his back and the wall. After a moment he said, "I wanted to dodge newspaper reporters."


"Any chance you wanted to dodge the police?" Mason asked.


A slight smile flirted about the corners of Oxman's mouth. "No," he said, "I'm not dodging the police."


Mason, staring steadily at him, said, "I'm Perry Mason, the lawyer."


"Yes, I knew who you were," Oxman said tonelessly. "You left your apartment rather suddenly, didn't you, Mason?"


Mason grinned. "Yes," he said, "I had business to attend to."


"Did you," Oxman inquired, "know the police were looking for you?"


Mason raised his eyebrows. "For me?"


"Yes."


"On what charge?"


"Murder," Oxman said. "Being an accessory after the fact is, I believe, the specific charge."


"Well," Mason told him, "it's fortunate I found you, then."


"Go on," Oxman told him, "spring it."


"I see by the paper," Mason said, "that you bought some IOU's from Grieb."


"What if I did?"


"And paid cash for them."


"Yes?"


"Cash which was found in the left-hand drawer of Grieb's desk."


"I believe so," Oxman agreed.


Mason slowly and impressively took from his pocket the three IOU's which Sylvia Oxman had signed that morning in the hotel. "Take a look at these, Oxman," he said.


Oxman moved forward on the bed. Mason, crossing his legs, held three IOU's pressed tightly against his leg so that Oxman could see the three signatures.


"So what?" Oxman asked.


"If these," Mason suggested, "are the original IOU's, where does that leave you, Oxman?"


Oxman yawned, patted his lips with four polite fingers, and said, "Really, Mason, I'd have expected something far more clever from you."


"Has it ever occurred to you," Mason went on, "that if I hold those original IOU's, the ones you have are forgeries?"


"Oh, I don't think Sam Grieb would have sold me forged IOU's."


"We can prove in court that they're forgeries."


Oxman's tongue made clucking noises against the roof of his mouth. "Grieb shouldn't have sold me forgeries," he said. "That wasn't a nice thing for Grieb to have done. Of course, if they are forgeries, which remains to be proven, I can then recover the seventy-five hundred dollars from Grieb's estate. So you see, Mason, I personally have nothing to lose. Until you prove they're forgeries, I can collect on them as genuine. If you can prove they are forgeries, then, on the strength of the proof you've made, I can recover from Grieb's estate."


"So that's the way you figure it, is it?" Mason asked.


Oxman nodded.


"You've thought this all out in advance as an argument to use in case you were confronted with the original IOU's," the lawyer charged.


Oxman gestured contemptuously toward the three IOU's Mason was holding and said, "Keep your shirt on. Those notes don't prove a damn thing, Mason."


"Why not?"


"You're Sylvia's attorney. You've doubtless seen her since my signed statement was released to the papers. She can sign as many IOU's as she wants to. All she needs is a fountain pen. You can get the blanks in any stationery store. Probably you thought you could throw a scare into me by coming in here and flashing those IOU's on me. I'm not that simple. I'm surprised that you thought I was. You know, Mason, you're playing in bigtime stuff now. You're not up against simple boobs you can twist around your fingers with a lot of cheap bluff. Those IOU's you have may have been signed by Sylvia. That doesn't mean the IOU's I have weren't signed by Sylvia. She can sign her name as many times as she wants to."


Mason said, "You can't get away with it, Oxman."


Oxman's laugh was sarcastic. "That's what you think. You're the one who can't get away with it. You're representing Sylvia. Sylvia murdered Grieb."


"Why?" Mason asked.


"To get possession of those IOU's."


"Why didn't she get them then?"


"Because I'd already bought them. Grieb didn't have them."


Mason stretched his legs out in front of him, crossed his ankles, exhaled cigarette smoke, and said, "That's the trouble with you, Oxman. You're not a logical thinker."


"All right," Oxman said, "go ahead and think some logic for me. I'll listen."


Mason said, "Grieb and Duncan were fighting. They wanted to reduce their assets to cash. They saw a chance to collect not only the face value of those IOU's, but a little bonus as well. They gave you to understand you could have them by paying a two-thousand-dollar bonus. You raised ninety-five hundred dollars, went out to the gambling ship to pick up the IOU's. You found your wife aboard and Grieb dead. At first it occurred to you you'd simply step out of the picture, then you figured it might be possible to involve Sylvia, have her convicted of murder, and put her out of the way.


"This morning you read the newspapers and learned that the police had discovered seven thousand five hundred dollars in cash in Grieb's desk. You suddenly saw an opportunity to do a little chiseling. You figured Sylvia had probably recovered and destroyed the original IOU's. You were planning to release a statement that you'd seen Sylvia in the room with Grieb's body. Why not claim that you'd paid the seventy-five hundred dollars for the IOU's? Forging Sylvia's signature wasn't so hard. You had letters and documents bearing her genuine signature. You secured notes and copied or traced her signature on them."


Oxman yawned ostentatiously and said, "You bore me, Mason. I'd really expected a man of your caliber would show more intelligence."


Mason went on doggedly, "When you first saw Sylvia, she was in the room with Grieb's body. Your first impulse was simply to get out, so you slipped back out of the way. Later on, when you realized Sylvia had failed to report the murder, and had also ducked out - but had left fingerprints on the top of Grieb's desk - you saw an opportunity to charge your wife with murder, claim you'd paid seventy-five hundred dollars for the IOU's, turn two thousand dollars back to your associates, together with the forged IOU's, and sit tight.


"If Sylvia had destroyed the original IOU's, she could never admit she'd done so. If someone else had paid cash for the notes, that person would never dare to come forward, because that would make him the last person to have seen Grieb alive. If..."


"All wrong, Mason," Oxman interrupted. "You must have been smoking marihuana."


"Or," Mason went on evenly, "you noticed the original IOU's on the desk when you saw Sylvia in the room, and figured she was going to destroy them. If anything happened, and the originals turned up in the hands of some individual who was willing to admit having paid seventy-five hundred dollars for them - about one chance in a thousand - you could still claim Grieb had blackmailed you by selling you forged promissory notes. There was no one to disprove your story."


Oxman said, "You know, Mason, this is boring me. Let's have a little more entertainment, or else let's call in the police, let them take you into custody, and have this rather tiresome visit over with."


Mason flicked ashes from the end of his cigarette and said, "You see, Oxman, I can prove what I'm saying."


Oxman raised politely incredulous eyebrows.


"A detective shadowed you all day yesterday," Mason said. "We know what time you went aboard the ship. And we know what you did after you boarded it. You went down the corridor once, and only once."


Oxman's face showed surprise. "My God, Mason, do you mean to say you have practiced law as long as you have, and still put confidence in private detectives? Your man, Drake, may be on the square, but the boys he hires are just like any other private dicks. About half of them are crooked as corkscrews."


"These reports check with the facts," Mason said with dogged patience.


Oxman laughed. "What a sap you are, Mason! And you're supposed to be a big-time lawyer! Good Lord, man, I know I was being shadowed. I got a kick out of it. But if my shadow claims he followed me aboard that gambling ship, he's a liar. I purposely stuck around the pier until there was room for only one more in the launch. Then I took that one seat. The man who was shadowing me tried to follow me but couldn't make it."


Mason said, "Another detective was on duty who saw you go down the passageway to the offices. He says you went down only once."


Oxman laughed scornfully. "The only detective you had out there was Belgrade. He wasn't shadowing me. He was covering Sylvia. He doesn't know where I was. What's more, he's sold you out to the newspapers... Good Lord, Mason, what an easy mark you are! Come around some day when I have some time. I'd like to play a little poker with you. You're so damned simple and your bluffs are so obvious, you'd be duck soup for me."


Mason went on patiently, "Then, after you went ashore, my man shadowed you to your hotel."


"Good God, Mason, you surely didn't think that was any news to me, did you?" Oxman asked.


"You knew he was following you," Mason went on steadily, "and threw a scare into him by standing in the door of the hotel and looking ostentatiously behind you."


"Check on that," Oxman agreed easily. "This dick ducked into a doorway and then stuck around outside, watching the hotel. He was afraid to come in."


"But," Mason pointed out, "I'd anticipated all that, and had another man stationed in the lobby, an operative who was ready to pick you up as soon as you came in."


The easy, patronizing smile didn't leave Oxman's features, but, for a moment, the muscles tightened. Then he took a cigar from his pocket, cut off the tip and scraped a match on the sole of his shoe. He took a watch from his pocket and placed it on the bed beside him. "Mason," he said, "if you're just talking - killing time to keep me from calling the police - it isn't going to do you any good. In precisely three minutes I'm going to let the house detective know you're here."


"Now then," Mason said, ignoring the interruption, "we come to the really significant part of the entire transaction. You took particular pains to call the attention of the hotel night clerk to the fact that you were depositing ninety-five hundred dollars in the safe. The way I figure that, Oxman, is that you'd raised ninety-five hundred dollars with which to take up those IOU's. When you found out Grieb had been murdered, you were afraid you might be implicated in the murder, and were particularly anxious to build up an alibi which would show you hadn't accomplished your business with Grieb before he'd been killed.


"Later on, you thought it over, read the morning papers, and decided there was a chance to knock down seventy-five hundred dollars."


Oxman rotated the cigar in the flame of the match, in order to get it burning evenly, shook the match out, and said, "You're a rotten bluffer, Mason."


"I'm not bluffing," the lawyer told him. "I can prove the ninety-five-hundred-dollar business by the night clerk in the hotel. I don't need to rely on my private detectives there."


"Yes," Oxman said, studying the tip of the cigar with thoughtful eyes, but still keeping the faintly scornful smile about the corners of his mouth, "you could do that, all right. What you have overlooked is that you'd have to prove I had only ninety-five hundred dollars when I went aboard that gambling ship. As a matter of fact, I had seventeen thousand dollars. After I paid seventy-five hundred dollars for the IOU's, I had nine thousand five hundred left. I got the IOU's for about half what I expected I'd have to pay."


For a moment the two men smoked in silence. Gradually, the smile on Oxman's lips broadened into a grin. "You see, Mason," he said, "as a lawyer it should have occurred to you, but probably hasn't, that you'd have to prove I had only ninety-five hundred dollars when I went aboard the ship. There's no way on God's green earth you can prove it. As a matter of fact, it isn't so. I had seventeen thousand dollars."


Mason pinched out the end of his cigarette. "You don't understand what I'm getting at, Oxman. I'm not talking now about what I intend to prove in court. When I leave here, I'm going to Carter Squires. I'm going to tell him my story. Squires was financing you in this thing. He knows how much money you took aboard that ship. When he finds out you tried to double-cross him by knocking down seventy-five hundred dollars, leaving him holding the sack, he won't like it. From all I can hear, Squires is a poor man to cross... Well, the three minutes are up, Oxman. Go ahead and telephone the house detective."


Oxman sat motionless on the bed, his eyes hard and glittering, staring at Mason with hatred and apprehension. There was no trace of a smile about the corners of his mouth.


"All right, then," Mason said, "I'll be on my way." He started toward the door. Bed springs squeaked as Oxman jerked himself upright and started after the lawyer. "Now, wait a minute, Mason," he said. "Let's talk this thing over."


Mason turned toward him. "What do you want to talk over?" he asked.


Oxman said, "You're all wet, but I'd hate to have you go to Squires with a story like that."


"Well?" Mason inquired.


Oxman shrugged his shoulders and said, "Nothing. I'd just hate to have you do it. Squires can't make any trouble for me, you know, but I've been friendly with him for some time, and I'd hate to have you introduce an element of friction."


Mason stood facing Oxman, feet spread apart, shoulders squared, eyes studying the slender man with a cold scorn. Abruptly he pulled the IOU's from his pocket, tore them into pieces and stepped into the bathroom. A moment later he returned and said, "Okay, Oxman, we'll forget that about the forgeries and figure your IOU's are genuine."


Oxman's face showed sudden relief. "That's better," he said. "I thought you'd be sensible. Now, what do you want?"


"Nothing," Mason told him. "You may have walked down the corridor to those offices and seen Sylvia bending over the desk. You may have seen the original IOU's on the desk. I don't know. If you did, you'll never dare to admit it, because that would brand your story about paying seventy-five hundred dollars to Grieb as a lie."


"What are you getting at?" Oxman asked.


"Simply this," Mason said, grinning mirthlessly, "I thought I knew the answer, but I wanted to make sure. I wanted to find out definitely and positively that Carter Squires could establish that you had only ninety-five hundred dollars with you when you went aboard that gambling ship. Nine thousand five hundred dollars which he'd given you with which to pick up those IOU's.


"Now then, you've admitted in writing that you saw Grieb after you went aboard the ship. You claim that you purchased the IOU's from him. You have those IOU's in your possession. You've allowed the newspapers to take photographs of them. And you returned from that gambling ship with the same amount of cash with which you boarded it - nine thousand five hundred dollars. Now then, according to your story, you must have been the last person to see Grieb alive! You received seven thousand five hundred dollars in IOU's from him and you didn't pay him any money.


"The question arises, how did you get them? The answer is you had a fight with Grieb, shot him through the head and took the IOU's. In case it's of any interest to you, Mr. Frank Oxman, your wife will go before the Federal Grand Jury, look at those IOU's and unhesitatingly and absolutely identify them as the original IOU's which she gave Sam Grieb. That'll cost her seventy-five hundred dollars in cash, but having you hung for murder will be worth it."


Mason strode to the door and threw back the bolt. He turned on the threshold to look at Frank Oxman.


Oxman's face showed startled consternation. "My God, Mason. You can't do that. Sylvia can't. You wouldn't..."


Mason stepped out into the hallway, pulled the door half shut behind him, grinned and said, "And I don't think I want to play poker with you, Oxman. It wouldn't do me any good to win your clothes. They're too small for a real man to wear. Good day!"


Mason slammed the door, walked down the corridor to the stairway, descended two floors, and tapped on the door of Sylvia Oxman's room. He heard the rustle of motion on the other side of the door, but no sound of the door being opened.


"Okay, Sylvia," Mason said in a low voice, "open up."


She opened the door and stared at him with anxious, apprehensive eyes.


"You can quit worrying about your husband," Mason announced.


"Why, what did you do?"


"Put him on the defensive," Mason told her grimly. "My best guess is he'll take a run-out powder."


"Tell me what you did."


"Made him the last man to see Grieb alive," the lawyer said. "That lying written statement really puts him in a jam. Now it's up to him to squirm out. By the way, Sylvia, he's here in the hotel."


She recoiled. "He's where?"


"Here in the hotel, upstairs, in five-nineteen. How did you happen to come here?"


"Why... why, we came here once when we were dodging some people we didn't want to see. We didn't want to be home, and... Oh, I should have known he'd come here, if I stopped to think of it. This hotel is his hide-out... You didn't tell him I was here?"


"No, of course not."


"Do you think he knows?"


"I don't know. He may have seen you in the lobby. Do any of the bellboys know who you are?"


"No, I don't think so."


"Well," Mason told her, "you'd better sit tight. Keep your door locked and if anyone knocks, don't answer unless you know who it is."


She sat down on the edge of the bed as though her knees had lost their strength. "I don't want to stay here," she said. "I want to get out."


"No, Sylvia, that's the worst thing you could do. Remember, the officers are looking for you. You don't dare register now at any hotel. I think Frank will be leaving here within an hour."


She looked down at the carpet, then suddenly raised her eyes to his and said, "Mr. Mason, why are you doing this for me?"


"I want to see that you get a square deal," he told her.


"Why?"


"Oh, you're sort of a half-way client of mine," he said, making his voice casual.


"You said something like that once before. Now I want to know why." As he said nothing, but remained silent, she went on, "I saw you and another man aboard the gambling ship the other night when I went out to talk with Grieb about those notes. It impressed me at the time that there was something queer about the way everyone acted when I showed up. Now I realize what it must have been."


"What?" Mason asked her.


"You'd been out there trying to get those IOU's," she said. "And... and it must have been Grandmother Benson who retained you."


"What makes you think that?" Mason asked.


"You're just asking me questions," she charged, "so you won't have to answer mine. Now listen, Mr. Mason, I'm going to tell you something: if she went out there expecting trouble, she'd have carried a gun. I think you should know that. She's carried a gun for ten years, and lots of people know about that habit. They josh her about it. So don't be surprised if..."


"What kind of gun," he interrupted, "automatic or revolver?"


"I don't know... It may have been an automatic."


"All right," the lawyer told her, "I'll watch out for that gun business. Now then, there's a thousand to one chance your husband came to this hotel because he knows you're here. You keep your door locked. No matter what happens, don't open that door unless I'm on the other side of it. In the meantime, if you want me, you can ring me at Vermont eight-seven-six-nine-two. That's my secret hideout. Don't call me unless it's some major emergency, and don't tell anyone that number under any circumstances. Do you understand?"


She nodded.


"Can you remember the number?"


She took a pencil from her purse and started to write. Mason said, "Don't write it down that way. Write it eighty-seven V six, nine, two. Then anyone who finds it will think it's an automobile license number."


She wrote down the number as he directed, then came to stand at his side, her hand on his arm. "I can never in the world thank you enough for what you're doing," she said.


He patted the back of her hand. "Don't try."


"Tell me, is there a chance they'll convict Frank of this murder?"


"Lots of chance," Mason told her, "- if there ever was any murder."


"What makes you say that?"


"I have a witness who thinks Grieb committed suicide."


She shook her head slowly and said, "Sam Grieb would never have done that. He was killed."


"Well, it might suit us to let the authorities think it was suicide."


She said slowly, "Don't let them bear down too heavy on Grandmother Benson... She... keep their minds on Frank Oxman if you can."


"You don't care what happens to Frank?" he asked.


"No, I don't owe him anything. And anyway, you're Grandma Benson's lawyer. You mustn't let them pin anything on her."


"Now wait a minute," the lawyer told her significantly. "If I'm representing an innocent client, I'm going to prove that client's innocent. If I ever represent a guilty client who lies to me, and I find out the lies, it'll be just too bad - for the client... That's the way I play the game, Sylvia."


He stepped quickly into the corridor and closed the door.


CHAPTER 14


MASON CALLED Paul Drake from a pay station. "Still got your men on Oxman, Paul?" he said when Paul answered the phone.


"Yes. Why?"


"I have an idea he's going to take a run-out powder."


"He can't afford to do that," Drake said. "He..."


"He can't afford not to do it," Mason interrupted. "He's in a jam and he won't dare to show himself until he can make his peace with Squires. Now, when he leaves, I want to know where he goes. He's wise now that he's being tailed. He'll try to ditch the shadows. I want you to make things easy for him - not so easy he smells a rat, but easy enough so he feels certain he's on the loose."


"You mean you don't want him covered any longer?"


"No, I want him tailed, but if he thinks he's given his shadows the slip it'll make him easier to handle. So put a couple of men on the job who can be push-overs, and then plant some smooth operatives in the background who can carry on from there. Do you get me?"


"I get you," the detective said... "Now, listen, I've got something for you. Della Street reports that the Benson woman has contacted her and wants to see you. They're going out to Della's apartment. Can you meet them there? Della says she thinks it's important."


"All right," Mason said, "I'll go out there right away. What else is new?"


"I've managed to get micro-photographs of the fatal bullet," Drake said. "It checks with the bullet Manning dug out of the beam of the ship. That means Grieb was killed with his own gun. It commences to look more and more as though this would give you an out, Perry."


"Let's hope so," Mason told him, "but there are a few loose ends I'd like to tie up before the Federal Grand Jury starts an investigation. In the meantime, I'll go see Della Street, and you keep Frank Oxman under surveillance. He's put himself in a position where he's done some things he can't explain. We can make him the goat if we have to."


"That won't help for long," Drake said. "He really isn't guilty of anything, is he?"


"You never can tell," Mason told him. "In any event, he's put himself in a hot spot trying to chisel seventy-five hundred bucks. I'll get in touch with Della."


"Just in case it means anything to you, there's a whole army of plainclothesmen clamped around the office building here," Drake said. "They're waiting for you to come in."


"It doesn't mean a thing to me," Mason told him cheerfully. "... be seeing you, Paul."


"Yes," Drake said, "perhaps you'll have the adjoining cell."


Mason hung up, left the telephone booth, and drove to Della Street's apartment house. He went at once to his own apartment and started hurriedly packing a suitcase. He was awkwardly folding his pajamas when he heard a tap on the door which communicated with Della's apartment. He twisted back the bolt on his side of the door to encounter her anxious eyes and the keen gray eyes of Matilda Benson.


"Are things coming okay?" Della Street asked anxiously.


Mason grinned reassuringly. "We're making satisfactory progress. Come in and sit down."


Matilda Benson gave him her hand. "I want to thank you," she said. "No other man that I know of could have done what you've done."


"He's done too much," Della said. "He always does too much. He shouldn't jeopardize his career for some client who's in trouble, and no client has any right to ask him to take the chances he does."


Mrs. Benson settled herself comfortably in a chair. "No use trying to lock the stable door after the horse has been stolen," she observed. "What's been done has been done."


"How did you get off that ship?" Mason asked.


She grinned. "There wasn't anything to it. Some of the crew lowered a rope ladder over the stern and let people slip into a speed boat at twenty dollars a head. Twelve people went off that I know of."


"Twelve people went down that rope ladder?" Mason asked.


She nodded, opened her bag, took out her leather cigar case, clipped the end off a cigar, pulled out a card of matches bearing the imprint of the gambling ship, and said, "At least twelve. Apparently it's a great rendezvous for mixed couples."


"What do you mean by mixed couples?"


"Husbands who have their wives mixed, and vice versa," she said. "When a married man's stepping out with some blonde cutie and is afraid he may run into some of his wife's friends, he's apt to pick the gambling ship as a swell place for dinner, drinks, and a little action." She broke off to chuckle, scraped a match into flame, and lighted the cigar.


"How about the coat?" Mason asked.


"I tossed mine overboard. I thought it would sink, but, as luck would have it, it caught on the anchor chain. That was a break against me. Otherwise they'd never have known I'd been on the ship. With that coat as a clue, they've made an investigation and are all ready to crack down on me as soon as they can find me.


"That was a great experience - giving the officers the slip. I never saw anything quite so funny as the bedraggled appearance of those frightened philanderers crawling down the side of that ship on a rope ladder. The crew were getting a great kick out of it. The people were frightened stiff."


"So you got away all right?" Mason asked.


"Sure. They pushed the speed boat loose and didn't start the motor until it had drifted away from the ship. I had planned to give a phoney name and address, but I found it wouldn't work. The officers were demanding evidence of identification and all that sort of stuff. So I just politely skipped out on them."


"Then what?" Mason asked.


"Then I kept under cover, of course. Now I want to see Sylvia. You know where she is. I want to talk with her."


"It would be dangerous for you to see her now," Mason said slowly. "You're wanted, and your appearance is sufficiently distinctive so you could be picked up from a description, where..." He broke off as the telephone burst into sound.


Della Street picked up the telephone, said, "Hello..." then after a moment, "Who shall I say wishes to speak with him? Very well, hold the phone, please."


She turned to Mason and nodded. The lawyer scooped the receiver to his ear and heard Sylvia Oxman's half-hysterical voice. "Something awful's happened!"


"What?" he asked. "Keep cool and tell me about it."


"I was lying on the bed, reading, when someone tossed something through the open transom. It fell on the floor... It... it's a gun - a .38 automatic."


"Did you," Mason asked, "pick it up?"


"Yes. I was frightened."


"Where is it now?"


"Right here on my dresser. Shall I try to dispose of it? Or..."


"Get ready," Mason said, "for the police. The officers will be there within a matter of seconds. Don't make any statement to anyone. And..."


"Someone's knocking at the door now," she said.


"Hang up your telephone!" Mason commanded.


He slammed the receiver back on its hook, turned to Della Street and said, "Sylvia's been framed. Someone tossed a gun into her room. The cops are pounding at the door. She got frightened and put through a call to this number. They'll trace that call as quickly as they can, then call the radio cars, and start sewing this place up. Let's go!"


He began to fling things helter-skelter into his suitcase. Matilda Benson pulled them out, folded them neatly and packed the suitcase with a swift efficiency.


"Don't wait, Chief," Della Street told him. "You get started. Never mind the suitcase."


"Don't you understand," he said, "if they find the suitcase here, they'll pinch you as an accessory after the fact, for aiding and abetting, compounding a felony, and a few other charges. We can't afford to let the officers ever suspect that you know I was here. This thing is getting too hot to handle, and..."


He broke off as a peremptory knock sounded on the door of Della Street's apartment. For a moment the lawyer and his secretary stared at each other in startled consternation. Matilda Benson calmly put the finishing touches to the packing. The knock was repeated, and a voice shouted, "Open up! This is the law. We have a search warrant for this apartment."


"It's all right," Della Street said in a quick whisper. "I'll go in there and let them search. You keep this door locked and..."


"Nothing doing," Mason said. "They'll search until they find me. There's only one way to keep you out of it. You leave it to me. Come on, Della."


Matilda Benson snapped the suitcase shut and said, "Do they need to know I'm here?"


"Not if you can get away," Mason told her, "but I don't think you can."


The knock was repeated for the third time, a thundering summons which made the door rattle.


"We've got to lock the connecting door from this side," Mason pointed out. "There's no legitimate explanation you can make for having that door unlocked, Della."


Matilda Benson pushed them toward the door. "Go on in," she said. "I'll lock the door of this apartment."


Mason picked up his suitcase, stepped into Della Street's apartment, flung his overcoat over the back of a chair, perched his hat on the back of his head, and called out, "Just a minute, boys. Don't make so much noise."


He heard the bolt click in the door of the connecting apartment, opened the door of Della Street's apartment, and bowed to the three men who were standing in the corridor.


"This," he said, "is an unexpected pleasure."


One of the men stepped forward and said, "You're Perry Mason?"


"Yes."


He handed Mason a folded oblong of paper. "A subpoena to appear forthwith before the Federal Grand Jury," he said, "and I might also tell you that you're under arrest."


"On what charge?"


"Compounding a felony, being an accessory after the fact, and on suspicion of murder."


The men pushed their way into the room. Della Street stood by the window, her eyes wide with alarm.


One of the men walked toward her and said, "All right, we'll hear from you now. Did you know your boss was a fugitive from justice while you were shielding him? You..."


Mason interrupted, "Don't be silly, she wasn't shielding me. I was on my way to take a plane. I dropped in to give her some last-minute instructions."


"Says you," the man sneered.


Mason gestured toward his overcoat on the back of the chair and the suitcase. "See for yourself," he said.


The men exchanged glances. The man in charge said, "Take a look through the suitcase, Bill."


They tossed the suitcase to an overstuffed chair, unfastened the buckles on the straps, flung back the lid. "Okay," one of the men said, "he's got his stuff in here."


"He did his packing after we started pounding on the door," the man in charge said, his voice showing his irritation.


Mason grinned at them. "Rather a neat job of packing to be done in five seconds, don't you think?"


"You were long enough about getting the door open."


"I was giving my secretary some last-minute instructions," Mason told him, casually lighting a cigarette.


"The stuff is sure packed, all right," Bill said. "All neatly folded and..."


"Never mind the comments, Bill," the leader interrupted. "How about the adjoining apartment? We hear you've rented that."


"Adjoining apartment?" Della Street asked, raising her eyebrows.


"Shut up, Della," Mason warned.


The leader glowered at him. "Like that, eh?" he asked.


"Like that," Mason said easily.


The leader nodded to his men. "If that door's locked smash it down."


"Got a search warrant?" Mason asked.


No one paid any attention to the question. Two of the men charged the door. The bolt-seat ripped out. The door banged open.


Matilda Benson, her clothes draped over the back of a chair, was sprawled out in bed, pillows under her head, a cigar in her mouth. She looked up and said, "Why the hell don't you knock?"


The officers fell back in surprise. The man who had assumed charge stepped forward. "I beg your pardon. We have a warrant to search this apartment. We had every reason to believe it had been rented for the purpose of concealing Perry Mason."


Matilda Benson exhaled a cloud of cigar smoke and said acidly, "You had no reason to believe anything of the sort. This is my apartment. Perry Mason is my lawyer. I wanted to be close to his secretary, so she got me this apartment. I'm quite comfortable here. And, while I have no false modesty, young man, I do object to having my morning smoke interrupted."


For a moment the leader paused uncertainly, then said, "Take a look around, boys."


"In case you don't know it," Mrs. Benson remarked, "this is a damned outrage." She pulled the sheet up around her neck, punched the pillows into a more comfortable position, and calmly resumed smoking her cigar.


The officers made a swift, hurried search of her apartment. "So," the leader said, "you've been up and had breakfast, eh?"


Matilda Benson raised her eyebrows. "What was the name?" she asked. "Dr. Watson... or is it Holmes himself?" Someone tittered.


"Where are your personal belongings?" the leader demanded.


"I haven't moved them in yet."


"And is it your custom to burn the toast, to leave bacon in the oven, and hard-boil your eggs?" the officer asked suspiciously.


Mrs. Benson sighed and said meekly, "None of my husbands cared much for my cooking." She meditatively inspected the end of her cigar, raised steady gray eyes to encounter those of the officer, and added with a smile, "But that's the only complaint they ever made, young man."


The officer stared at her in nonplused silence, then said with sudden determination, "Get up and dress. I'm going to see this thing through. You're going to the district attorney's office for questioning. You too, Miss Street. Bill, telephone the D.A. and tell him we're on our way up. Get him to round up the others."


CHAPTER 15


BASIL WILSON, the Federal District Attorney, entered the room and nodded a perfunctory greeting. Two deputy United States marshals stood at the door.


Wilson, a man in his middle fifties, with a close-cropped, iron-gray mustache and deep pouches under tired-looking eyes, said in a deep-timbred voice which filled the room with musical resonance, "Let's see if we're all here: Sylvia Oxman, Paul Drake, Arthur Manning, Matilda Benson, Dick Perkins, George Belgrade, Della Street, Perry Mason, Charlie Duncan, Frank Oxman."


"Frank Oxman isn't here," one of the deputies at the door said. "He's not in his room at his hotel. He must have sneaked out the back door. The clerk swears he didn't go out past the desk."


The district attorney showed his irritation. "We want him," he said. "He's a material witness. We can make out a case without him, but his testimony corroborates the circumstantial evidence. Get him!"


"We're expecting to pick him up at any time," the deputy said, in a voice which somehow failed to carry assurance.


"Well, we have his signed statement and know what his story is," the district attorney remarked. "For the purpose of this inquiry, we'll take that statement as being true. He's under a subpoena and if he tries to skip out, it'll be that much the worse for him when we do catch him."


Mason stole a surreptitious glance at Paul Drake. The detective slowly closed his glassy eyes, almost imperceptibly nodded his head. Mason settled back in his chair.


Basil Wilson said, "I want you people to realize the position you're in. I'm not making any definite charges right now, but I think it's due to the influence of Mr. Mason that you've been playing fast and loose with the law. You can't do that and get away with it. You're all of you under subpoena to appear before the Federal Grand Jury, which is now in session. I'm not making any promises of immunity, and I'm not making any concessions, but I've called you together in this office to tell you that each and every one of you is going before the Federal Grand Jury and is going to be put under oath. I'm not particularly disposed to be harsh on those who have innocently followed the advice of an attorney.


"You can expedite matters in front of the Grand Jury if you'll state freely and frankly at this time exactly what you know about Grieb's murder."


Mason lit a cigarette and said cheerfully, "Well, if I'm going to be the goat in this thing, I should have an opportunity to say something in my own behalf."


The district attorney said, somewhat testily, "I don't care particularly about a statement from you, Mr. Mason. I know what you have done. You have made yourself an accessory after the fact and compounded a felony."


Mason said, "You'll agree with me that one can't be an accessory after the fact unless the person he aids is actually guilty of a felony."


Wilson's mouth, under his frosty, gray mustache, became uncompromisingly hard. "If," he said, ominously, "you think you can find a legal loop-hole for Sylvia Oxman, your previous victories, which have been due largely to luck, have left you unduly optimistic."


Mason waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal, as though brushing the district attorney's comment aside. "The gun," he said, "which the officers found in Sylvia's room was planted there by someone who knew she was in the hotel and who tossed it over the transom of Sylvia's room. Find the one who did that, and you'll find the murderer."


"We've already heard that story," Wilson said, "and you are at liberty to raise the point in front of a jury if you wish. I think you will find that even the most impressionable masculine juror will consider that explanation too weird to be taken seriously."


Mason nodded to Arthur Manning.


"All right, Manning," he said, "do your stuff."


Manning raised his eyebrows and said, "You mean..."


"Yes," Mason said, "I mean tell them what you know."


Manning took a deep breath. "I know," he said, "that Sam Grieb committed suicide."


"Did what!" Basil Wilson exclaimed.


"Committed suicide."


"Impossible!" the district attorney said.


"Go ahead, Arthur," Mason said, "and tell the district attorney what you told me. Tell it as briefly as possible."


"Well," Manning said, "it's this way: Sam Grieb kept a .38 automatic in the upper left-hand drawer of his desk. He was left-handed. He'd been dipping into the partnership funds, I think. When he knew Charlie was going to have a receiver appointed, and the books audited, he pulled the gun out of the desk drawer and shot himself.


"I hate to say this, but..."


"That's all right," Mason said, "go right ahead, Arthur, and make your statement."


"Well," Manning went on, "you see, it was like this: Grieb and Duncan took out partnership insurance. The policies didn't pay anything if the man who was insured should commit suicide within a year. They paid twenty thousand if he died a natural death, and forty thousand if he died by violence. Charlie Duncan found Sammy Grieb had committed suicide, and he thought fast enough to know it'd make just forty thousand dollars difference to him if he could make it look like a murder. So he got Mason and the deputy marshal out of the office long enough to pick up Grieb's gun, where it had fallen under the desk, and pitch it overboard."


The Federal District Attorney frowned at Manning and said, "Do you understand what you're saying?"


"Of course I do," Manning said.


"Have you any proof, or is this just surmise?"


"Well," Manning said, "you can figure it out for yourself. Grieb was shot with his own gun. Charlie Duncan saw to it that he was left alone in the room with the body..."


"No, I didn't," Duncan blazed. "Mason, you'll have to admit that I pressed the button which gave the signal for Manning to come before you left the office. Didn't I?"


"Yes," Mason admitted, "you did."


"And how long was it after the signal lights went on before you got into the office, Arthur?" Duncan demanded.


"Well," Manning said, "it was a little while."


"Not over six or eight seconds, was it?"


"Well, I don't know exactly how long it was, but..."


"Where was Perry Mason when you started for the office?"


"He'd just left the office. Perkins had him handcuffed."


"And it didn't take you over four or five seconds to answer my call, did it?"


"Well, no. But you had plenty of time to throw a gun overboard, and I can prove that Sammy was killed with his own gun."


"How?" Duncan asked.


"You remember the time you and Sammy shot at that piece of tin can down below the casino?"


"Yes, what of it?"


"I dug out the bullets. They were fired from the same gun that killed Sammy. And you know you were using Sam's gun on that target practice."


"All right. What if we were?" Duncan asked. "That doesn't prove anything. And you're all wet about this insurance business. There wasn't any insurance."


"I was in the room when you signed the papers," Manning said. "Maybe you don't remember, but I was standing right by..."


Duncan interrupted him. "Sure you were, Arthur. We signed the applications, all right, but Sam couldn't pass the physical examination, so the policies were never issued."


Manning's face showed consternation. "You mean there wasn't any insurance?"


"Exactly!" Duncan said. "It didn't make a dime's worth of difference to me whether Sam was murdered or committed suicide."


The Federal District Attorney glanced at Perry Mason and permitted himself a smile.


"So," he said, "that seems to dispose of that phase of the inquiry. And I'm willing to admit Grieb was killed with his own gun. Our ballistic experts have fired test shots from the weapon which was found in Sylvia Oxman's room when she was arrested, and there's no question but what it's the murder gun. Now, if you want to prove it was Grieb's gun, so much the better. That simply accounts for the fingerprints left by Sylvia Oxman when she leaned over the desk. She braced herself by leaning on her left hand when she jerked the gun from the drawer with her right hand."


Perry Mason asked easily, "Well then, how about Oxman?"


"What do you mean?" Wilson asked.


"Why did he skip out?"


"Probably because he feared publicity. Oxman's statement checks in every detail with the testimony of Mr. Belgrade."


Belgrade nodded, frowned, cleared his throat, and said, "Pardon me, Mr. Wilson."


The district attorney frowned. Mason said, "Go ahead, Belgrade."


Belgrade said importantly, "I was shadowing Sylvia Oxman. I saw her go into the offices. While she was in there, Frank Oxman went down the corridor, just as he says he did. Then he turned around and came out again. It couldn't have been more than seven or eight seconds. After he'd gone out, Mr. Mason went in. Then Sylvia Oxman came out and stuck around the casino. Then Charlie Duncan and Perkins went in. Then Mason and Perkins came out and, within a few seconds, Charlie Duncan came out, and Sylvia Oxman went up on deck. I followed her up on deck and saw her..."


"Wait a minute," Duncan interrupted. "You were where you could see the entrance to the offices, weren't you?"


"Yes."


"And you know how long it was after Mason and Perkins came out that I came out?"


"It couldn't have been over a few seconds."


"As much as a minute?" Duncan asked.


"No, Charlie, I don't think it was."


"You see," Duncan said to the Federal District Attorney, "this substantiates my statement that..."


"Fiddlesticks!" Mason interrupted. "If you were there alone for as much as three seconds, you had an opportunity to pitch a gun out of the porthole."


Basil Wilson said, "I think as far as this office is concerned, Duncan, you're out of it. The evidence points to Sylvia Oxman as being the guilty party. Do you wish to make any statement, Mrs. Oxman?"


"No," Mason said, "she doesn't."


Wilson frowned at Mason. "Do I understand that, as her attorney, you're advising her to make no statement?"


"That's right."


"The Federal Grand Jury," Wilson said coldly, "will hold that against her."


Mason nodded easily. "That's all right. You see, Wilson, she can't very well make a statement without implicating me."


The Federal District Attorney picked up a file of papers. "Well, we'll go into the Grand Jury room and... What was that last statement you made, Mason?"


"I said," Mason repeated, the corners of his mouth twisting into a smile, "that she couldn't very well make a statement without implicating me."


"I think I know what you mean," Wilson said, "but if you'd like to elaborate on your remark, I'd be willing to listen."


Mason said, "Sylvia Oxman went aboard the gambling ship to see Sam Grieb. She found the door of the office slightly ajar. She pushed it open and found Sam Grieb murdered. He was seated at his desk in exactly the position the officers subsequently found the body. The three IOU's she'd given him, in an amount of seventy-five hundred dollars, were on a corner of the desk. About that time, she was alarmed by the noise made by an electric signal, which indicated someone was coming down the corridor. She was rattled, and didn't know just what to do, so she turned around and ran into the outer office and sat down, pretending she was waiting for a chance to see Grieb. A few moments later I entered that office and found her there. She was holding an open magazine. I said something to her, and then, noticing the door of the inner office was ajar, pushed it open and entered..."


"Wait a minute... Wait a minute," the Federal District Attorney interrupted, jabbing frantically at the push-button on his desk, "I'm going to have this statement taken down in shorthand."


"Go ahead," Mason said easily.


Paul Drake looked across at Mason, an expression of startled incredulity on his face. Duncan glanced triumphantly about him and lit a cigar. A man with a shorthand notebook and fountain pen came hurrying in from an adjoining office. The Federal District Attorney said, jabbing his finger at Perry Mason, "This is Perry Mason, the lawyer. He's making a confession. Take it down."


"A confession?" Mason asked.


"Go right ahead," the Federal District Attorney said, "we won't quibble over words. You've already admitted pushing open the door. You've admitted Sylvia Oxman was in the outer office at the time, and had been in the private office. You gentlemen have heard that statement?"


Wilson's eyes swept the circle of faces, and received grave nods of acquiescence. "Let the record show," he said to the shorthand reporter, "that the people in this room all reply in the affirmative."


"Let the record show that I'm nodding too," Mason said, grinning, apparently enjoying himself hugely... "Well, as I was remarking, I entered the inner office and found Grieb's body slumped over the desk. I grabbed Sylvia Oxman as she was leaving the office. She admitted then she'd been in there before. I told her to go on out. When she'd gone, I opened the drawer of Grieb's desk, deposited seventy-five hundred dollars, the face value of the three IOU's Sylvia Oxman had signed, touched a match to the IOU's and burned them up."


"You what?" the district attorney asked, his eyes wide.


"I burned them up."


"Didn't you know you were committing a crime when you did that, Mr. Mason?"


Mason raised his eyebrows and said, "Why, no. What crime?"


"Compounding a felony."


"In what way?"


"Those IOU's furnished a motive for the murder."


"Did they?" Mason said. "Well, of course, that's news to me."


"And when you destroyed them, you destroyed evidence. You were also guilty of a felony in wrongfully taking those IOU's."


"Personally," Mason said, "I don't think they're evidence of anything. Therefore, I wasn't guilty of anything when I destroyed them. Furthermore, I didn't take them, I paid for them."


"Wait a minute," Wilson said, frowning. "This doesn't agree with Oxman's statement."


"That's right," Mason said easily.


"I'm afraid," the Federal District Attorney went on, "that so far as the Federal Jury is concerned, Mr. Mason, they will be far more inclined to take Oxman's word than yours."


Mason shrugged his shoulders. "Well, that's all right. Let them. But I don't think they'll take Oxman's written statement against my word. Oxman had better show up and try to substantiate his story if he wants to make it stick."


The district attorney frowned. "I don't care to argue the point, Mr. Mason. Do you have any further statement to make?"


"Yes," Mason went on easily. "Shortly after I'd destroyed the IOU's, an electric signal in the office announced someone was coming down the corridor. I slipped back into the outer office and pulled the door shut behind me just as Duncan and Perkins entered the office. I believe Mr. Duncan has correctly stated what happened after that... Oh, yes, there's one point I wanted to make: you'll remember, Perkins, that Duncan crossed over to the vault, saying he wanted to open it. He grasped the door handle, and turned the knob of the combination. You advised him not to open it."


"That's right," Perkins said.


"That's true?" Mason asked Duncan.


Duncan mouthed his cigar for a second or two, and then slowly nodded and said, "Yes, that's true. I wanted to look in the vault and see what had happened to those IOU's."


Mason grinned at the district attorney and said, "Well, there's your murder case."


"What do you mean?" the district attorney asked.


"My God," Mason said, "do I have to draw you a diagram? Don't you see it yet?"


The district attorney flushed, and said with dignity, "I see, Mr. Mason, that, according to your own confession, you have involved yourself as an accessory after the fact. You have aided and abetted Sylvia Oxman in her escape. You have failed to do your duty as an attorney and an officer of the court."


Mason lit a cigarette, grinned across at the district attorney and said, "Where was Manning?"


Duncan said, "You know where Manning was. He was out in the casino. And as soon as I pressed the signal which summoned him, he entered the offices and took charge. Didn't you, Arthur?"


"Well," Manning said with slow deliberation, "there was a delay of a few seconds after you gave the signal, before I actually reached the offices."


Mason chuckled and the district attorney said acidly, "There's no occasion for humor, Mr. Mason."


Mason said to Perkins, "You saw Duncan spin the combination on that vault door?"


"Why, yes, Mr. Mason."


"He spun it through several revolutions without looking at numbers, didn't he?"


"I'm not certain. I remember he went over to the vault and said something about opening the door and spun the knob on the combination."


Mason grinned. "That's right, Perkins. He said he was going to open the vault door. As a matter of fact, the vault door was unlocked. What he was doing was locking it."


"You're crazy!" Duncan exclaimed. "What the hell are you trying to pull, anyway?"


Mason said simply, "That your accomplice, Arthur Manning, having killed Grieb by taking Grieb's gun from the drawer and shooting him through the head, was trapped in the inner office by Sylvia Oxman's arrival. There was no place for him to hide except in the vault. The murder had all been fixed up between you and Manning. You wanted Grieb out of the way. There was bad blood between you. Grieb was commencing to check up on you. You prepared an elaborate alibi by going to Los Angeles to file a case in the Federal Court. You knew Grieb would ring for Manning sometime during the evening. Manning was to grab Grieb's gun from the drawer, shoot him, leave the gun so it would look like a case of suicide, and then slip out and pull the door shut behind him.


"Grieb summoned Manning to perform some errand or other, but Manning couldn't close and lock the door without making Grieb suspicious, since Manning was supposed to go right out again. Manning grabbed the gun and shot Grieb just as the exhaust of a speed boat drowned the noise of the shot. But the roar of that exhaust also drowned out the sound the buzzer made when Sylvia Oxman came walking down the corridor. The first thing Manning knew, before he'd had a chance to drop the gun or plant any evidence, he heard Sylvia Oxman in the outer office calling, 'Yoo-hoo! May I come in?'


"There was only one thing for Manning to do. He slipped into the vault and pulled the door shut. But he couldn't lock the door from the inside. He sat there, holding the murder weapon, waiting either for a chance to escape or for a chance to shoot his way out.


"Naturally, when you came aboard, the first person you looked for was Manning. You didn't see him in the casino, so you went down to the offices, found me sitting there, were in a position where you had to open the door of the inner office and pretend surprise at finding Grieb's body. You naturally wanted it to appear as a suicide, and started looking for the gun. When you couldn't find it, you realized something had gone wrong.


"It didn't take you very long to find out what that something was. Manning had been interrupted before he'd had the opportunity to plant the gun. You did some fast thinking and figured he must be hidden in the vault. You thought that Perkins or I would make a move to open that vault, so, under the pretense of trying to open it, you spun the combination so we couldn't open it. Fortunately, Perkins played into your hands by suggesting you leave it alone; otherwise you'd have pretended you'd forgotten the combination.


"You were most anxious to get rid of us, so you accused me of having taken something from the room, persuaded Perkins to take me to your cabin to be searched, turned on the signal for Manning; then, as soon as you were alone in the room, opened the vault and let Manning out. You realized at once there was one vitally weak point in your story. In order to protect yourself, no one must ever suspect you and Manning of being accomplices. So you fixed things up with Manning so he'd tell the officers he'd found you snooping around the chair in which I'd been sitting when he entered the offices. That made his story sound a lot more plausible, made it seem less likely there was collusion between you, and put you in the outer office and away from the vault door. Later on, when Manning reported that Paul Drake had employed him, you worked out a story about the target practice which would enable Manning to lay a good foundation for a suicide theory. The bullets Manning dug out from the beam were fired this morning. But, while you were doing all this, you suddenly realized there was a much better chance to pin the crime on Sylvia Oxman. So you had Manning stress the suicide angle, but were ready to toss that theory overboard if it looked as though you could pin it on Sylvia."


Duncan laughed and said, "That's one of the greatest pipe dreams I've ever heard. I always knew you were an ingenious attorney, but I never thought you'd break out with such a wild story as that in order to save a guilty client."


The Federal District Attorney nodded. "Yes, Mr. Mason, I'm afraid your desperate attempt to free Mrs. Oxman will act as a boomerang and leave you convicted of complicity in the crime by your own statements, without..."


"Wait a minute," Mason said, "I'm not talking through my hat. I have proof."


"What proof?" Duncan asked.


"Simply this," Mason said. "Belgrade was watching the entrances to the office. He didn't see Manning go in. No one saw Manning go in. No one saw Manning in the casino. When Duncan and Perkins came aboard, Manning wasn't in the casino. Manning claims that he slipped down the passageway just as Perkins and I went out, but I didn't see him and Perkins didn't see him."


"You had your backs turned to me," Manning said.


"Then why didn't Belgrade see you?" Mason asked.


Manning shrugged his shoulders and said, "Belgrade's a crook. He sold Paul Drake out. I wouldn't take his word for anything."


The Federal District Attorney frowningly inspected Belgrade. "Did you see Mr. Manning go in those offices?" he asked.


Belgrade shook his head, his puzzled expression indicating his sincerity. "No," he said. "By God, I didn't!"


The Federal District Attorney thoughtfully regarded Duncan, Manning and Mason. "This," he said irritably, "is one of the damnedest things I've ever encountered. I simply can't believe that..."


Matilda Benson interrupted him to say, "Well, I may as well confess."


"You may as well what?" the district attorney demanded.


"Confess," she said. "You don't mind if I smoke, do you, Mr. Wilson?"


"No," he said. Duncan and Manning exchanged glances, then Manning looked away hastily.


Matilda Benson calmly pulled a cigar from her leather cigar case, cut off the end, and lit the cigar before the astonished eyes of the district attorney. "This shorthand reporter is going to take down everything I say?" she asked.


"Yes. He's taking down everything," the district attorney said.


"Very well," Mrs. Benson remarked, in a voice of complete resignation. "I don't know what the punishment will be for what I've done. Whatever it is, I'm willing to take my medicine. I'm not afraid to die. My life-expectancy is short, anyway. Sylvia and her daughter mean a lot more to me than my own life. Grieb and Duncan were blackmailing Sylvia. I felt they were both a couple of rats. I didn't think they deserved to live. I went aboard the ship with the deliberate intention of killing both Grieb and Duncan."


"Were you armed?" the district attorney asked.


"Certainly I was armed," she said. "I carried a .38 automatic in my handbag. What did you think I expected to kill them with, my hands?"


"Go ahead," the district attorney said hastily.


"I watched for a chance, waiting. I saw Sylvia go into the office. I waited. I saw Frank Oxman go into the office. I opened my bag and slipped the automatic down the front of my dress. I saw Oxman come out. I saw Mason go in, and Sylvia come out. I saw Duncan and Perkins go in. Then I saw Perkins and Mr. Mason come out. I said to myself, 'Now is my time. Both the men I want to kill are in there.' I gripped my gun in my right hand and tiptoed cautiously down the corridor. I slipped silently into the outer office. I could see the door of the vault in the inner office, but I couldn't see Grieb's desk. The door blocked my line of vision; but I supposed, of course, Grieb was sitting there at his desk. I saw Duncan bending over the vault door, opening it. I leveled my gun, and was just about to pull the trigger, when Duncan opened the door of the vault and I saw Manning come out. I didn't want to kill Duncan while Manning was there, so I slipped back into the corridor. I saw Duncan come out. I followed him down to the room where Perry Mason was being searched. I listened at the door. I heard voices and learned Grieb had been killed, so I ran up on deck and waited a few moments, wondering what to do. I saw Sylvia come up, and I thought Sylvia was going to speak to me. I realized then that I'd be searched, so I tossed my gun overboard. But Sylvia didn't see me. She ran down the landing-stairs and took a launch which was leaving for the shore. I tried to protect Sylvia, because I thought she might be implicated in Grieb's murder. So I had Mr. Mason get my coat, and I threw it overboard. I smuggled Sylvia's coat ashore and..."

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