The Case of the Half-Wakened Wife

Chapter 10

An ominous sense of restraint settled upon the yacht. The guests huddled about, then went back to their cabins, only to return to the cold deck, restless, uncomfortable, and a little frightened.

The crew in the rowboat kept up their fruitless search for the body and from the fog-filled night there could be heard the thunk... thunk... thunk of the oars in the oarlocks. Occasionally the sound of a voice called out a hoarse command.

Mason, accompanied by Della Street, kept himself isolated in the bow of the yacht. The chill dampness of the fog had begun to penetrate and Della Street, giving a little shiver, asked, “What’s the idea, Chief? Why can’t we go where it’s warm?”

Mason said, “I want to stay here until the officers come, Della.”

“What’s the reason?”

“In the first place, I don’t want any tampering with whatever evidence there may be in the bow of the boat. In the second place, I have an idea that by keeping somewhat isolated this way we may invite the confidence of some of the others.”

“You want me to stay here with you?”

“Not if you’re cold.”

Della Street began flexing her knees, lowering and raising her body.

“It’s the fact that my circulation is sluggish. I’ll start the blood circulating,” she said. “After all, being roused in the middle of the night this way and then standing out in the fog... But my stateroom seems ghastly... Chief, what about the status of the property now?”

“How do you mean?”

“Will Parker Benton go ahead and buy it?”

“Probably not.”

“Then you mean if Scott Shelby is dead... Well, let’s suppose he’s murdered. His death didn’t do the murderer any good?”

“Not so far as this particular deal is concerned. In fact it had just the opposite effect. Parker Benton now has notice of the lease. If he took the property, he would take it subject to the lease, regardless of the fact that it hasn’t been recorded. And with the death of Scott Shelby, there’s no opportunity of reaching a compromise, at least until some administrator has been appointed and a lot of red tape unwound... That probably wouldn’t suit Parker Benton at all.”

Della Street ceased her flexing exercises as the full import of this statement soaked into her mind.

“Go ahead,” Mason said, laughing. “Say it.”

“Then the murderer couldn’t have been one of the people who... Chief, that upsets my entire theory of the case... I had supposed, of course...”

Her voice trailed away into thoughtful silence.

Mason said, “I’m telling you the law, Della. But that doesn’t necessarily affect the motive for murder.”

“What do you mean?”

Mason said, “The murderer may not have known the law, may not have reasoned the thing out, may have felt that Scott Shelby was standing between the murderer and a nice profit on the sale of the property — or perhaps the property itself.”

“Why that last?” Della Street asked.

“Because,” Mason said, “if... Wait a minute, Della. We have a customer.”

A figure silhouetted itself against the lights surrounded by their little fog auras.

Lawton Keller tried to make his manner casual.

“Oh, hello. I didn’t know there was anyone up here.”

“Looking for something?” Mason asked.

“Just taking a stroll to get warmed up... I suggested to Benton that it might be a good thing to serve a hot toddy but he doesn’t want the officers to come and smell liquor on our breaths. Personally, I’d give a lot for a good hot buttered rum.”

“Sounds very tempting,” Mason said.

“Provided we had the butter,” Della Street observed.

“And the rum,” Lawton said, laughing.

“And the hot water,” Mason supplemented.

They all joined in laughter which seemed a little forced. Then Lawton Keller said, “Has anyone found out what Shelby was doing up here in the bow of the ship?”

“Apparently not,” Mason said. “I don’t know. I haven’t been around where the others were talking. I preferred not to hear the various theories.”

Lawton Keller said, “Well, I suppose I should be sorry. Personally I think the man was a crook and a blackmailer. Of course, even so, I wouldn’t want to have the deal go through as the result of such a price as that.”

“Has it ever occurred to you,” Mason asked, “that Shelby’s death hasn’t changed the situation in the least?”

Lawton Keller was evidently surprised. “Why, no,” he said, “I thought... Well, to tell you the truth I hadn’t given it a great deal of consideration.”

“Better ask Parker Benton what he intends to do,” Mason said. “I think you’ll find that Benton has given it plenty of consideration... No, on second thought, you hadn’t better ask him’ It might show an undue eagerness.”

Keller was quite evidently completely nonplused. “You mean that his death doesn’t clear the thing up?”

“Makes it more complicated than ever,” Mason said.

Keller was silent for several seconds, then he absent-mindedly took a cigarette from his pocket, struck the match, and lit the cigarette. The hand which held the match was unsteady.

Della Street noticed a slight tremor and flashed a quick glance at Mason.

The lawyer cautioned her with a slight frown against making any comment, and then the match went out and they were once more in half darkness.

Obviously jarred by the import of Mason’s statement, Keller started to turn away, then after a moment swung back to face Mason. “One thing,” he said, “that may or may not be important.”

“What?”

“Marjorie Stanhope was wandering around the deck shortly before the thing happened.”

“How do you know?” Mason asked.

“I saw her.”

“Where?”

“From the porthole of my stateroom. I couldn’t sleep. I got up to smoke a cigarette... wondered if the fog had lifted and whether we’d get back early in the morning or perhaps be held here for a while. I went over to the porthole of the stateroom... my stateroom looks out on the port side of the deck.”

“Lights were on?” Mason asked, making his voice sound as casual as possible.

“No, but there was some illumination. It wasn’t pitch dark.”

“And what did you see?”

“I saw Marjorie Stanhope walking along the deck.”

“Toward the bow or toward the stern?”

“Toward the stern.”

“Walking as though she were strolling around or as though she had been some place.”

“As though she’d been some place.”

“Said anything about this to anyone?”

“Just you, that’s all. Do you think I should?”

Mason said, “Let your conscience be your guide.”

“Well, I’m wondering. I suppose the officers will ask a lot of questions.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“And should I tell them?”

“Well,” Mason said, “if they ask you if you saw anyone, you certainly couldn’t lie to them.”

“No, I’d hardly want to do that.”

“Of course,” Mason went on, “you’re not called upon to volunteer any information. But if they should take a statement from you now and you neglected to mention a fact as important as that and then had to recall it later in response to some specific question, you might find yourself in something of a fix.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Lawton Keller said. “I’d prefer to have Marjorie Stanhope questioned first. Then if she mentions being on deck, everything will be all right.”

“And if she doesn’t?” Mason asked.

“Well, of course... My gosh, Mason, I never thought of that. If she doesn’t. If she tries to conceal it and then I come along and... Gosh, that’s virtually the same as accusing her of something, isn’t it?”

Mason said, unsympathetically, “Well, that’s your problem. I definitely don’t want to advise you.”

Keller said, “I... Gosh, I don’t know whether to go to Miss Stanhope and tell her that I saw her or... or... just wait and see what she says. Perhaps I’d better go to her.”

Mason stretched, yawned, said, “Well, I guess you won’t have much longer to deliberate on it. Unless I’m mistaken, these are the officers coming.”

The sound of an air whistle came from the distant fog and the yacht answered with a short blast of its own whistle and swung the searchlight out over the water so that it was boring a milky tunnel into the night, a tunnel in which fog moisture swirled and gyrated in a kaleidoscope of misty motion.

Keller said, “Yes, I guess these are the officers all right,” and rapidly moved away.

Della said, “Shall I see if he goes to talk with Miss Stanhope, Chief?”

“I don’t think he’ll have much time,” Mason said. Even as he spoke the speedboat came roaring out of the fog into the illumination of the searchlight.

A man in the bow of the speedboat tossed a line to the deck of the yacht. It was caught and drawn up. A rope was attached to the end of the line, and a moment later the speedboat was secured.

The two officers who came aboard the yacht were rural deputies who were quite evidently impressed by the importance of the occasion.

The passengers assembled in the dining salon. The two officers sat at the head of the table. One of them asked the questions in a nasal voice. He was in the late sixties, thin, sparse, and with blue eyes that seemed covered with a film as they peered out through spectacles, the lenses of which were badly soiled with finger marks. But his mind covered all the various angles of the situation.

“Now then,” he said, “I want to know whether anyone knows anything about this.”

There was a moment’s silence which greeted his blanket question; then Mrs. Shelby said with grim determination, “I think I’m the one who knows all there is to know about it. I’ve told my story before, but I’ll tell it again.”

She went on and told her story in detail.

The deputy sheriff listened to her attentively, said, “Well, I guess that covers it,” glanced at this companion, cleared his throat, turned to Perry Mason and said, “You were out on deck, Mr. Mason?”

“That’s right.”

“What do you know about what happened?”

“My recollection conforms substantially to the statement made by Mrs. Shelby.”

“Anyone else on deck?” the deputy asked.

There was a period of uncomfortable silence.

“If it hadn’t been for that shot,” the second deputy interposed, “we’d think there wasn’t anything to it, just somebody failing overboard. That shot makes things kinda different. Are you certain you heard a shot, Mrs. Shelby?”

“Yes.”

“You had a gun?”

“That’s right.”

“But you didn’t shoot it?”

“No.”

“You’re sure of that?”

“Yes.”

“There’s one empty shell in the cylinder.”

“I know that.”

“How do you know that?”

“Mr. Benton broke the gun open after I told him what had happened and he told me there was an empty shell in it. I didn’t know it.”

“All the others were loaded?”

“I believe that’s right, yes.”

The deputy sheriff once more glanced at his companion, then turned to Mason. “Just why were you out on the deck, Mr. Mason?”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“You didn’t have any idea that... Well, you know, something was going to happen?”

Mason smiled, “My telepathy isn’t that good.”

The deputy sheriff didn’t smile. “The first thing we’ve got to do,” he said, “is to find the body.”

“We’re searching for it now,” Parker Benton said. “We’ve kept up a continual search... I can assure you of one thing, there was no struggling man in the water... I believe you said your husband could swim, Mrs. Shelby?”

“Yes, he’s a very good swimmer. He wouldn’t have gone down... I mean even if he’d fallen overboard, he could have stayed on the surface of the water indefinitely if it hadn’t been for... You know, something else.”

“You mean a gunshot wound?” the deputy asked.

“Yes.”

“Know any reason why anyone should have wanted him dead?”

The woman hesitated while her eyes sought those of Parker Benton, then looked at Lawton Keller, then swung back from those of Jane Keller to the deputy. “No,” she said.

Abruptly, Margie Stanhope spoke up. “I was on deck.”

The deputy looked at her. “You were?”

“That’s right.”

“Doing what?”

“Walking. I couldn’t sleep. This business meant a lot to me — meant even more than anyone will ever realize.”

“What business?”

“The business Mr. Benton had with Scott Shelby.”

“I’ll explain that to you later,” Benton interposed, speaking to the deputy.

The deputy looked at Marjorie Stanhope.

“See anyone?” he asked.

“Yes, I saw Mr. Shelby.”

“Where?”

“In the bow.”

“What was he doing?”

“Standing there. He acted as though he was waiting for someone, as though he had an appointment.”

“You talk with him?”

“I tried to. He asked me to leave. Said he had a date to discuss something.”

“Did he say who he was waiting for?”

“No.”

“Why didn’t you tell us before?”

“This is the first chance I’ve had.”

The deputies exchanged whispered comments, then the one in charge turned to Mrs. Shelby and said, apologetically, “Guess we got to ask you a personal question... Leave any insurance, did he?”

“Yes.”

“Much?”

“Quite a lot.”

“When was it taken out?”

Marion Shelby took a deep breath. “Sixty days ago,” she said.

The deputy looked at the other passengers, said, “I guess you folks better go to your rooms now. There’s a few more questions we got to ask Mrs. Shelby here, and it might go better if we’re sort of by ourselves.”