The Case of the Negligent Nymph

Chapter 1

FROM ins RENTED CANOE PERRY MASON SIZED UP THE ALDER estate as a general sizes up a prospective battlefield.

The moon, a few days past the full, made a shimmering path of silver in the east, and served to illuminate Mason’s objective, an island connected with the mainland by a fifty-foot steel-and-concrete bridge.

On that island George S. Alder’s huge two-storied mansion faced the narrow channel, as a castle might look down upon its protecting moat.

Fencing off the estate from the curious eyes of passers-by on the mainland was a brick wall topped with wrought iron and studded with broken glass. On the bay side were signs warning trespassers they would be prosecuted. A long wharf ran out into the sluggish waters, a sandspit on the northern side gave a crescent-shaped bathing beach and, back of that, a well-kept lawn became a velvety green carpet, thanks to the aid of loam which had been trucked in at great expense.

Alder’s legal position seemed, at least on the surface, to be fully as impregnable as the island estate which isolated him and his wealth from the mainland. But Perry Mason was by no means an ordinary lawyer. It was never his policy to attack where the enemy expected the blow to fall. Rather, he preferred to devise some ingenious objective all his own. Hence his nocturnal survey of the place which meant more to Alder than all of the far-flung empire which he controlled.

On this particular evening Alder was entertaining, and, for the most part, his guests had evidently come from the two large, seagoing yachts which were riding their moorings a quarter of a mile offshore. Two power launches, rich with polished mahogany, gleaming with burnished brass, were tied up at the private wharf of the Alder estate. And rumor had it that beams of invisible light guarded this wharf so that the moment any craft approached within ten feet an alarm sounded automatically, floodlights blazed into brilliance, and a powerful siren sent out its piercing scream.

Mason silently paddled hiscanoe close to the sandspit, studying the contours.

A hooded electric light was fastened to a board sign in such a manner that it illuminated the legend painted in red letters. These letters could be read a hundred and fifty feet away “PRIVATE PROPERTY, NO TRESPASSING—BEWARE OF VICIOUS DOGS WHO WILL ATTACK TRESPASSERS ON SIGHT, KEEP OFF!”

It was at this point in his survey that Mason suddenly became conscious of the swimmer.

Apparently the figure had not as yet seen the canoe, but was drifting along down the tide with slow, evenly timed, powerful strokes.

Mason, suddenly curious, held his canoe steady against the slowly ebbing tide and watched.

The figure landed on the sandspit within a few feet of the illuminated sign. Moonlight and the illumination from the sign were sufficient to show that the swimmer was a woman. She had apparently been swimming in the nude with a small waterproof sack tied to her back. From this sack she removed a bath towel with which she dried her slender, athletic body. Then she produced stockings, shoes, and a low-cut evening gown.

Fascinated, Mason shipped his dripping paddle into the rented canoe, took night glasses from their case and raised the binoculars to his eyes.

He could see that she was blondish, good-looking and apparently completely assured.

She was not hurrying, nor was she loitering. She was as calmly unrushed as though she had been dressing at home in front of a mirror, and, once she had adjusted the sleeveless, strapless gown, she made up her face by the aid of a compact, using the light from the warning sign to guide her.

Having completed the make-up to her satisfaction, she left the waterproof bag on the ground, draped the wet bath towel over the support which held the light above the warning sign, and started walking toward the house, following a flagstone path which wound its way across the green of the lawn.

From the house came an occasional sound of isolated shrill women’s laughter, the patter of voices, an occasional burst of general merriment.

Quite evidently the guests of George S. Alder were enjoying themselves, and it seemed equally evident that they had no reason to anticipate that an attractive guest who had arrived at the island by such surreptitious means was about to join them.

Fascinated, Mason watched through his binoculars, noticing the young woman’s smooth-hipped walk, her easy assurance as, with the long skirt of her gown draped over her arm, she calmly followed the flagstoned path until she was at length swallowed in the shadow of the house.

The lawyer sat in his canoe, binoculars ready, waiting. There was no slightest indication from the house that any untoward events were in the making.

For some fifteen minutes Mason sat watching and waiting, studying the house with his binoculars, from time to time tlirusting the paddle into the water to hold the canoe against the tide while he awaited developments.

There was, of course, the possibility that this latest arrival was either an invited guest or someone who was sufficiently acquainted with the household to be certain of her welcome, but in either event she would hardly have left the waterproof bag and the towel there by the illuminated sign.

Mason glanced impatiently at the luminous dial of his wrist watch. It was getting late, and he wanted to return the canoe and get back to town. He had surveyed the accretion line of the sandspit enough to form a definite plan of action. Within the next few days George S. Alder would be given a jolt which would cause him considerable inconvenience. Yet, at the moment, the lawyer dared not leave. He could not overlook the potential possibilities inherent in this surreptitious visitor who had appeared swimming out of the darkness with the deft stroke of one who is as much at home in the water as on land. Certainly there was something…

Suddenly Mason heard the barking of a dog. It was the excited, hysterical barking of an animal lunging against his chain.

Abruptly, lights flashed on in some of the back rooms of the Alder mansion. Mason heard shouting, the renewed barking of the dog.

Balancing himself in the canoe, the lawyer studied the house through his binoculars.

The figure of the young woman appeared at one of the windows. She slid over the sill and lowered herself. The long skirt momentarily caught on the window sill, then she let go with her hands and, with a flutter of billowing skirts, dropped to the ground and started running.

First she ran toward one of the gates in the wall, then as the sound of shouting intensified in the house behind her, she veered back toward the water.

Through his binoculars, Mason could see men and women milling around in the room she had left so abruptly. Then he saw a man’s form framed against the window, heard him shout.

The words were unintelligible, but there could be no mistaldng the tone of the man’s voice. It was a shout of discovery, and the tone was that which conveys understanding even to inarticulate, wild animals deeply hidden in brush, which at the sound of that note of triumphant discovery in the voice of the hunter automatically leaped into startled flight.

The girl was running in a sheer panic now, coming straight toward the water, heedless of the towel and the white waterproof bag which she had left when she came ashore.

For a moment the man stood in the window, shouting, then he abruptly vanished.

The barking of the dog reached a shrill crescendo, then suddenly stopped.

Mason glanced from the running woman, who was sprinting directly toward his canoe, back to the window.

Suddenly he realized why the dog had stopped barking. The man had unchained him.

A dark streak of motion came hurtling through the window. For a moment, Mason’s binoculars clearly showed the form of a Doberman pinscher as he sailed out in a great leap. Then the animal struck the ground and wasted a few precious seconds picking up the trail of the fugitive, following scent and running toward the gate.

All at once the dog saw the fleeing figure and in powerful surging leaps, he came bounding across the lawn.

The girl splashed into the water.

Mason could see that she was holding some object in her right hand. Her left hand grabbed up the folds of her skirt. She made four or five long, splashing jumps, then, falling headlong as the water deepened, started to swim.

The dog, running silently, reached the edge of the lawn, cleared the short strip of sandy beach, made a long, flying leap into the water, and started swimming.

He was close enough so that Mason could hear the little whining noises of eagerness in the animal’s throat as he swam with shoulders high out of the water.

The frantic young woman had crossed the bow of Mason’s canoe, apparently without seeing it The dog, in deep water, was now less sure of himself.

Thrusting the blade of his paddle into the water, Mason shot the canoe-into the space between the girl and the pin-suing dog. With the paddle he pushed against the dog’s shoulder, swinging him around so that the animal was pointed back toward the shore.

The dog gave a growling, angry bark, whirled and grabbed the blade of the paddle with his teeth, hung on.

Mason twisted the paddle, turning the dog over in the water, forcing him to let go his hold.

For a moment, with the water in his eyes, the dog was confused. Then he started swimming once more, powerfully, purposefully.

Again Mason pushed the dog completely around. Again the dog snapped at the blade of the paddle.

The young woman, now aware of what was going on, was using all her strength to put distance between herself and the dog.

A third time Mason pushed his paddle against the swimming animal. The dog once more grabbed the blade of the paddle. Once more, Mason twisted him over on his back, held him momentarily under water, and this time when the confused animal reached the surface he was swimming back toward the island.

Mason turned the canoe, sent it swiftly to the exhausted girl.

“Get in,” he said. “Climb in over the bow so you don’t upset us.”

She glanced over her shoulder to look at him, a swift, desperate appraisal. Then, as though realizing she had no other alternative, she raised her right hand, dropped something into the bow of the canoe. Then, catching hold of the bow with two hands, one on each side, she suddenly raised herself with a powerful thrust of strong young arms, and came over the bow, sliding along to lie momentarily flat on her stomach, kicking her legs clear of the water. Then she rolled over with a swift, lithe motion, doubled her knees under her, pulled down her wet dress and said gaspingly, “I don’t know … who you are … but you’d better paddle like helll”

Flashlights, flickering like fireflies, appeared on the shore, and Mason heard someone shout, “There she isl She’s swimming.”

After a second or two, another voice said, “No, it’s the dog. He’s coming backl”

The flashlights momentarily converged on the dog, then raised, and questing beams circled out over the dark waters.

One of the more powerful flashlights caught the canoe. Mason promptly ceased paddling, kept his back turned, his face down, and said to the girl, “Better keep your head down.”

“I know,” she said, her head lowered. “Damn these low necklines. I would have to be betrayed by the styles … I feel as prominent as a silk hat at snowballing time … Wish I had something that would cover up these shoulders.”

A man’s voice from the shore shouted, “There’s a boat out there. That’s a boat, I tell you!”

For a few moments the flashlight held the canoe, then lost it, and circled blindly as the searchers failed to make allowance for the drifting tide.

Mason used the paddle once more, sending the canoe out farther from the shore and down the bay, speeding along on the tide.

“Well?” he asked, at length.

She said, “Thanks for the buggy ride. Only it’s a canoe.”

“I’m afraid,” Mason told her, “it’s going to take a little more than that.”

“To do what?”

“To square things.”

“What things?”

“My conscience, for one.”

“What’s the matter with your conscience? Is it unusually tender?”

“No. Only usually tender.”

She said, “Let me get my breath and I’ll tell you all about it.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“Out to my yacht. It’s a little job, the Kathy-Kay, and I'll have to get my bearings to…”

Mason said, “Well stay here on neutral territory until we know what the situation is. I acted on impulse. The sight of that dog dashing after you with bared fangs speeded my generous impulses.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Who you are, what you were after.”

“Oh, I see. You’re willing to be a dashing knight, but you also want to be a careful knight.”

“Exactly.”

“After all, you know, I’m an international gem thief and those are the dowager’s jewels I just tossed in the bottom of the canoe.”

“Intended as a joke,” Mason said, “but since it was your idea, well investigate it”

“Oh, all right,” she said. “IH tell you, but give me a few seconds to catch my breath.” She remembered to exaggerate her breathlessness while she fought for time.

“And give you a chance to think up a story?” Mason asked.

“Don’t be silly. You should try running from a vicious dog. I felt like the mechanical rabbit in a dog race.”

“And moved just about as fast,” Mason said.

“The water saved me,” she admitted. “And you with your providential canoe. How did you happen to be there?”

Mason grinned. “Let me puff, puff get my breath, and then I’ll puff, puff tell you all about it”

She laughed, squirmed around to a more comfortable position, and sized him up.

The moonlight fell on her face, and Mason saw young symmetrical features, deep brown eyes, high cheekbones, a short nose, a full-lipped but small mouth, and a figure clothed in clinging wet garments which outlined it admirably.

She said frankly, “I feel naked. One doesn’t wear much under these dresses, and it certainly clings, doesn’t it?”

“Any time,” he told her.

“Any time, what?”

“That you have recovered your breath, you may tell me about your loot.”

“Oh, that,” she said. “Sit tight and don’t be frightened. I’m accustomed to canoes. I won’t tip it over.”

She swung quickly, moving with such a sure sense of balance that the canoe hardly swayed. She reached into the bow, raised an object which glistened in the moonlight, and extended it to the lawyer. “There are the dowager’s diamonds,” she said.

The object was a plain glass bottle carefully stoppered, roughened on one side as though half of the bottle had been made of ground glass. On the inside was something white, not a liquid, but what seemed to be a piece of tightly rolled paper.

Mason shook the bottle, then held it up so that he could better inspect it in the moonlight

“The jewels,” the girl said dryly. “I suppose now I can count on being turned over to the police.”

“What the deuce is this?” Mason asked.

“It’s a bottle with a piece of paper in it.”

Mason put down the bottle to study the girl more carefully. “And is there perhaps,” he asked, “some other trinket that goes with it? Perhaps a diamond ring or a watch or something?”

“Concealed on my person?” she asked, indicating the lines of her wet dress. “In this outfit, Mr. Inquisitor? I couldn’t smuggle a postage stamp, let alone a rhinestone.”

From the direction of the wharf came the sputtering sound of a motor, then a choking backfire, followed by a sudden roar of staccato explosions.

“Oh,” she exclaimed in dismay, “they’ve got one of the speedboats going. Quick! To those yachts over there. Give it everything you have. We can’t let them catch us here.”

Where a moment before she had been triumphantly sure of herself, inclined to engage in banter, she was now in a panic of desperation.

Mason hesitated a moment, then sank the paddle deep into the water.

“Don’t think this thing is going to be terminated when we get to your yacht,” Mason said. “I’m going to continue this investigationl”

“Continue anything you want to,” she said, “but let’s not be caught here like a couple of saps. They have a searchlight on that motorboat and … We’ll never make itl”

Aboard the speedboat, a canvas cover was jerked off the searchlight and a long, wicked pencil of light started swinging back and forth across the dark space of the water.

“Faster, faster!” she said, looking apprehensively back over her shoulder. “They’re too far upstream. If we can only make it. Another hundred yards and we’ll be…”

The searchlight suddenly, as though drawn by a magnet, swung in a half circle, passed directly over the canoe, hesitated a moment, wavered back, then speared the occupants in white glare.

“Oh, they’ve found us!” the girl exclaimed. “Please, please paddle.”

The motorboat swung in a half circle, bore down upon them at speed.

A yacht anchored broadside became interposed between the speedboat and the canoe, momentarily blotting out the beam of the searchlight.

“Hold everything,” Mason said, swinging the canoe abruptly toward the anchored yacht. “Grab something so you can hang on.”

“No, no,” she said, “this isn’t the one. We can’t go aboard this, and…”

“Grab,” Mason commanded.

She caught hold of a porthole, swinging the canoe abruptly around.

“Now duck,” Mason ordered, as the canoe came in close to the yacht.

Suddenly the girl sensed his maneuver and pulled the canoe forward as she dropped to the bottom. Mason, completely reversing his direction, paddled back under the bow of the yacht and up on the other side. The speedboat in the meantime had swung wide so that the beam of the spotlight could pick up the canoe again on the yacht’s port side. Mason waited until the momentum of the speedboat had carried it past, then paddled out from the starboard side of the yacht.

Waves made by the speedboat hit the canoe sideways, threatened for a moment to capsize it, then subsided. Mason crossed the wake of the speedboat, which by this time was slewing in a scrambled turn, having quite apparently put on too much speed considering the proximity of anchored yachts.

The girl cautiously surveyed the various yachts riding at anchor, and said, “The one we want is that little one a hundred yards over there. Here they are, coming back to look for us.”

Mason sized up the situation. “Sit tight. I’m going to try to make it to that big yacht over there.”

“But that belongs to …”

“We’re just going to use it as a shield,” he explained. “They’ve lost us now, and if we can keep out of sight they may think we went aboard one of these larger yachts.”

Mason put everything he had into paddling across the dark stretch of water. The speedboat made a complete circle, but by the time the searchlight had a clean sweep over open water, Mason had gained the far side of the yacht, checked the progress of the canoe, and swung in to the protecting shadows of the yacht’s hull. As the speedboat made another wide circle, Mason slipped under the bow of the yacht and came back on the starboard side. Watching his - opportunity, he rounded the stern and paddled swiftly to another good-sized yacht which had enough freeboard to offer them complete protection.

By this time the girl was trembling with excitement and the chill of her wet clothes.

Mason, checking the progress of the canoe in the shelter of the third yacht, could feel the faint vibrations of her shivers as her hands gripped the sides of the light canoe.

“You’re cold,” he said. “You’re shivering.”

“Of course I’m cold. These clothes have become icy, but don’t let a little shivering bother you. You’re doing fine. Now if you can only work down toward that little yacht…”

She broke off with chattering teeth.

Mason said, “You’ll catch cold. You shouldn’t . .

“What do you want me to do, take it off?” she asked.

“You might as well,” Mason told her.

“I might at that,” she admitted, pulling the wet garment away from the skin. “It clings, and sticks, and I suppose it’s darn near transparent. But…”

“Oh, oh!” Mason interrupted, “they’re making a wide circle completely around the outside of the anchorage. Perhaps we can make it. Want to take a chance?”

She said sarcastically, “You should know by this time that I’m a conservative young woman who never takes a chance.”

Mason shot the canoe out from the protection of the yacht, across a strip of open water, then gained the side of the little yacht the girl had pointed out.

“Quick,” she said, scrambling aboard. “We’re going to have to do something with this canoe. That’s why they’re circling, looking for the yacht which has…”

“Hoist it aboard,” Mason told her.

“There isn’t room to put it anywhere on deck.”

“Slide it into the cabin,” Mason suggested. “Put part of it in the cabin and leave part of it down here …”

“All right. Can we lift it?”

“Sure. It’s an aluminum canoe. You take the bow, take the stern. All right, let’s go.”

They lifted the dripping canoe across the deck, and, opening the cabin door, slid part of the bow into the cabin.

“Now,” she said, “I’m going to have a drink of whisky and you’re going to have a drink of whisky. Then you’re going to be a gentleman and turn your back. I can’t close the doors of the cabin with the canoe in here and there’s enough moonlight so…”

Mason said, “IH go outside and keep an eye on that speedboat…”

“You most certainly will do nothing of the sort. They’ll see you. You won’t be able to resist sticking your head up over the side just when they happen to swing the searchlight. You stay right here.”

Mason said, “I want some assurance that this bottle was the only thing you took. I…”

She said, “Sit tight and I’ll throw you my wet clothes. You can search them. I wish you wouldn’t be so darned suspicious.”

“I know,” Mason told her. “I’m a narrow-minded old fuddyduddy. I’ve always been suspicious whenever I see a woman jumping out of a window…”

“So you saw that, did you?”

He nodded.

She said, “Keep your eyes closed. Here comes a very wet and soggy dinner dress. Then I’m going to slip into a housecoat and … If I can find the darn thing … Here it is… Now, wait a minute … Okay, now you may open your eyes and we’re going to have a great big jolt of whisky without water and without ice.”

“Make mine light.” Mason warned.

Mason heard the clink of glasses, saw her moving about the small cabin, then heard the splash of liquid, and a glass was thrust into his hand.

“I think this, calls for a toast. Here’s to crime,” she said and then laughed.

Mason sipped the whisky, heard her pour herself a second drink.

“Ready for a refill?”

“No, I’m doing fine. Don’t hit that too hard.”

“I won’t,” she promised. “I don’t ordinarily take much, but I’m chilled right through to the bone.”

Mason said, “Suppose we take an inventory.”

“Of what?”

“That bottle.”

“You saw it.”

“I want to see what’s inside of it.”

She said, “Now, look, you’ve been a good scout, you were really a friend in need and I’m terribly grateful. Sometime tomorrow I’ll dress to the teeth, get in touch with you and tell you how grateful I really am. In the meantime…”

“In the meantime,” Mason said, “I’m an attorney. I have a position to uphold. So far as I’m concerned you’re a housebreaker. Unless you can satisfy me that you weren’t stealing I’m going to have to turn you over to the police.”

“The police!”

“That’s right.”

She hesitated a moment, then said, “And you’re an attorney?”

“Yes.”

“Then perhaps you can help… Listen!”

The speedboat came roaring close to the yacht. Waves rocked the light craft in a series of quick rolls.

An exasperated voice from the deck of one of the other yachts yelled, “Get that speedboat out of this yacht anchorage, you drunken fools.”

A voice from the speedboat shouted, “We re chasing a thief. Have you seen a boat with two people in it?”

“Haven’t seen a thing,” the voice on the yacht said wearily. “Why don’t you go home and go to bed?”

The speedboat swept around in another turn, then the motor slowed, apparently while the occupants held a conference. After a few moments the motor speeded up once more. The boat turned back and the sound of the motor diminished in the distance.

The girl sighed. “Thank heavens they’re going back.”

“Going back to notify the police,” Mason said.

“Well,” she announced hopefully, “while they’re doing that you could … We could get the canoe out and … “

“Yes,” Mason said dryly, “you could go on about your business. I’d be out in the bay paddling a canoe. Before I could get back to where I’m going I might be picked up and questioned—and just what would you suggest I tell them?”

She said, “This is purely a personal and a private matter.”

“And once the police enter into it, it becomes a purely impersonal and public matter. I have no desire to be charged as being an accessory after the fact.”

She said, “Let’s take blankets off the berths and put them up over the portholes so we can use a small flashlight. We’ll take a look at it together.”

“Fair enough,” Mason said. “Only our friends won’t be idle while we’re doing all that”

“No, I suppose not, but they haven’t any lead to this yacht.”

“Not so long as we’re aboard,” Mason explained patiently. “I’ve already pointed out that if I should be picked up before I reached shore, I’d have to explain where I’d been and what I’d been doing and …”

“Well,” she said in dismay, “you can’t stay here all night.”

She thought that over for a minute then, before Mason could say anything, added hastily, “Yes, you can too. YouH have to. It’s the only thing to do. We’re going to have to keep that darn canoe in the cabin so it will be out of sight, and then along in the morning well very casually start out on a fishing trip with you attired in sports clothes, sitting up in the trolling chair with a fishing rod and…”

“In the meantime,” Mason said, “let’s start putting blankets over the portholes, because I’m going to take a good look at that bottler—"

She hesitated, then said, “All right, it’s a deal.”

Mason had vague glimpses of her moving around in the cabin, heard the sound of heavy blankets being shaken. Then, on the port side, moonlight was suddenly blotted out. A few seconds later moonlight on the starboard side vanished into darkness.

“Now, then,” the girl said, and the beam of the flashlight penetrated the darkness.

Her voice was quivering with excitement. She said, “We can keep the light from the flashlight down close to the floor and it’ll be … Where’s that bottle?”

“In the canoe, I believe,” Mason said.

She cupped her hands over the lens of the flashlight, funneling the light through a small opening.

The light shining through her skin showed her fingers outlined in blood red, also showed well-browned legs through the opening in the skirt of the housecoat.

Then she said, “Here it is,” and leaning forward, removed one hand from the flashlight.

Mason’s hands closed about the bottle before the girl could reach it. ‘Til hold the bottle, you hold the flashlight”

“You’re so good to me,” she murmured sarcastically.

Mason inspected the bottle, said, “It’s going to take a pair of tweezers to get this paper out. It’s been rolled, thrust in the neck of the bottle, and then has expanded.”

“How about some long-nosed pliers?” she said. “I have those handy in a tool kit and … “

“Let’s try them. They should work.”

For a moment Mason was in darkness as the beam of the flashlight was turned toward the bow of the cabin. Then he heard a drawer open, heard the sound of metal against metal, and a moment later she was back with the flashlight and a pair of long-nosed pliers.

Mason inserted the long, slender jaws in the neck of the bottle, started twisting the paper around and around, and at the same time gently drawing it toward the narrow mouth of the bottle, until finally he had it twisted in a spiral so that he was able to work it out without tearing it.

It then became apparent that there were several sheets of paper, all bearing an identical embossed heading “ON BOARD YACHT THAYERBELLE. GEORGE S. ALDER, OWNER.”

Mason held the document pressed against his knee and the two of them read the firm, clear handwriting together

Mason felt the girl’s fingers pressing into his arm. “I’ve got him!” she exclaimed triumphantly. “I’ve got him, I’ve got him, I’ve got him! Do you realize what this letter means? I’ve got him!”

“It’s me you’re getting,” Mason pointed out. “I may want to use that arm again.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Just who is this Minerva Danby?” Mason asked.

“I don’t know very much about her except what’s in this letter. All I know is that she was drowned. She was washed overboard from Alder’s yacht about six months ago. That was the story.”

Mason said cautiously, “Since I now seem to have become an accessory after the fact to a full-scale burglary, you might tell me a little something about what happened.”

She said excitedly, “Oh, I always knew that there was something fishy with this business about Corrine. I felt certain she wasn’t dead, and now … Oh, you can see what a terrific difference it makes.”

“Just what difference does it make?”

She said, “I’m related to Corrine, probably the only living blood relative she has. Oh, this is going to make a difference, a big difference.”

Mason said, “Under the circumstances you’d better tell me a lot more.”

“What more is there to tell? The letter speaks for it-self.”

“It doesn’t speak for you.”

“Why should I speak?” she demanded.

Mason said, “Let’s try being practical for a change.

I’m a responsible citizen. I find you committing burglary and circumstances conspire to put me in a position of helping you out.”

“You said you were a lawyer.”

“All right, I’m a lawyer. It just might be that George S. Alder would very much enjoy being in a position to accuse me of having conspired with you to steal this evidence from his house.”

“Can’t you see,” she said, scornfully, “that Alder can’t accuse anyone of anything? He doesn’t dare let this letter be made public.”

“All right,” Mason said patiendy. “What are you going to do with the letter?”

“IH make it public.”

“And just how will you then account for the fact that this letter came into your possession?”

“Why, I’ll go to the newspapers. Ill say that … “

“Yes, go on,” Mason said.

“Couldn’t I say that I found the letter?”

“Where?”

“On the beach somewhere.”

“And then Alder would introduce witnesses showing that the letter had been in his possession, that it had been taken from his house, and you’d be facing a perjury charge as well as a burglary charge.”

There was dismay in her voice. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“I was satisfied you hadn’t. Now suppose you tell me who you are, how you knew the letter was there, and a few other things.”

“And suppose I don’t?”

“There’s always the police.”

“You haven’t told me anything about you,” she flared.

“That’s right,” Mason said dryly, “I haven’t.”

She thought the situation over for several seconds, then said with sullen reluctance. “I’m Dorothy Fenner. I have a job as secretary to a broker. When my mother died she left me a little money. I came here from Colorado two years ago.

“My mother was a sister of Cora Lansing. Cora married Jack Lansing. They had one child, Corrine. The marriage wasn’t a success. Cora Lansing married Samuel Nathan Alder. They had one son, George S. Alder. Corrine is five years older than George.

“So you see that, despite the difference in ages, I’m Corrine’s full cousin. We were very close. Aunt Cora died ten years ago, then George’s father died and left the property in a sort of trust to Corrine, George and Dorley Alder, George’s uncfe.”

“How do you get along with the Alders?” Mason asked. “Not very well, I take it.”

“I get along fine with Uncle Dorley. He’s a splendid man. I don’t get along with George Alder at all. No one does unless they let George dominate body and souL”

“And how did you know about this letter?” Mason asked.

“I … I can’t telL”

“Better get your story ready,” Mason warned.

She said, “I heaid about it.”

“How?”

“Well, if you want to know, Uncle Dorley gave me the hint.”

“Indeed,” Masofl said, his voice showing interest.

“It was just a question he asked,” she said. “He told me he understood Pete Cadiz had picked up a letter Minerva Danby had written before she was washed overboard. He asked me if I knew anything about it if George had said anything to me.”

“Do you know Pete Cadiz?”

“Sure. I guess all the yachtsmen know him. He’s a sort of beachcomber. Everyone knows who he is.”

“Then Dorley knows about the letter?”

“He knows something about it.”

“And why didn’t you go to George Alder and ask him about it point-blank?”

She said, “That shows how little you know George Alder. I think he was ready to destroy this letter. He’d have done it already, if perhaps he didn’t think Pete Cadiz or someone else knew what was in it.

“All I wanted to do was to read it. I knew George Alder was having a big party tonight and I know his house pretty well. I thought I could get in there while the guests were at dinner, go to George’s study, get the bottle from his desk, read the letter, and see what was in it.

“You probably wouldn’t know it, but he has the place trapped with all sorts of burglar alarms. There’s only one way to get into the house without being detected. That’s the way I used. I walked up to the point above the sandspit, undressed, put my clothes on my back and swam down to the island. I wore a dinner dress because if any one of the servants had seen me, they’d have taken it for granted George had invited me as one of the guests.”

“You know the servants?”

“Of course.”

“How about the dog? You didn’t seem to know him.”

“The dog double-crossed me,” she said bitterly. “There must be some instinct that enabled him to know I was taking something that didn’t belong to me. He was trained as a war dog and never got over it, and never will. Corrine picked him up after the Army finished with him. Carmen trained and fed him, and he loved her, but George took him over after Conine’s disappearance.”

“Do you have a camera aboard?”

“No, why?”

“I want to photograph this document.”

She said, “I have a portable typewriter. We could copy it—but why do you want a copy when we have the original?”

“You have the original,” Mason said. “In case I should ever be called upon to tell my story, I want to be sure that I tell it right. Now then, you’re going to get out your portable typewriter, copy that letter, keep one copy for yourself and give me one copy.”

“And what do I do with the letter itself?”

“Return it to George Alder, together with your apologies.”

“Are you crazy?”

Mason said, “Think it over. You make a copy of the letter. You and I compare the copy with the original. Then you take the letter back to Alder, smile very sweetly and tell him that you just wanted to read it, but in the excitement you carried it away with you. Then you ask him what he intends to do about that letter.”

There was a long silence while she thought that over. “Say,” she said at length, her voice suddenly enthusiastic, “I guess you’re not so dumb, after all.”

“Thank you,” Mason said fervently. “I was beginning to have doubts.”