The Case of the Stepdaughter’s Secret

Chapter Fourteen

Della Street was waiting in the office when Mason arrived.

“Don’t you ever go home?” Mason asked. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“I know,” she said.

“Had anything to eat?”

“No.”

“Well, let’s see what we can do about that situation.”

Della said, “You have someone waiting in the outer office.”

“Who?” Mason asked.

“Someone I think you’ll want to see, so I had him wait. Jetson Blair.”

“The man who is going to marry Rosena Andrews?”

She nodded.

“What sort of a chap, Della?”

“A square-shooter; clean-cut, reserved — looks like a fine young fellow. Good breeding sticks out all over him and... well, he’s just a prince.”

“Apparently,” Mason said, “he made quite an impression.”

“He did,” Della Street said, “and he’s going to make the same impression on you.”

“All right,” Mason said, “let’s talk with him. What does he want to see us about?”

“He said it was entirely personal and I didn’t press him.”

“Bring him in,” Mason said, “and we’ll press him, and then we’ll go get something to eat.”

Della vanished through the door to the outer office, returning with Jetson Blair, a tall individual with wavy, dark hair, cameo-like features, steady eyes and the carriage of an athlete.

“This is Mr Mason, Mr Blair,” she said.

Blair shook hands with the lawyer.

“What is it that you want?” Mason asked. “It is, of course, rather late and—”

“I know,” Blair interrupted. “I’ve been waiting for quite a while. I’m sorry I have to present myself at this unconventional time and in such an unconventional manner, but after all my errand is unconventional.”

Mason nodded. “Be seated,” he said, “and let’s see if we can get things straightened out.”

Blair said, “I know enough from clues I have received here and there to put two and two together and make four.”

“Go ahead,” Mason said.

“That blackmail note was intended for Rosena,” Blair said. “It was the first attempt on the part of blackmailers to squeeze some money out of a situation which could prove very embarrassing.”

“What situation?” Mason asked.

“I believe that my brother, Carleton Blair, is still alive. I think that he has, perhaps, been involved in some things that would be very embarrassing to the family, to say the least.”

“And so?” Mason said.

“And so, when I saw that article about the blackmail note and the money in the coffee can which had been picked up in the lake at a point which obviously was not too far from the Bancroft lake residence, I put two and two together.”

“Go ahead,” Mason said, “tell me just what it is you want to get cleared up.”

“Simply this,” Blair said. “I am in love with Rosena, I think she is in love with me. If it turns out that there is a black sheep in the Blair family, we’re going to have to face it. Blackmail doesn’t ever solve anything. I don’t want anybody to pay blackmail in order to spare the feelings of anyone in my family.

“If the scandal is such that Harlow Bancroft and Mrs Bancroft don’t feel that they can face it, then the wedding should be postponed or the engagement broken, if necessary.

“If they are willing to face it, I am willing to face it.”

“How about your family?” Mason asked.

“I am satisfied my family will feel the same way. There is no use in giving in to blackmailers. That solves nothing.”

“Have any demands been made on you in any way?” Mason asked.

“I really don’t know,” Jetson Blair said thoughtfully. “I received a telephone call from someone who asked me what I would say if I was told my brother was alive. The phone call was rather mysterious and I was naturally somewhat noncommittal.”

“No attempt was made to fix a price or to suggest that information would be suppressed?” Mason asked.

“No. Nothing like that. It was a peculiar telephone conversation and the other party hung up abruptly.”

“But it gave you something to think about?”

“Yes.”

“Have you,” Mason asked, “talked with Rosena about any of this?”

“No. I want to see her, but I wanted to see you first. I wanted to tell you that no matter what the situation is, I want to face it.”

“Why did you come to me?” Mason asked.

“Because I understand from something Rosena told me that you were doing work for the family.”

“And how does it happen you haven’t talked with Rosena in detail about this?”

“I tried to see her last night but couldn’t find her.”

“You couldn’t?”

“No.”

“Where did you try to locate her?”

“At her apartment in town and at the house on the lake.”

“And she wasn’t there?”

“Had she told you she was going out?”

“No.”

“And you don’t know where she was?”

Blair said, “I phoned her today, Mr Mason, and she told me that she felt something had happened that was going to have rather serious consequences and that she didn’t want to talk to me for a while.”

“By the way,” Mason asked, “where were you last night when you tried to get in touch with her?”

“I tried first by telephone,” Blair said, “and then I drove out to the lake house and then I drove to the apartment.”

“Did you,” Mason asked, “go to the yacht club?”

Blair hesitated, then met his eyes. “I did,” he said.

“And find anything?”

Blair hesitated.

“Go ahead,” Mason said.

“I found Mrs Bancroft’s car parked at the yachting club. I couldn’t find Mrs Bancroft and I couldn’t find their yacht. I assumed therefore that she was out somewhere on the yacht. I thought perhaps Rosena might be with her mother. I asked some questions and was advised that Mrs Bancroft had been there at the yacht club with a young man. I drove around the bay a bit and when I came back Mrs Bancroft’s car was gone. By that time a thick fog had settled down and it was impossible to see anything.”

“Anyone with you?” Mason asked.

“No. I was alone.”

“What time did you return home?”

“It was quite late.”

“And you’d been trying to locate Rosena?”

“Yes.”

Mason sighed, somewhat wearily. “All right,” he said. “The police will probably be interrogating you. Don’t try to conceal anything that you know, only don’t tell the police anything that you have surmised. Just tell them the facts.”

“The police?” Blair said. “What do they have to do with it? Will they be questioning me in connection with the blackmail?”

“They’ll be questioning you in connection with your activities last night, what you know and where you went. They’ll ask you what you have been told by any member of the Bancroft family.”

“And what do I tell them?” Blair asked.

“The truth,” Mason said, “but you don’t tell them that you have taken two and two and made four. You give them the figures and let them make their own addition.”

“The police are in on this blackmail business?” Blair asked.

Mason said, “The police are investigating another crime.”

“Another crime! You mean there’s something other than blackmail?”

Mason, his eyes on Blair’s face, said, “I mean murder.”

For a moment Blair was motionless. Then his face paled. “Murder?” he said.

“Murder,” Mason said.

“But who?... What...?”

“Someone took the Bancroft yacht last night and sailed it out into the harbour. Apparently the yacht drifted around for a while and came to rest at the upper end of the bay on some sand flats. When the sheriff boarded the boat this afternoon there was a body aboard it.”

“A body!” Blair exclaimed. “Good heavens, not any one of the Bancrofts! Not—”

“No,” Mason said, “the body of a young man. He may very well prove to be a young man with a criminal record.”

“You mean... Carleton?”

“Not Carleton,” Mason said. “Someone else.”

“But how did the body get aboard the boat?”

“That,” Mason said, “is anybody’s guess. You’ve given me all the information you care to impart and I’ve given you all the information I dare to impart to you.”

Mason arose and extended his hand. “Good night, Mr Blair, and thank you for coming in.”

Blair hesitated for a long moment, then gave Mason his hand.

The flesh was cold to the touch.

“Good night, Mr Mason,” he said, and moved out of the exit door, which Della Street held open for him, as though he were marching toward an execution chamber.