The Case of the Turning Tide

Chapter 14

The desk light was arranged so that the chair on the opposite side of Frank Duryea’s desk was bathed in brilliance. The district attorney and the sheriff were in a less brilliantly illuminated area. Slightly to one side, where he could distinctly hear everything that was said, but would not be conspicuous, the court stenographer opened his books and tried out his pens.

“All ready?” Duryea asked.

Lassen said, “All ready to go, I guess.”

Duryea raised his eyes to the shadowy figure of the sheriff’s deputy who guarded the door to the outer office.

“Let’s have Miss Moline in first,” he said.

She was dressed now in her smooth-fitting gray outfit. Her hair, freed of the salt water, had the full rich glint of amber in the sunlight. She entered the room, promptly crossed over to the chair indicated by the district attorney, sat down and said briskly, “This is going to be more comfortable than our last interview.”

Duryea smiled perfunctorily, and then plunged into the interrogation. “Now, it’s very important that we have these questions answered correctly. So take your time, don’t get excited, and be certain that you’re answering the questions the way you want to answer them.”

She nodded.

“How long have you known Addison Stearne?”

“About a year.”

“C. Arthur Right?”

“About the same length of time.”

“What was the relationship between you and Mr. Stearne?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I’m sorry if I seem to pry into your personal affairs, but it’s necessary. Was there a love interest on his part — or on yours?”

“No. The man was old enough to be my father.”

Duryea smiled and said, “I think we can reserve the platitudes, Miss Moline. He was in the late fifties. He was wealthy, and he was attractive. Did he ever talk about matrimony with you?”

“Never.”

“I understand you’ve been appointed a special administratrix with the will annexed?”

“Yes.”

“And under the terms of that will, the bulk of the property goes to you?”

“Yes.”

“Men like Addison Stearne don’t leave wills in favor of young women unless there’s a reason.”

“Obviously.”

“Very well, perhaps we can spare you some embarrassing questions if you tell me what that reason was.”

“Does that have anything to do with the murder?”

“It may. I want to know all the details of your relationship.”

“It’s none of your business.”

“It may be that you’re right. Again, you may be wrong,” Duryea said quietly, “but I am the one who is going to be the judge.”

“Why, you have absolutely no right to pry into my private affairs.”

“Let me ask it this way. Did your money in any way come from Addison Stearne? Was he giving you any income, directly or indirectly?”

“That has absolutely nothing to do with the case.”

Duryea said, “As nearly as we can ascertain, Miss Moline, eighteen months ago you were working in a millinery store. You were working for a small salary, and living within that salary. You had, to all appearances, no other source of income.”

She flushed indignantly, started to say something, then caught back the words, and sat looking at the district attorney, her face hot and angry.

“Then suddenly you made the woman who owned the store an offer to buy her out. She fixed her price. You put up the money in cash. You expanded. You advertised, increased your stock, added to your employees, and about eight months later sold out at a very handsome profit. Since that time, you haven’t worked. You have bought and sold property. You have, I believe, invested in some stocks and bonds. Everything you’ve touched has turned to money. It’s at least a fair inference, Miss Moline, that the excellent business judgment which enabled you to make a neat profit on every transaction was furnished by brains that were — if not more shrewd, at least more experienced in business affairs than your own.”

She still remained silent, her eyes glinting with angry lights, her chin held high.

“At just about the time you started on this meteoric rise to prosperity, you began to associate with Addison Stearne. The origin of that association seems to be rather obscure; apparently it was an association which ripened rapidly into intimacy. Am I correct?”

She said, “Your intrusion in my private affairs is an insolent usurpation of high-handed power.”

Duryea said patiently, “Here in this office we become realists. We see life as it is. We don’t theorize. We know that when a man of mature years interests himself in a young and beautiful woman, when this young woman makes no attempt to rebuff his interest, and almost immediately begins to show signs of prosperity, we feel that the relationship is apt to be somewhat more than platonic.”

She hesitated for a moment, then pushed back her chair. “I don’t have to stay here and listen to this.”

A deputy moved over to guard the door.

“I’m afraid that you do,” Duryea said.

“Well, I don’t. I have some rights.”

Duryea said patiently, “Perhaps we can go at it in another way. Let me show you why this inquiry is important.”

“I’ve been waiting for that,” she said, still standing.

“When did you go aboard the Gypsy Queen? What time Sunday morning?”

“I’ve told you, it was ten or fifteen minutes before I ran out to the deck and fell overboard.”

“How long were you aboard the yacht?”

“Just a few minutes — just long enough to find the bodies.”

Duryea said, “I’ve been unable to find anyone who saw you going aboard the yacht on Sunday morning.”

She remained scornfully silent.

“But,” Duryea went on, “I have a witness who saw a young woman boarding the yacht Saturday afternoon.”

She suddenly ceased breathing, standing there motionless for several seconds. Then, slowly, she started breathing once.

“Well?” Duryea asked.

She said, “If you have a witness, bring him in.”

“Were you in Santa Delbarra Saturday afternoon?”

“Don’t be silly!”

“Were you?”

“Listen, you’ve tried to bully me and browbeat me. You’ve made nasty insinuations. I suppose you have a right to ask any question you want, but I also have a right to answer only the questions I deem fair.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“I’m doing better than that. I’m ignoring it.”

Duryea turned to the deputy who stood guard at the door. “Carter, ask Mr. Shale to step in, if you will, please, and at the same time you can ask Mr. and Mrs. Tucker to look in here.”

The guard said, “Mr. Wiggins — the old man — says he wants to come in when the Tuckers come in.”

Duryea smiled. “All right, let him.”

The guard opened the door, said, “Shale and the Tuckers. Okay, Wiggins, you can come.”

The four filed into the room. Nita Moline turned to survey them. She had a flicker of a smile for Shale. The others she regarded coldly. She resumed her seat, waiting scornfully.

Duryea looked at Tucker and raised his eyebrows. Tucker, a tall, dispirited man whose shoulders and face sagged listlessly as though tired of holding up their own weight, apparently failed to get the signal. Mrs. Tucker whispered something to Gramps Wiggins. Gramps in turn nudged Tucker and passed on the whisper.

Tucker slowly shook his head.

Gramps said in his quick, high-pitched voice, “Better talk with us a little later. Okay for us to wait here?”

“No,” Duryea said with a smile. “Wait outside,” and then as he saw the look on Gramps’ face, relented and said, “You may sit down over there by the sheriff, Mr. Wiggins. Mr. and Mrs. Tucker can wait outside. Shale, if you’ll come over here and draw up that chair by the corner of the desk, I want to ask you a few questions.”

Shale silently complied with his request.

“You are employed as a salesman?” Duryea asked of Shale.

“That’s right.”

“You didn’t know C. Arthur Right or Addison Stearne?”

“I’d never met either of them.”

“You were on the beach Sunday morning?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know when Miss Moline boarded the yacht?”

“I didn’t actually see her go aboard the yacht, but I know when she must have boarded it.”

“When?”

“At just about fifteen minutes before I picked her up in the skiff.”

“You first saw her when she came to the rail of the yacht?”

“That’s right.”

“How long did she stay there at the rail?”

“A minute or two.”

“And then?”

“She fell overboard.”

“How long did it take you to get to her?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking about the passing of time at that particular moment. I was simply trying to get there.”

“Can you make any estimate?”

“Well, let’s see. I had to run about fifteen or twenty yards, then I had to get a boat untied and row out. Oh, three minutes perhaps.”

“During that time she was struggling in the water?”

“I don’t think she was struggling. She went under either once or twice. I think she was coming up for about the third time when I arrived with the skiff.”

“Now what makes you say she boarded the yacht about fifteen minutes before you first saw her?”

“I didn’t say fifteen minutes before I first saw her,” Shale said cautiously. “I said about fifteen minutes before I got her out of the water. It was probably about eleven or twelve minutes before I first saw her — that is, if you want to be absolutely accurate.”

“Well, what makes you fix the time when she must have boarded the yacht?”

“Because that was the only time she could have boarded the yacht without my seeing her.”

“Explain that, please.”

“Just about fifteen minutes before I picked her up out of the water, I became very much interested in a peculiar shell.”

“You seem to be rather positive that it was exactly fifteen minutes before you picked Miss Moline out of the water.”

“Well, of course, I didn’t time it. I’m only giving an estimate.”

“You were staying at the Balboa Hotel?”

“Yes.”

“And returned there after I had finished questioning you aboard the yacht?”

“Yes.”

“And Miss Moline got in touch with you there?”

“Yes.”

“Then what?”

“We went out and had a drink.”

“And you went aboard the Albatross?”

“Yes.”

“At her suggestion?”

“Well, yes, in a way.”

“Had you ever met Miss Harpler before?”

“Not before that day, no, sir.”

“Was there some particular reason you went aboard the Albatross?”

“Miss Moline suggested it.”

Duryea said dryly, “You don’t have to answer any of these questions, you know. And if you do answer them, you don’t have to tell the truth. But telling an untruth might well lead to complications. Now, Mr. Shale, was there any particular reason why you went aboard the Albatross?”

Nita Moline said, “He did so at my request.”

“I’m asking Shale,” Duryea said.

Shale said, “I have nothing to add to what Miss Moline has said. If you want to know anything about what I did after I left the Gypsy Queen, you’ll have to ask her.”

Duryea thought that over for a few minutes, then asked, “Why do you adopt that attitude, Shale?”

“Because I don’t believe that what I did after that has anything whatever to do with the murders.”

“The Albatross put to sea around two or three o’clock in the afternoon, didn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Weren’t you aboard at the time?”

“I was asleep.”

“When did you wake up?”

“When we were out at sea somewhere.”

“What did you do?”

“I tried to get out of the stateroom.”

“Did you?”

“No, sir, not right then. The door was locked. I raised quite a commotion, however, and eventually Miss Harpler came down to let me out.”

“What did she say?”

“Said that she felt that some of the officers aboard the Gypsy Queen thought we were taking too great an interest in the Albatross, so she decided to embark upon a little cruise just to make things seem casual.”

Nita Moline started to say something, then checked herself. “What time was it when you woke up?” Duryea asked Shale.

“Shortly before sundown.”

Duryea said, “I guess that’s all for the present. I’m satisfied that subsequent to the discovery of the bodies, something happened, and that you people are trying to keep what that something was from coming to my attention. Until I get more co-operation from you on that point, you will be subject to certain inconveniences.”

He waited for one of them to speak, but neither one said anything. They exchanged a quick, brief glance, then avoided each other’s eyes — and his.

Gramps Wiggins hitched forward in his chair. “One question I’d kinda like to ask,” he said.

Duryea frowned.

“Now listen,” Gramps Wiggins interpolated, “this is important, son.”

“What is it?” Duryea asked, his tone unconsciously curt.

“I’d like to have Shale tell us whether Miss Moline didn’t ask him about what time he wasn’t looking at the yacht before she told him when she came aboard.”

Shale frowned at Gramps Wiggins, then smiled, turned back to Duryea, and said, “I can answer that very easily, Mr. Duryea. She did nothing of the...” Abruptly he stopped. A puzzled frown came over his face. He looked quickly at Nita Moline, then away again.

Gramps Wiggins got up out of the chair and walked around to where he could look down at Shale. “Didn’t she come up to the hotel, take you out and buy you a drink?” he shrilled, his voice high-pitched with excitement. “And ask you how it happened you didn’t see her when she went aboard the yacht? Didn’t she ask you if there wasn’t some time when you weren’t lookin’? Didn’t she pump you first?”

Shale said to Duryea, “Who is this person?”

Duryea said, “He’s not a member of my official family. You’re under no obligation to answer the question if you don’t want to.”

Shale said, “I think I’ve said everything I need to.”

“And that yacht, the Albatross,” Gramps Wiggins went on, shaking a finger at the witness. “Didn’t she go out and have a meeting with another yacht some place, sort of a rendezvous?”

“I don’t know,” Shale said. “I was asleep. By the time I was permitted on deck again, the yacht was headed back toward Santa Delbarra.”

“Humph,” Gramps Wiggins snorted.

Duryea said, “That’s all, unless there’s some statement you wish to make. If there is, I’ll be glad to hear it.”

Wordlessly, they scraped back chairs and left the office.

When they had gone, Gramps Wiggins said, “That wasn’t the young woman Tucker seen goin’ aboard the yacht Saturday. But he didn’t see her on the beach Sunday either. He seen her come out on the deck o’ that yacht an’ pitch herself over-board.”

“She says she fainted,” Duryea said.

“That’s what she says. Tucker says she pitched herself over-board.”

“Why did you ask him about the Albatross having a rendezvous with some other ship?” Duryea asked.

“I keep wonderin’ about this trip the Gypsy Queen was scheduled to make that Sunday afternoon,” Gramps Wiggins said, pulling a moist black plug of chewing tobacco from his pocket and whittling off a small piece. “Stearne let the crew all go until three o’clock, then she was goin’ to take a cruise. That’s a funny time to go cruisin’. Well, the Gypsy Queen didn’t go, an’ the Albatross did. Now then, seems like the Albatross just went out to sea for a while, an’ then came back. Why’d she do that?”

Duryea said, “You’ve got me there, Gramps.”

“She was tryin’ to keep the Gypsy Queens rendezvous. Where’s that Harpler girl?”

Sheriff Lassen said, “I let the Harpler girl go. She don’t know anything at all, except she saw young Shale start to run for a boat. She began lookin’ around, and saw a few ripples in the water, then got a glimpse of some blond hair, so in she went.”

“How about this here yachtin’ trip she went on Sunday?” Gramps asked.

The sheriff regarded him with a jaundiced eye. “It was her yacht, wasn’t it? What are you tryin’ to do, anyway?” Duryea interposed hastily, “We can reach her any time we need her, Sheriff. I confess that I didn’t consider her as a particularly important witness, and saw no reason for holding her here.”

He pushed back his chair, stretched, yawned, said, “Well, I guess that’s about all for tonight.” He nodded to the deputy at the door. “That’ll be all, Carter. Tell ’em all they can go home. I won’t need you any more tonight.”

Carter opened the door into the entrance office, said, “Everybody can go now.” The sheriff arose and sauntered out, without saying good night.

“You have Tucker’s address?” Duryea asked Gramps Wiggins.

“Uh huh.”

“We’ll keep in touch with him. We’ll let things simmer along for a while, and...”

Sam Carter, the deputy sheriff, re-entered the office. “Man out there by the name of Hazlit says he wants to see you, and that it’s important.”

Duryea frowned and shook his head. “I’m investigating this murder case now, and...”

“Says he’s a lawyer.”

“That’s different,” Duryea said. “Show him in. You don’t mind waiting a minute, do you, Gramps?”

“Nope. Want me to wait outside?”

Duryea smiled at the man’s anxiety to be allowed to remain. “I’m afraid Mr. Hazlit will want to talk with me in private,” he said. “If he’s an attorney...”

Carter opened the door, and Hazlit came bustling into the office accompanied by Nita Moline.

Miss Moline said, “Mr. Duryea, this is my lawyer, Mr. Hazlit.”

“Oh,” Duryea said, shaking hands. “I’m glad to meet you, Mr. Hazlit. I didn’t know Miss Moline had a lawyer waiting.”

“I wasn’t waiting,” Hazlit said. “I just got here — just this minute got here.”

“If I’d known you were coming, I’d have waited to question Miss Moline...”

“Oh, it isn’t that. As far as that’s concerned, I’ve told her to go ahead and tell the truth. Answer all the questions you want to ask. She has nothing to conceal.”

Nita Moline said indignantly, “I didn’t know the scope his questions were going to take. He’s even insinuated that...”

“Just a minute, my dear. Just a minute,” Hazlit said, holding up a warning hand. He turned to Duryea, and, with his voice at its unctuously agreeable best, said, “I have something which I think is a clue, something which could be investigated.”

“What is it?” Duryea asked, sitting down.

Gramps Wiggins, realizing that the interview was going to proceed without any objection to his presence, tiptoed over to the darkest corner of the office and lowered himself quietly into a chair.

Hazlit said, “I am Miss Moline’s attorney largely because of my familiarity with the affairs of Mr. Stearne. I handled all of his legal business during his lifetime. One of the important matters was an option which was to have expired at midnight Saturday, an option which apparently Mr. Stearne hadn’t taken up, although it seemed most advantageous from a business standpoint that he do so. I had Miss Moline appointed special administratrix with the will annexed this morning, so that she could file an application asking for an extension of time on this option, and she duly signed an acceptance of the option late this afternoon. I suppose, of course, there’ll be litigation over it. However, I’m only mentioning that to give you the general picture.”

“I see. You mentioned that you had a clue?”

“Yes. It now appears that Mr. Stearne exercised that option.”

“Well?” Duryea asked.

Hazlit took an envelope from his pocket, handling it almost reverently. “I have here,” he said, “an envelope addressed to Mr. Addison Stearne at his Los Angeles office. This envelope was mailed at four-thirty-five P.M. Saturday from Santa Delbarra.”

“Yes?” Duryea asked.

“In it,” Hazlit said, “is a carbon copy of a letter to Elwell & Fielding, exercising the option, and in a large measure explaining why the acceptance had not been made before. On the second sheet of this carbon copy appears, in the hand-writing of Mr. Stearne, a notation to the effect that he had mailed the original letter himself from Santa Delbarra before five o’clock Saturday afternoon, by depositing it in the post office at Santa Delbarra.”

Duryea said, “Let’s see that letter.”

He took the carbon copy in his hands, studied it for several minutes. “Was this letter written in his office prior to the time of his departure?” he asked.

“I don’t think so. If it had been, the carbon copy would have been left in the office, and he’d have taken the original with him to mail.”

Duryea said, “I notice that it’s dated at Santa Delbarra.”

“Yes.”

“Did he have a typewriter on his yacht?”

“Yes. He had a portable typewriter. Occasionally, he used it — although C. Arthur Right, who had at one time been his secretary, quite frequently did typing for him. Elwell & Fielding assure me absolutely that they have received no such letter in the mail. I think, Mr. Duryea, that’s a plain, deliberate lie. They were advised of Mr. Stearne’s death and thought they could capitalize on it by claiming that this letter had never been received. What I want you to do... er... that is, what would seem to be indicated,” and Hazlit paused long enough to take a deep breath, before saying slowly and solemnly, “is bring those two crooks in front of your grand jury. If Stearne mailed that letter, it is a matter of importance in helping you fix the time he met his death. It might well be important in connection with a motivation.”

Duryea smiled. “In other words, you’re going to engage in a lawsuit with these men. You’d like very much to have me blaze a trail for you to follow — and perhaps pull a chestnut or two out of the fire.”

Hazlit said with dignity, “I am not trying to lead you to believe that I might not derive some advantage from the investigation, but I am approaching you simply as a district attorney.”

Old Gramps Wiggins, who had advanced on tiptoe to peer over the district attorney’s shoulder, suddenly reached out and tapped the letter. “Lookut here,” he said. “Down in that lefthand corner those initials, ‘A.S. — A.R.’ Betcha ‘A.R.’ is the stenographer who took the letters. Betcha she’s the girl Tucker saw leavin’ the yacht Saturday afternoon with the envelopes she placed in a mailbox. Betcha, by gum, she’s some stenographer livin’ right here in Santa Delbarra.”

Hazlit said sternly, “The notation in Mr. Stearne’s handwriting is that he mailed the letter himself from the United States post office.”

“Don’t care what it says,” Gramps Wiggins shrilled. “That’s what happened. We got a witness that saw the girl leavin’ the boat. She mailed the copy. Stearne mailed the original.”

He looked eagerly at Duryea.

Duryea smiled encouragingly. “That’s a very logical deduction.”

Hazlit said, “Well, Counselor, I have called this matter to your attention because I felt it was my duty to co-operate with you in every way.”

“An excellent attitude,” Duryea said, “and perhaps you’ll be able to impress it upon your client.”

Gramps Wiggins started for the door. “You take Milred to that there movie,” he shrilled. “I don’t want to see that romantic tripe, anyway. I got some things to do.”