The Case of the Turning Tide

Chapter 24

The trim little steamship looked like a miniature ocean liner as it nosed through the blue waters of the channel. A wave hissed up on each side of the white prow, a boiling wake churned up astern. Overhead was a stretch of cloudless blue sky against which seagulls, poised in effortless ease, hung just behind the stern where the suction of air currents carried them forward.

Astern, the coast line of California showed a misty blue. Ahead, the slopes of Catalina, touched with the morning sun, were reddish gold.

Frank Duryea, Milred, and Gramps Wiggins sat in one of the sheltered nooks on the upper deck.

Duryea took from his inside coat pocket a special delivery letter addressed in typewriting to the District Attorney, Santa Delbarra, California. He turned it over in his hands, studying it intently.

“That the one that came at five o’clock this morning?” Gramps Wiggins asked.

“That’s the one. Did you hear them ringing the bell?”

“I woke up when I heard you call out asking what it was, and heard a boy say, ‘Special delivery letter.’ ”

“The words ‘Urgent. Deliver immediately’ are typed on the envelope,” Duryea said. He extracted the sheet of paper from the inside of the envelope and spread it out.

Gramps and Milred leaned over to read the words which had been typed on the sheet of paper. “If you want to find out who murdered those two men on the yacht, you’d better find out where Nita Moline spent her time between midnight Sunday night and three o’clock Monday morning. This is a real tip from someone who isn’t being catty, but wants the murder solved. After you find out where she was, if you’ll put an ad in the personal column of the Los Angeles Examiner saying ‘Party inquired about was at—’ and then say who she was with, I’ll write you another letter and let you know something important. But I won’t do that unless you put in that ad where she was and who she was with.”

The letter was signed simply, “A Friend.”

“Well,” Duryea asked, “what do you think of it?”

“It was written by a woman,” Milred said.

“What makes you think so?”

“I should say it was written by a jealous woman,” Milred went on. “There are several clues in it. Notice in the first place that she says she isn’t being catty. That’s typically a feminine expression, then also notice that she wants you to find out where Miss Moline was between those hours and make the in-formation available. She then promises to write and let you know if you are correct. It’s a woman, and a jealous or a suspicious woman.”

“What do you think, Gramps?” Duryea asked.

Gramps said, “Let’s see how much we can tell about the person who wrote it. Somebody that was just a little careless. Notice there are four mistakes in the letter. One has been erased. Down near the end she was too lazy or careless to make an erasure. She simply struck the letter S over. Where she erased, she wasn’t careful to do a clean job of it. And this is a good example of how each typewriter shows its individuality. Notice the way that A is tilted over to one side, and the E is... Say, son, wait a minute!”

“What’s the matter?” Duryea asked.

“Great jumpin’ Jehoshaphat!” Gramps exclaimed.

Milred smiled at her husband. “Something he ate for breakfast,” she said.

“More apt to be something he didn’t eat,” Duryea said. “This salt air is giving me an awful appetite. I’ll bet...”

“Ye gods,” Gramps shrilled. “You know what we’ve got, son? You know what this is?”

“No,” Duryea said. “What is it?”

“The hottest clue in the whole damn case,” Gramps said.

Duryea looked at the old man’s excited countenance, and said, “What is it?”

“Don’t you get it? The little distinctive oddities of alignment are the same in this letter that they were on the carbon copy of the letter that Stearne’s office produced. This here letter, son, was written on the same typewriter that Mrs. Rodman used on Saturday afternoon!”

Duryea looked at the expression on Gramps’ face, then whipped a photostatic copy of the other letter from his pocket. As he compared the two, his face showed the verdict, even before he said, “You’re right, Gramps. Now we’ve got to find the person who wrote that letter.”

“Where’s it postmarked?” Gramps asked.

“Los Angeles.”

“And she wants you to put the information in a Los Angeles paper. She lives there.”

Gramps said, “That envelope is just a plain stamped envelope with a special delivery stamp—”

The hoarse blast of a whistle drowned out his words. He jumped to his feet, ran around to where he could look forward, and came back to say, “We’re just comin’ into the harbor, son. Better put that letter away. Don’t put it back in that wallet. If you run into a pickpocket and he should reef your britch, the first thing he’d grab would be the leather, an’...”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Duryea said, laughing. “You’re using a lot of technical terms, Gramps. When did you know any pickpockets?”

Gramps Wiggins looked sheepish. “Aw, I... just somethin’ I read somewhere, I guess, in some of these detective stories.”

Duryea laughed with polite disbelief.

“All pickpockets ain’t bad, anyway,” Gramps asserted. “Some of ’em are nice boys that just got a wrong start, an’ once they get in the game, they don’t know how to get out.”

Milred said, “Well, let’s get ashore. And how about eats? Think of the scandal when the citizens of Santa Delbarra pick up their papers tonight and read, ‘Special from Catalina. Over-zealous official neglects feeding wife. Our readers will be shocked to know that Mrs. Milred Duryea collapsed on the beach promenade at Santa Catalina Island at an early hour this morning. Physicians who attended her said...’ ”

“I surrender,” Duryea announced.

“A hamburger with everything,” she said.

“Two,” Gramps piped up. “Heavy on the onions, too.”

“Three,” Duryea laughed.

They had no difficulty in finding the house they wanted. It was a small cottage with a sign announcing that it was for rent, furnished, by the day, week, or month. Mrs. Raleigh studied Duryea’s credentials and said, “Why, yes, I remember the party. That was last Saturday, just about noon.”

“That’s right.”

“When Mr. Hilbers, the yachtsman, came here,” she said after a moment, “he didn’t say how large his party was. He said that he’d come over on his yacht, and intended to be here over the week end. He wanted a place to use as headquarters for his party — where they could have baths. He didn’t say how big his party was.”

“Can you describe him?” Duryea asked.

“Oh, yes. He’s been here once or twice before. He’s tall and slender, with dark hair. About twenty-seven or twenty-eight, I should judge, quite attractive. When you’ve once heard his voice you’ll never forget it. He wore a blue serge, double-breasted coat, and a yachting cap.”

“Did you see the woman?”

“Why, I saw his sister. She was with him when he checked out.”

“Can you describe her?”

“Yes. She’s an attractive young brunette, about a hundred and twenty pounds. She has a good figure, and knows it.”

“Had you ever seen her before?”

“Yes, but I can’t remember just when it was. Incidentally, you might be interested to learn that she left something behind.”

“What?”

“A bathing suit.”

“Where is it?” Duryea asked.

“I have it over in my house. Would you like it?”

“Very much,” Duryea said. “It might be important. — You’re sure that it was left by the sister?”

“At least by one of the women in Mr. Hilbers’ party. It was hanging in the shower. I’d intended to hold it until Mr. Hilbers happened to be over here again. Just a moment and I’ll get it.”

She disappeared in the house and returned presently with a rubber bathing suit. A peculiar montage of marine scenery had been worked into the rubber — waves curling into green crests, over which pelicans were flying. Here and there a seal thrust its head out of the water. These seals all had the same facial expression — a whisker-twisting smirk — a leer of cynical triumph.

Duryea held it up to Milred. His wife, studying it carefully and with a practiced eye, said, “Not bad. It looks as though it had been shaped to curves.”

Duryea said to Mrs. Raleigh, “I’m going to take this. Would you mind writing your name or putting your initials on a hem somewhere? Some little mark so you can identify it later on as being the same suit which you found in the shower.”

He handed her a fountain pen. She scrawled her initials on the hem of the panties.

Duryea took from his pocket a picture he had cut from a newspaper. “Just to make certain — is this the woman?”

“Yes. I hadn’t noticed that picture before. How did it happen to be in the paper?”

“Her husband was C. Arthur Right,” Duryea said. “He was murdered.”

“Was that her husband? Good heavens! I knew she was married, but I didn’t know what her married name was.”

Duryea folded the bathing suit. “Please don’t say anything to anyone about this interview,” he warned.

It was as they were walking back toward the pier that Milred asked, “What about the bathing suit, Frank? You look as grim as an executioner.”

Duryea said, “When I went aboard that yacht Sunday morning, there were three witnesses, Miss Moline and Ted Shale, both sopping wet, and Miss Harpler. Miss Harpler was wearing a bathing suit. It was rubber. The ornamental design dyed on it was a series of curling waves, flying pelicans and grinning seals. Now, figure that one out!”

Gramps chuckled. “Now you’re gettin’ somewhere, son. Now you’re whizzin’!”

Miss Harpler managed to appear definitely irritated behind a mask of light banter.

She said, “I suppose being a district attorney must have its compensations — as Emerson would say. However, I think I’d find it frightfully boring — even embarrassing — being forced to inquire into such intimate and trivial matters.”

Duryea kept his smile, but leveled his brows in his best cross-examiner manner. “It all depends on what one calls trivial.”

“I suppose so,” she said, adjusting her hair casually. “I’m afraid I couldn’t bring myself to consider the personal and private wardrobes of the bystanders particularly important. What was it you wanted to know about my bathing suit, Mr. Duryea?”

“Rubber, isn’t it?”

“I believe so, yes. It was sold to me as being rubber.”

“And the general motif of the pattern is that of life at the beach — grinning seals, pelicans gliding over the waves?”

“Exactly,” she said, “and occasionally the pelicans are shown diving. I haven’t examined it carefully to see if they catch any fish when they dive. We could, of course, do so. It is, I suppose, a matter of the greatest importance. And the expression on the seals’ faces. You think they’re singing? I hadn’t examined them very closely; but then, I lack the trained legal mind. I wear a bathing suit to comply with the law. It hadn’t occurred to me that the expressions on the seals’ faces would have anything to do with the solution of a double murder. However, if you think the expressions on their dear little faces will be important, I can’t refuse to trot them out for your inspection.”

“Oh, I think it’s of the greatest importance,” Duryea said. “I can’t imagine a more significant clue.”

“Then we must look at them without delay. I had intended to dine out tonight. To be frank, when I received your summons, I felt somewhat put out at having to keep my host waiting. But, after all, if I can make so important a contribution toward apprehending the murderer of two fellow yachtsmen, as to see whether the seals on my bathing suit are really grinning, I’ll feel that the sacrifice certainly hasn’t been in vain.”

Duryea pushed back his chair. “I’m glad you feel that way about it. Suppose we run down to your yacht and inspect the bathing suit right now.”

“Do you suppose I’d have to be there?” she asked. “Wouldn’t you feel free to inspect it with more professional detachment in my absence?”

“Oh, I should have to see it on you to observe the general effect.”

“I see. Unfortunately, Mr. Duryea, I’m alone on the yacht, and while, of course, your keen interest in your professional duties would keep your attention concentrated entirely upon the expressions of the little seals, I’d...”

“My wife is in the adjoining office,” Duryea interposed, summoning what dignity he could under the circumstances. “I’ll ask her to accompany us.”

“I think that would be simply splendid! I’ve often thought the wife of a great detective must take a keen interest in her husband’s profession. How nice it will be to let her sit on the sidelines. Then she can see you down on your knees peering at the design on a girl’s bathing suit. With her own ears she can hear you say, ‘Now, Miss Harpler, you’re absolutely certain this is your very own bathing suit? Turn around, please, so I can see the fit in the back.’ Oh, I think it’s a splendid idea having Mrs. Duryea with us! Is that an accident, or did you really plan it that way?”

Duryea crossed through his outer office and into the library. He closed the door behind him and said hastily, “Listen, I’m going to ask you folks to...”

Abruptly Milred burst out laughing.

“What is it now?” he asked with some irritation.

“Your face,” she said. “You look as though you’d been caught stealing jam.”

“And maybe you think I don’t feel like it.”

“Why? What’s the matter?”

“Well, in place of showing her this bathing suit and asking her if it was hers, I thought it might be better to approach the subject indirectly.”

“And she thought you were propositioning her?” Milred asked.

Duryea said, “She seemed to have that in mind as a possibility. Obviously, if she has her own bathing suit, this isn’t hers. If she can’t produce her bathing suit, then we’re in a position to get her story without showing our hand.”

“Well,” Gramps said, “what’s wrong with that?”

“Quite obviously,” Duryea said, “you underestimate Miss Harpler’s command of polite sarcasm. She makes me feel as though I were a lecherous Peeping Tom, using my position to...”

“And you want me to chaperon you?” Milred interrupted.

He nodded.

“I’m afraid I’d make a poor chaperon, dear. And don’t let her bluff you. You have a rather disquieting effect upon attractive young women. I happen to know. And if she has enough intelligence to be politely sarcastic, she’s laughing very much at your rather visible discomfiture. Take her over your knee and give her a good spanking.”

Duryea said, “Unfortunately, I’m not in a position to follow my private inclinations. I’m a public official engaged in rather a delicate matter. If she has her bathing suit, I’m going to have to crawl into a hole and pull the hole in after me. If she doesn’t, I’ll have to be tactful but insistent in my questions. I can hardly go around pulling people off yachts and accusing them of various crimes just because I have made a mistake in the pattern of a bathing suit.”

Milred said, “Come on, Gramps. Let’s go rescue him. After all, Gramps, you’re not a public official. If she gets too snooty, you can act the part of a lecherous old man, and make her think Frank is a paragon of virtue.”

Gramps said indignantly, “I don’t mind bein’ lecherous, but I ain’t agoin’ to be called old. I ain’t old. I’ve only been here a long time.”

Duryea, obviously somewhat embarrassed, piloted them into his private office, and introduced Milred. Miss Harpler, making the usual polite protestations of pleasure when introduced to Mrs. Duryea, added, “It’s really splendid of you to come, Mrs. Duryea. I suppose I shouldn’t have expressed doubt of your husband’s ability to concentrate on abstract problems while watching me change my clothes, but... well...”

“Oh, I know how it is,” Milred said. “Even county officials have their moments of being human — although perhaps you wouldn’t believe it. But you won’t need to worry. When I’m along, you’ll find that he is most discreet.”

Duryea said curtly, “And my wife’s grandfather, Mr. Wiggins.”

Joan Harpler gave him her hand. “Oh, your grandfather, too!” she said. “How nice! Really, Mr. Duryea, you are the soul of discretion. Two generations of chaperons! It will be a pleasure to model my suit for...”

“I didn’t ask you to model it,” Duryea interrupted.

“Oh, didn’t you? I thought you wanted me to put it on, and...”

“I wanted to see it on you to make certain that it fitted.”

“Dear, dear,” Joan Harpler said. “You’d really be surprised at how thoroughly painstaking the law enforcement officers are these days. And I have a party dress, Mr. Duryea, which isn’t quite right across the hips. Perhaps you’d care to look at that too?”

Duryea, flushing angrily, started to say something, when Gramps Wiggins beat him to the punch. “He’s purty busy,” he said, his eyes twinkling over the tops of his steel-rimmed glasses. “If you’re real anxious to show your hips to somebody, try me.”

She turned on him savagely. “I’m not anxious to show my hips. I ask only to be let alone. I had a very important dinner date this evening, and I’m being called on to sacrifice my time and convenience because the district attorney of Santa Delbarra is interested in the expression on the face of a seal on my bathing suit!”

“I know just how you feel,” Milred said suavely. “But do you know, Miss Harpler, my husband is a very determined man.”

“I suppose you found that out right after you were married,” Miss Harpler said.

Milred lowered her eyes demurely. “And as much as three or four weeks before,” she said.

Miss Harpler gave her a quick glance, then decided she had been outflanked. “Shall we go?” she asked.

They drove to her yacht. Miss Harpler asked icily, “I sup-pose I’ll be permitted to change in private.”

“Certainly.”

Milred said chidingly, “Frank, don’t you think that was rather a curt refusal?”

Miss Harpler flared. “I wasn’t inviting him to watch me change.”

“Oh,” Milred said in a tone which intimated she had some doubt on the subject. “He could, at least, have hesitated.”

Miss Harpler left them seated in the cabin, retired to the lower cabin, to emerge presently in a tight-fitting rubber bathing suit on which a succession of pelicans were shown soaring along the edges of breaking waves, with occasionally a pelican diving into the breakers. Smiling seals, their heads thrust up from the painted waters, smirked cynically.

Duryea said uncomfortably, “Thank you very much, Miss Harpler. That’s all.”

“Oh,” she said with surprise. “But I thought you wanted to look in the seals’ eyes, and investigate whether the pelicans were actually getting fish. Wasn’t that one of the important clues in solving your murder, Mr. Duryea?”

Gramps got up and walked over to her. “Yep,” he said, “gotta find out about that,” and he bent over, carefully adjusting his glasses.

She looked at him and said chidingly, “Such a fatherly looking man, too.”

“Yep,” Gramps announced, entirely unashamed. “Lots o’ times they call me Daddy. Just a minute now. Hold still, Miss Harpler. I ain’t goin’ to bite you:” He walked slowly around her, surveying the bathing suit.

“Satisfied?” she asked icily.

Gramps beamed down at her. “My curiosity is.”

She turned and marched from the room.

Milred said, “Well, that certainly fits her, Frank. You have to admit that.”

“Like a rubber glove,” Duryea said.

“And,” his wife pointed out, “don’t think she doesn’t know it. After all, Frank, you don’t need to be so embarrassed. It was bought for that purpose, you know.”