“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 from 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 investigation!”

  “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 motor boat and … We’ll never make it!”

  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 head on, 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, I’ll 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, “I’ll 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. You’ll 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 we’ll 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 bottle.”

  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 woolen 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 quavering 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. “I’ll 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 :he 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 hearing 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:

  Somewhere off Catalina Island. I, Minerva Danby, make his statement because if anything should happen to me I want justice done.

  I am writing this on the yacht of George S. Alder, the Thayerbelle. Because I have information which will in all probability deprive George Alder of much of his fortune, he may do anything to seal my lips.

  I’m afraid I have been careless, not to say stupid.

  When George Alder’s father died, he left all the stock of the huge corporation known as Alder Associates, Inc. in a trust, one part to his stepdaughter, Corrine Lansing, one part to his son, George S. Alder. The survivor was to take all the stock. A brother of the father, Dorley H. Alder was to have the voting power of one-third of the stock and a guaranteed income for life, but he was to have no interest in the trust unless both of the younger people died before he did. Dividends were to be paid on a basis of one-third to each. There were, however, ten shares of stock which were not in the trust, stock held by Carmen Monterrey. I set these things down in writing to show that I appreciate the danger I am in and the reason for it.

  Corrine Lansing went to South America. She had been suffering from a nervous condition, which became steadily worse.

  I met her on an airplane while I was flying over the Andes between Santiago, Chile, and Buenos Aires in the Argentine. She was terribly nervous and distraught and I tried to steady her down a bit. As a result she took a sudden liking to me and insisted that I should start traveling with her, sharing accommodations but entirely at her expense.

  Because I was traveling on a very limited budget, and because I thought I could perhaps do her some good, and without knowing anything at all about her or her background, I accepted.

  Corrine had her maid with her, Carmen Monterrey, who had been in the family for years and who, I gathered, had been a favorite of Corrine’s stepfather.

  Gradually I learned from her the family background, about her brother and the terms of her father’s will. Carmen Monterrey, of course, knew all about it also. She was treated as “one of the family” and Corrine Lansing never hesitated to discuss business matters in her presence.