“We could do a lot of trading with twenty thousand dollars,” Mason observed, staring out at the blue horizon.

  Mrs. Newberry said, “There’s one other element of danger, Mr. Mason, something you’ve got to guard against.”

  “What’s that?” Mason asked.

  “Have you noticed the man with the broken neck?” she asked.

  “No,” he said. “What about him?”

  “It isn’t him,” she said. “It’s his nurse. Carl knows her.”

  “Well?” Mason asked.

  “Don’t you see what that means? He knew her before he married me. She knows him as Carl Moar. If she should see him and recognize him, she’d be sure to call him by the name of Moar.”

  “Just what do you know about her?” Mason asked.

  “Her name’s Evelyn Whiting. She’s … here she comes now.”

  A young, attractive nurse, in a stiffly starched uniform, pushed a wheel chair along the promenade deck. A man lay in the wheel chair, his head cradled in a padded steel harness which was strapped to his shoulders. His eyes were protected from the sun by a huge pair of dark goggles.

  Mrs. Newberry’s lowered voice was sympathetic. “Poor chap, he was in an automoblie wreck. His neck’s broken. He may have to wear that harness for two or three years. He can’t turn his head, isn’t even supposed to talk. She asks him a question and then puts her hand in his. He squeezes once for yes and twice for no. He can’t use his legs. Think of not being able to even turn your head to avoid the glare of the sun.”

  Mason studied the nurse. She was in the early thirties, attractive, well-figured, auburn-haired. She felt his gaze and turned eyes to his which showed a frank interest before they shifted solicitously back to her patient. She stopped the chair and said, “Is it a little too sunny for you here, Mr. Cartman? Would you like to go around on the other side of the deck?”

  She pushed her hand under the light blanket which covered the thin figure, and Mason saw the blanket move as the man squeezed her hand once. She turned the wheel chair and sought the shady side of the deck.

  “How does your husband expect to avoid her?” Mason asked.

  “I don’t know,” Mrs. Newberry confessed. “He’ll only come on deck when she’s in the cabin. The fact that she’s nursing that man makes it easier for Carl.”

  “Couldn’t he go to her and explain that he was using another name and—”

  “I’m afraid not,” Mrs. Newberry said. “He tells me that he handled some money for her once on an investment. The investment didn’t turn out well and he thinks she might feel a little bitter about it—particulary if she saw that he seemed to have plenty of money now.”

  Mason turned to Della Street. “Encode a wireless to my office, Della. Tell Jackson to find out what concessions the Products Refining Company would be willing to make if Moar should surrender and return intact approximately twenty thousand dollars of the embezzled money. Tell Jackson to have it definitely understood that he’s merely asking questions on behalf of an interested party, is not representing Moar, does not know where Moar is, and is at present only asking for information. Tell him to handle it diplomatically and report progress.”

  Mrs. Newberry gripped his hand in thanks. After a moment she said, “I’ll go now. It’ll be better if I’m not seen with you too frequently. If you’re not going to have any contact with Carl … Well, I wouldn’t want Belle to suspect that I was consulting you professionally.”

  Mason said, “It’ll probably take my office two or three days to get anything definite. In the meantime, you sit tight and don’t worry.”

  He left her, to circle the deck. Celinda Dail, clad in a sun suit which showed her long, sun-browned limbs to advantage, was playing ping-pong wiht Roy Hungerford.

  Chapter 3

  The ship was scheduled to arrive in San Francisco late Sunday night, docking early Monday morning. On Saturday, Mason received a wireless from his office lawyer which read:

  C. DENTON ROONEY HEAD AUDITOR OF PRODUCTS REFINING COMPANY IN CHARGE OF LOS ANGELES OFFICE HAS AGREED TO CABLE PRESIDENT NOW IN HONOLULU. ROONEY TEN DEGREES COLDER THAN FREEZING. OUTLOOK DISTINCTLY UNFAVORABLE. WILL KEEP YOU POSTED.

  “Isn’t that rather an unusual attitude, Chief?” Della Street asked, when Mason had finished reading the message.

  “I’ll say it is,” Mason said. “It’s the first time I ever knew a corporation to snub twenty thousand dollars.”

  “But still, Chief, there’s the question of ethics. Perhaps they don’t want to establish a precedent—”

  Mason laughed. “Don’t worry, Della. They usually hook the embezzler in the long run. But when he offers to make restitution they unhesitatingly make glittering promises. Even the police do it. Let them arrest an embezzler who has a few thousand dollars cached away and they’ll promise him probation, or a light sentence, or a chance to escape, or even that the charges will be dropped, if he’ll only show that he’s properly repentant by disclosing the hiding place of the money. Then, after they once get their hands on the money, they sing a different tune. It seems that the officer the crook was talking with had no authority to make the promises, or the judge refuses to cooperate, or something of that sort.”

  “Then why did you give the Products Refining Company a chance to trap Moar that way?” Della Street asked.

  “Because,” Mason said, “after they once make promises in this case, I’m going to see these promises are kept.”

  “How?” she asked.

  “You’d be surprised. I have a few tricks up my sleeve I can always use on chiselers.”

  “Is that why you didn’t want to represent Moar?”

  “That’s partially it,” he told her. “The other reason is that I don’t like to represent persons who are guilty. Of course, every person is entitled to a fair trial. That means he’s entitled to a lawyer. But I’d prefer that chaps like Moar would get some other lawyer. Of course, I can’t always pick innocent ones. For one thing, I have to reach snap judgments. I’m like a baseball umpire who has to call the plays as he sees them.”

  “So what are you going to do now?” she asked.

  “Right now,” he said, “you can encode another wire to Jackson, reading as follows:

  “ ‘HAVE DRAKE DETECTIVE AGENCY PUT OPERATIVE ON ROONEY. DIG UP SOME DIRT WHICH WILL ENABLE ME TO BRING PRESSURE TO BEAR. QUIT PULLING YOUR PUNCHES AND GET RESULTS.’ ”

  Mason grinned and said, “That’ll make Jackson hopping mad.”

  “After all,” Della Street pointed out, “you can’t blame him. He’s doing the best he can.”

  Mason shook his head. “Jackson’s a rotten fighter. He’s tagging along, taking what Rooney hands out. That’s not the way to get anywhere. A good scrapper keeps the other man on the defensive, trumps the first ace he plays, and after that never lets him get a chance to lead with the others.”

  “I’m afraid,” she told him, tucking her shorthand notebook back in her purse, “that you’re simply spoiling for a fight.”

  “I am,” he admitted, “but with bigger game than Rooney.”

  “It’s too bad you didn’t know the president was in Honolulu.”

  Mason said, “That’s a thought. However, he’ll undoubtedly tell Rooney to go ahead and make any promises necessary to get the twenty thousand. Rooney is probably an officious nincompoop who wanted to put Jackson in his place—How’s the romance going, Della?”

  “Well,” Della said, “outwardly it seems to be pretty much of a draw. He divides his time about evenly between Celinda Dail and Belle Newberry, but if you ask me, I think he has a lot better time with Belle than with Celinda. Celinda’s more of a duty. She’s in his social set. They have a lot of friends in common, and, above all, he doesn’t want to appear to be dropping Celinda simply because he met some girl for whom he cares more.”

  “You’re biased,” Mason told her.

  “Probably I am,” she admitted.

  “How does Celinda Dail treat you, Della?”

  Della Street smiled. “At first she didn’t know I was alive. Then when she found out I was Belle’s cabin-mate, she became very cordial. Whenever I’m with her, she tells me how much she likes Belle and what a fascinating girl she is, and then takes occasion to add it’s funny she’s never met her and wants to know if Belle doesn’t care for polo or yachting.”

  “Trying to pump you about her background?” Mason asked.

  Della nodded.

  “Okay,” Mason told her, “put that message in code and send it to Jackson. We’ll have Paul Drake start work on Rooney. However, I don’t think we’ll have to exert much pressure. My best guess is the president will fall all over himself promising anything we want. Then, after he gets his hands on the twenty thousand he’ll step out of the picture and Rooney will gloatingly march into court and ask the judge to give Moar the limit.”

  Mason was reclining in his stateroom reading a book when Della Street brought him Jackson’s reply late that afternoon:

  ROONEY ADVISES CORPORATION WILL NOT MAKE TERMS WITH CROOK STOP INSISTS WILL PROSECUTE MOAR TO LIMIT WITHOUT ACCEPTING OR OFFERING ANY CONCESSIONS STOP CLAIMS HAS TAKEN MATTER UP WITH PRESIDENT BUT I THINK HE IS LYING STOP ROONEY ARROGANT SELF-IMPORTANT DETESTED BY ENTIRE FORCE HOLDS POSITION BECAUSE OF RELATIONSHIP BY MARRIAGE TO PRESIDENT OF COMPANY STOP PRESIDENT NOW ON VACATION IN HONOLULU NAME CHARLES WHITMORE DAIL ADDRESS ROYAL HAWAIIAN HOTEL SHALL I GET IN TOUCH WITH HIM THERE STOP HAD PAUL DRAKE PUT OPERATIVES TO WORK ON ROONEY SO FAR NO SUCCESS STOP WIRE INSTRUCTIONS

  Mason finished reading the message, to reach for his telephone. “Get me Charles Whitmore Dail,” he said to the operator. “He has a suite on A deck.”

  While Mason held the line, waiting for the call to be completed, Della Street said, “Chief, have you stopped to consider that Celinda Dail may have found out Moar’s aboard and been in touch with Rooney?”

  He nodded and said, “I’m calling for a showdown, Della—Hello—is this Mr. Dail? This is Mr. Perry Mason, Mr. Dail. I want to see you on a matter of business … sometime at your early convenience … I would prefer an earlier appointment if possible … Very well, at six o’clock then … In your stateroom. Thank you, Mr. Dail.”

  Mason dropped the receiver into place, grinned at Della Street and said, “You never get anywhere postponing a fight, Della.”

  “You mean if he knows all about Carl Moar and has found out who Belle really is you’re still going to try and help Moar?”

  “Not Moar,” Mason said. “Belle.”

  “Is there anything you can do, Chief?”

  “I don’t know,” he told her. “One thing’s certain, I can smoke them out into the open.”

  Della Street said dubiously, “I’m not certain that you can, Chief. Celinda Dail is nobody’s fool, if she was the one who got possession of Belle’s picture and sent it to Rooney, and they know about …”

  “Why to Rooney?” Mason asked.

  “Because Jackson’s wire says Rooney is related to the president by marriage. That means Celinda would have confidence in him and he’d probably be the one to whom she’d appeal. That would explain why Rooney is so set against allowing Moar to obtain any concessions by making a partial restitution.”

  Mason grinned and said, “Well, we’ll find out within a couple of hours. Wireless Jackson that Dail’s aboard and that I’ll handle it from this end. Tell him to have Paul Drake keep a couple of operatives on Rooney and let me know if they uncover anything interesting.”

  Charles Whitmore Dail, looking ponderously dignified in his tuxedo and stiffly starched shirt, said, “Come in and sit down, Mr. Mason. I believe you have met my daughter?”

  Celinda Dail wore a dark evening dress, which revealed the long, slender lines of her athletic figure. The black coral bracelets which circled her right wrist emphasized the creamy smoothness of her skin. She smiled at the lawyer with her lips. Her eyes were blue, wary and watchful.

  Mason bowed, said, “I’ve had that pleasure. Good evening, Miss Dail,” and dropped into a chair. He had not as yet dressed for dinner, and his double-breasted suit of tropical worsted, opposed to the formality of the other’s attire, served as a reminder that his call was a business one, made his approach seem direct and aggressive.

  He glanced casually about him at the furnishings of the palatial suite, stretched out his legs in front of him, crossed his ankles and said, “You’re the president of the Products Refining Company.”

  Dail nodded.

  “You have a man in your employ by the name of C. Waker Moar,” Mason went on.

  Dail’s face became an expressionless mask. “I’m not familiar with all of the employees of the Products Refining Company,” he said.

  Mason regarded him with steady, patient eyes. “I didn’t ask you that,” he said. “I have reason to believe that the name of C. Waker Moar may have impressed itself upon your mind during the last few weeks.”

  Dail gave no faint flicker of expression. “What was it you wished to see me about?” he asked.

  Mason glanced at Celinda Dail. “If you were planning to go in for cocktails,” he said, “and it’s not convenient to discuss the matter now, I can see you some time after dinner.”

  “That’s all right,” Dail said. “You can trust to my daughter’s discretion. What did you wish to say?”

  “I understand,” Mason said, “there’s a substantial cash shortage in your company, Mr. Dail, a matter of some twenty-five thousand dollars, and this shortage was, well, shall we say coincident with the departure of Mr. Moar from your employ?”

  “Go on,” Dail said. “I’m listening.”

  “I have reason to believe,” Mason went on, “that it might be possible for your company to get back some twenty thousand dollars of the missing money.”

  “You’re representing Moar?” Dail asked.

  “No.”

  “Whom are you representing?”

  “Interested parties,” Mason said.

  “Would you mind telling me just who they are?”

  “Would it,” Mason inquired, “make any difference in your attitude in the matter?”

  “It might,” Dail said.

  “May I ask in what way?”

  Dail hesitated a moment, then said, “I wouldn’t bargain with a crook. Neither would I bargain with anyone who was representing a crook.”

  Mason said, “I take it your company would welcome the return of twenty thousand dollars?”

  “It might.”

  Mason turned to Celinda, asked, “Mind if I smoke?” and took a cigarette from his pocket.

  “Not at all,” she said. “I’ll have one with you, Mr. Mason.”

  Mason lit her cigarette, lit his own. Charles Whitmore Dail regarded him appraisingly. “You haven’t told me, Mr. Mason, whom you’re representing.”

  “I’ve told you I’m not representing Mr. Moar,” Mason said.

  “How can you guarantee the return of any money if you’re not representing him or some confederate?”

  “I’m not representing him. I’m not representing any confederate. I’m not guaranteeing the return of any money. I’m asking questions.”

  “Specifically, what is your question?”

  “Would your company be willing to make some concessions in order to get back approximately twenty thousand dollars of the embezzled money?”

  “I feel that my company would naturally like to have the spending of its own money,” Dail said. “I feel quite certain that we would be willing to make some substantial concessions.”

  “How substantial?” Mason asked.

  “What do you want?”

  “For one thing,” Mason said, “I want it definitely understood that no attempt whatever will be made to arrest Moar until he has surrendered of his own accord. That he will be permitted to plead guilty under any name he may choose, and be sentenced under that name.”

  “Do I understand,” Dail asked, “that you want us to guarantee we won’t take any steps to apprehend Moar merely on your suggestion that the money may be paid?”

  Mason shook his head. “You’d have my word in return for yours. I’d have approximately twenty thousand dollars paid into my bank. When that money was in my hands, I’d ask you to agree to hold off any attempt to apprehend Moar for a definite period, say two weeks.”

  “I think that could be arranged,” Dail said, slowly.

  “I understand there is as yet no warrant issued for Moar?” Mason asked.

  “I’m not qualified to give you a definite answer on that,” Dail replied cautiously.

  “But you could give me your definite assurance as to what you would be willing to do in order to get this money?”

  “Yes,” Dail said, “we’d be willing to grant your request. We’d go farther. We’d do everything in our power to see that Moar received probation, with the understanding, of course, that he would repay the rest of the money. By the way, Mr. Mason, why do you say approximately twenty thousand dollars?”

  “Because I don’t know just how much money remains in Moar’s possession.”

  Suspicion showed in Dail’s eyes. “Your offer was predicated on twenty thousand dollars.”

  “It wasn’t an offer, it was a question, and I said approximately twenty thousand dollars,” Mason corrected.

  “Well, I would take approximately to mean within a thousand dollars of that sum.”

  “I’m not making any definite proposition,” Mason said. “I’m merely asking a question. The proposition will come later. At that time I’ll know exactly what I have to offer. At the present time my understanding is there is approximately twenty thousand dollars available.”

  “Very well,” Dail said, “you know my attitude, Mr. Mason.”

  Celinda Dail said, “It seems strange that you’ve been on board ship with us for four days, Mr. Mason, and have just come to Father with this proposition.”

  Mason shifted his eyes to her. “I didn’t know your father was president of the Products Refining Company.”

  “Are we to understand that the clients whom you represent are aboard the ship?” Celinda asked innocently.