“I think,” Mason said, smiling, “that so far I have carefully avoided answering any questions about my client, other than to state that I am not representing Mr. Moar.”

  “Then your client isn’t aboard,” Celinda Dail asked.

  Mason said, “You really should have been an attorney.”

  Dail said, “That doesn’t answer my daughter’s question, Mr. Mason.”

  Mason stared at him with amused eyes. “No,” he said, “it doesn’t, does it?”

  There were several seconds of silence. Then Dail got to his feet. “Very well, Mr. Mason, you understand my attitude.”

  Mason stood looking down at the other man. “All right,” he said, “now let’s not misunderstand each other. Don’t make any promises to me on behalf of your company which your company won’t carry out to the letter. If we go through with this thing, I’ll shoot square with you and I’ll want your company to shoot square with me.”

  “Just what do you mean, Mr. Mason?” Dail asked coldy.

  “I mean,” Mason said, “that your auditor, C. Denton Rooney, doesn’t seem to have the interests of the corporation as much at heart as you have. If we reach an agreement I wouldn’t want to have him misunderstand the terms of that agreement. In fact, I would take steps to see that he didn’t.”

  “Don’t worry,” Dail said. “Rooney married my wife’s sister. He owes his position to that relationship and to me.”

  “I want to make certain there won’t be any misunderstanding with Rooney,” Mason insisted.

  “There won’t be,” Dail assured him.

  As Mason reached for the knob of the door, Celinda Dail said, “Don’t you think, Father, it would be well to have some time limit with Mr. Mason? Some time within which he’d make you a definite offer?”

  “Yes,” Dail said instantly. “Let’s put a time limit on this, Mason.”

  “Unfortunately,” Mason assured him, smiling at Celinda Dail, “that is impossible. I will have to both send and receive wireless messages before I’m in a position to make any definite offer.”

  “But you think you can do so before the ship docks?” Dail asked.

  “I hope to be able to do so before the ship docks,” Mason said, opening the door.

  Mason dressed for dinner, strolled into the cocktail lounge and found Mrs. Moar seated at a corner table.

  “Well,” he said, raising his voice for the benefit of any passenger who might be listening, “while you’re waiting for your family may I invite you to join me in a cocktail?”

  She nodded.

  Mason dropped into the chair at her side.

  “What’s new?” she asked, in a low voice.

  “Della told you about Dail being the president of the Products Refining Company?”

  “Yes. She said you were going to see him. I’ve been waiting here, hoping you’d show up.”

  “Dail,” Mason said, “wants to get his hands on the money. He’s willing to promise anything. After he gets the money he’ll pass the buck to the board of directors and let them assume responsibility for the double-cross.”

  “How can we prevent that?” she asked.

  Mason said, “Let me get my hands on the money and I’ll handle it in such a way there won’t be any double-cross. Since I’m not representing your husband I’ll have more latitude than I otherwise would.”

  “Was Celinda present when you talked with her father?”

  “Yes, Celinda was there.”

  “I don’t like that,” Mrs. Moar said. “I don’t like that girl. She’s nursing a deadly hatred for Belle.”

  “All right,” Mason told her. “The thing to do now is to get some quick action. Find out how much money your husband has left, and get it in my hands. You can tell your husband what’s being done, but don’t tell him who’s representing you.”

  “You won’t want him to talk with you?”

  “No, I want to have no connection with him whatsoever. My connection is with you.”

  “And how’ll you get the money?”

  “He’ll give it to you and you’ll give it to me. And when I get it, I don’t want to know that it’s embezzled money. It’ll simply be money which you have given me to pay over to the Products Refining Company under certain conditions. It must be your money, as between you and me. Do you understand that? I don’t want it to come from your husband. I don’t want it to be money which was embezzled from the Products Refining Company. I want it to be your money which you are giving to me to accomplish a certain specific thing. Do you understand?”

  “I think so,” she said. “Look, Mr. Mason, there’s Celinda Dail watching us.”

  Mason laughed heartily, picked up his cocktail glass, tilted the brim slightly toward Mrs. Moar as though proposing a toast and said in a low voice, “All right, don’t look so businesslike, and above all, don’t look apprehensive. Laugh and act as though we were having a casual cocktail.”

  Mrs. Moar raised her glass. Her smile was patently forced.

  “Have you,” Mason asked, “discussed this any further with your husband?”

  “No.”

  “Does your husband realize that Dail is president of the Products Refining Company?”

  “Apparently not. Carl has made no attempt to avoid him. We’ve walked right past Mr. Dail and Celinda several times when we’ve been promenading the deck. But Carl’s taken every precaution to avoid that nurse. I think he has someone paid to watch her and let him know whenever she’s coming on deck because he always goes into hiding somewhere and doesn’t come out until after she’s gone.”

  “Well,” Mason said, “the Products Refining Company is a big concern. It’s not surprising that the president of that company wouldn’t know a bookkeeper, but you’d think Carl would have seen his picture, or heard his name mentioned often enough to know who he was.”

  “Perhaps he does,” she said, “but feels safe because he knows Dail doesn’t know him except by name, whereas that nurse knows his real name is Moar, and would probably blurt it out if he met her.”

  “Don’t look so businesslike,” Mason warned. “Celinda’s watching you. Laugh. Look around the room, and, pretty quick, look at your wrist watch, jump up and leave the table. Here, turn around so you’re not prompted to look over at her.

  “Now here’s something else. It would be particularly unfortunate if Carl should be recognized now. Until I’ve reached an agreement with Dail his hands aren’t tied. If he found out the man he’s looking for was aboard this ship and had funds in his possession, Dail would have him arrested and laugh at me when I tried to get any concessions.”

  “Then it would be better if Carl didn’t have the money in his possession?” she asked.

  “Much better,” Mason said.

  She glanced at her wrist watch, jumped to her feet and said, “Oh, I must be going.”

  Mason arose, bowed, and said, in a low tone, “Laugh.”

  Mrs. Moar gave a feeble attempt at laughter, turned and swept from the room.

  Mason sat down at the table, twisted the stem of his cocktail glass in his fingers, glanced up at the door where Celinda Dail had been standing. She was no longer visible.

  Chapter 4

  Sunday afternoon, a wind, howling up from the south and west, caught the ship on the quarter, sent smoke from the funnels streaking down the sky, and kicked up a sea which made for a nasty roll. The weather deck was lashed by torrents of rain, while oily smoke and hot gas from the funnels made the deck untenable.

  Mason, threading his way down the creaking corridor of C deck, confronted Belle Newberry as she swayed along the passageway, bracing herself from time to time with her hands.

  “Hello,” she said. “I’ve been looking for you.”

  “Long?” the lawyer asked.

  “All day.”

  “I’ve been in my cabin, reading. Why didn’t you give me a buzz?”

  She laughed, and said, “I wanted the meeting to appear casual.”

  “And so you start out by telling me you’ve been looking for me?” he inquired, smiling.

  She made a little grimace. “It’s my candid nature. It’s always betraying me. I hate sham and hypocrisy. Come on into the social hall, I want to talk to you.”

  Mason turned, took her arm, and, together, they swayed toward the stern of the ship. “Nasty weather for the captain’s dinner tonight,” Mason said.

  “I think it’s fun,” she told him. “I get an awful bang out of it. If you go on deck and stand in a sheltered place, you can hear the wind howling around the masks. I thought it was only in windjammers you heard that sound.”

  Mason said, “There’s quite a bit of rigging on a steamer these days. Did it frighten you?”

  “No, I think it’s wonderful! There’s something fascinating and awe-inspiring about it. It’s a long-drawn-out, steady, hollow sound. You can’t describe it.”

  “I know the sound,” Mason said, “and never tire of listening to it. I like storms.”

  Belle Newberry’s eyes sparkled. “You would,” she said.

  Mason said, “I think that’s a compliment, Belle. But you didn’t search me out to talk about storms, did you?”

  “No. It’s about Mother.”

  “What about her?” Mason asked.

  “What’s she been telling you about Dad?”

  “What makes you think that she’s told me anything about your father?” Mason asked.

  She waited for an advantageous roll of the ship, then pushed him into a deep-cushioned chair. “Sit down,” she said, “and like it. I see this is going to be one of those interviews where I’ll ask you questions and you’ll answer with questions.”

  “After all,” Mason told her, “if you want information, you could ask your mother.”

  “I could,” she said, “but I’m not doing it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because she … Wait a minute, I almost gave you a straight answer. I shouldn’t do it. I’ll have to think up a question. … Why should I ask my mother?”

  “Who else is there to ask?” he inquired.

  “Would you tell me if you knew?”

  “Is there any reason why I shouldn’t?”

  She laughed and said, “That’s fine. No one’s said anything yet. How long do you suppose we can keep this up?”

  “All afternoon,” Mason told her, his lips unsmiling, but his eyes twinkling.

  “That’s what I was afraid of. Tell me, Mr. Mason, did Mother tell you about Dad’s giving up his job and never going back to the office?”

  “What gave you that impression?” Mason asked.

  “Well, you see,” she said, “Moms is nice, but rather naive, as so many of the older generation are. The last few days, whenever she’s been standing by the rail and talking to you, there’s been a sudden silence when I come along. Now, that’s poor technique. As one of the precocious younger generation, I know you’re discussing something you don’t want me to hear, and I think it concerns Dad and our sudden influx of wealth.”

  “Will you kindly tell me what has put that idea in your head?” Mason asked.

  She sighed and said, “Yes, I guess you can keep it up all afternoon. I’m trying to question you, Mr. Perry Mason, but so far you’re asking all the questions in response to my questions, and I’m giving all the information in response to your questions.”

  “But,” Mason protested, “I don’t see why you came to me in the first place. Was there something? …”

  “No,” she interrupted, “please don’t ask me any more questions. I see that I’d better handle the interview myself if I’m going to get anywhere. Now, I’ll say, ‘Is Mother trying to keep something from me, Mr. Mason?’ and you’ll say, ‘What do you think there is to conceal from you, Belle?’ and I’ll say, ‘Something about Dad,’ and you’ll say, ‘But what could there be about your father which should be concealed from you?’ and I’ll say, ‘Well, after all, Mr. Mason, he has done some rather peculiar things during the last two months. That is, they look peculiar if you don’t know Dad,’ and you’ll say ‘What things?’ and I’d say, ‘Hasn’t Mother told you?’ and you’d … No, don’t interrupt me now, Mr. Mason, because I’m driving you into a corner by relentless cross-examination. And you’d say, ‘Don’t you think you should ask your mother rather than me?’ and then that, Mr. Perry Mason, would give me just the opening I’m looking for and I’d say, ‘Mr. Mason, don’t you think that, in justice to all concerned, you should hear Dad’s side of the story?’ and before you could ask me another question I’d say, ‘Well, I do, and I’m going to arrange for you to have a talk with Dad. Personally, I think Moms is all wet. Dad is peculiar and he’s eccentric, but he’s done nothing to be ashamed of, and there’s no need of Moms getting herself all worked up thinking that he has.’ So, Mr. Perry Mason, I’m going to ask you to talk with Dad and hear his side of it before you form any opinion or agree to do anything for Mother.”

  “Don’t you think your father might be rather prejudiced against me?” Mason asked.

  “Absolutely not,” she said. “He has about the sanest perspective of any man I’ve ever known. He knows you’ve been talking a lot with Mom and …”

  “And your father,” Mason interrupted, “has rather studiously avoided me. I’ve gathered from what your mother has said that he’s prejudiced against lawyers.”

  “Now that shows all Mom knows about it,” Belle exclaimed indignantly. “Dad used to be prejudiced against what he called criminal lawyers, but that was before he served as a juror when a man was being tried for murder. The man was innocent, Dad says, but his lawyer, a man named Van Densie, seemed to have sold him out. But they couldn’t fool Dad. Dad held out for an acquittal, even when the other eleven were against him. And Dad finally managed to convince those other eleven jurors that the man really was innocent. It made quite an impression on Dad. He said anyone might be accused of crime and circumstantial evidence might look black against him. He said the lawyers who defended men should be more able. He thought Van Densie was incompetent, as well as being a crook. Dad was all worked up about it. He said some day he might be accused of crime, and he’d want a good lawyer to represent him.”

  Mason said, “Apparently your father has a mind of his own.”

  “Then you’ll see him,” she asked, “and hear what he has to say?”

  Mason said, “Look here, Belle, I’m going to be frank with you. I don’t want to see your father and don’t want to talk with him.”

  “Why?”

  “I can’t explain.”

  Her eyes searched his. “Does it,” she asked, “have anything to do with my happiness?”

  “I think,” Mason told her, “since you’ve gone so far, I’d prefer to have you talk with your mother.”

  “Look here, Mr. Mason,” she said, “I’m not a child. I know something’s in the wind. I have an idea it affects me. Now, Dad won some money in a lottery. If that was an illegal thing to do, then he has to give back the money. But I’d prefer—very much prefer—not to have anything said or done until after the ship docks. I think you know why.”

  “I do,” Mason told her, “and I want you to understand that your mother has your best interests at heart.”

  Her eyes swam with tears. “I wish,” she said, “things had been different. I wouldn’t have missed knowing Roy for anything. But you know what it means, Mr. Mason. He’s out of my class. I’ve had my little masquerade and that masquerade is about over. I’ve realized all along the price I was going to have to pay, but I know it has to be paid. Now then, I’m afraid that Carl, or Moms, or both, are planning to carry on, thinking they can give me a chance. They can’t. I’m not in Roy’s world and he’s not in mine. We could pretend while we’re on shipboard, or while we were in Honolulu, but as soon as we hit the Mainland it’s different. … Tell me, Mr. Mason, is Moms planning to sue Carl for divorce?”

  “That isn’t what we’ve been talking about,” Mason said kindly.

  Belle Newberry scraped back her chair. The roll of the boat threw her off balance. Mason jumped to her side, steadied her with his hand on her elbow.

  “Please,” she said, “don’t let Mom make any useless sacrifices for me. She doesn’t see the thing as clearly as I do. Tomorrow morning after we land it will be over.”

  “Don’t you think Roy will try to keep in touch with you?” Mason asked.

  “I won’t let him,” she retorted. “I’ll walk out of his life and slam the door behind me. We can’t keep up with his set. I’ve been able to put on an act just because Dad was fortunate enough to win some money in a lottery. If it hadn’t been for that, I’d have been living a drab existence with perhaps a two weeks’ vacation with Moms at some beach city, where we’d have a cheap furnished cottage, or maybe a motor trip where we could spend the nights in auto camps. … Please, Mr. Mason, don’t let Moms try to do something to give me a chance I could never use.”

  Mason walked with her to the door. “You,” he said, “talk like a quitter. If you want him, why don’t you fight for him? If he loves you, he won’t care whether your father was a bookkeeper or …”

  “You don’t understand,” she interrupted. “It isn’t as though Roy had met me as the daughter of a bookkeeper. Pops gave me a chance to crash into the ritzy tourist crowd. You know how it is on the Islands. I played I was one of them. I let Roy take my position in life for granted. You see, I … I didn’t know he was going to mean so darn much to me.

  “Now I can’t back it up. If I’d met him so he knew all about me, he could go to his set and say, ‘Meet Belle Newberry. She’s not in our set, but I like her.’ That would have been one thing. But to have Celinda Dail know all about … Oh, I can’t explain. You’d have to know Roy to understand … He doesn’t like sham. He hates girls who try to make a play for him. He’d never understand I was just having a little game of makebelieve with myself. He’d think I’d deliberately planned …”

  She broke off abruptly, her voice choking.

  Mason said, “I see your angle, Belle. It’s your hand. You play it. Personally, I’d shove all my chips into the center of the table. Go talk with your mother, Belle. You can explain …”