Mason glanced at Della Street. Almost imperceptibly she nodded. Mason said, “I’ll bring my secretary.”

  “That will be fine. And if there’s anyone else you want to bring, just bring them along. Anyone that would contribute to the life of the party. I want to make it something of a social success and then after we’ve all got acquainted we can sit down and talk business. And thank you very much, Mr. Mason, for giving me that lead about the angle to take in talking with Shelby.”

  “Where do I meet you?” Mason asked.

  “I’ll send a car about three-thirty. Now how about this Mr. Jackson? Do you think he’d like to go?”

  Mason laughed. “I’m afraid that Jackson can’t find anything in the law books which establishes a legal precedent for settling a lawsuit aboard a yacht.”

  “You mean he doesn’t do anything without a precedent?”

  “Nothing,” Mason said.

  Benton said definitely, “We don’t want him then.”

  “I thought not.”

  “We’ll be back late this evening?” Mason asked.

  Benton pursed his lips, then smiled. “Frankly, Mr. Mason, I don’t think we will. But the others won’t know that. We’re going up to the island. At this season, whenever there’s a hot day, a fog usually drifts in at night. We can’t come back in a fog. Get me?”

  “I get you,” Mason said.

  “That’s fine, then. Bring a bag with overnight things—and don’t be surprised if you meet a strange assortment of people.”

  Chapter 8

  The yacht glided smoothly up the bay, a hundred and thirty feet of sleek luxury. The throb of the big Diesel motors and the thrust of the twin propellers gave a sense of power underneath. The teakwood decks, mahogany trim, and comfortable deck chairs gave the passengers a sense of luxury, a quiet enjoyment of the good things of life.

  As Mason let Parker Benton pilot him around to meet the various guests, the lawyer realized that the millionaire could hardly have selected a more propitious occasion for compromising a potential lawsuit. Not only did the environment make for friendly good feeling, but in the background there was always a suggestion of financial power on the part of the host.

  Mason acknowledged the introduction to Jane Keller and to Lawton Keller, caught in Lawton Keller’s eyes a glimpse of latent hostility. The brother-in-law didn’t relish the idea of having lawyers checking up on him.

  Benton had gone the limit to have everyone aboard who was at all interested, even to Martha Stanhope and her daughter.

  Scott Shelby, definitely ill at ease, tried to cover his feelings by trying to be popular and friendly. His effort was just a little too obvious.

  It was with agreeable surprise that Mason met Marion Shelby, a woman about twenty-five with dark brown, almost black, hair, gray-blue eyes and a friendly unspoiled manner. Her manner gave the impression that she knew nothing of the business background which made the trip so significant. To her mind an influential business acquaintance of her husband’s was being nice and she was enjoying it immensely.

  Parker Benton saw that cocktails were served. “No business of any kind, please,” he warned. “Not until after dinner. Then we’ll sit down at the big table in the cabin and talk. In the meantime let’s relax and enjoy life.”

  Following which he took his guests around on a tour of the yacht, showing them the various staterooms, mechanical gadgets and lounging rooms.

  Some time later, Mason moved over to stand at the rail, letting the brisk breeze tingle him into a feeling of physical well-being.

  They had left the bay behind and were now within the confines of the river. The banks were less than a mile apart and the pilot was guiding the boat between spar buoys which marked a rather treacherous channel. The yacht was moving forward at half-speed skimming through the water as smoothly as a game fish in a cool pool.

  The day had been hot, dry, cloudless, but now there was just a suggestion of fog drifting in from the bay, although the sky above remained a clear, deep blue.

  Mason heard motion behind, then Scott Shelby’s voice said, “I wanted to talk with you, Mr. Mason … alone.”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I think that Benton’s plan is for us to talk everything over all at once after dinner, not piecemeal.”

  “This is about something else.”

  “What?”

  “Your friend Sergeant Dorset. He put in quite a bit of time asking me about what your business had been.”

  “He’s an inquisitive chap.”

  “Rather a peculiar thing happened.”

  “Don’t tell me about it unless you want to.”

  “I want to.”

  “I’m representing Jane Keller. I can’t represent you.”

  “I understand that.”

  “Why talk to me then?”

  “I just wanted to talk about Sergeant Dorset. I don’t like him.”

  “Lots of people don’t.”

  “I think he’s trying to cook up something—to frame something on somebody.”

  “What and on whom?”

  “I don’t know. I wish I did.”

  “I’m not a mind reader.”

  “I was poisoned a few days ago.”

  “Indeed.”

  “I thought it was a simple case of food poisoning, but apparently it wasn’t. Anyway that’s what Dorset says. He wants to make a lot of trouble.”

  There was a moment of silence while the sound of water slipping past the sides of the boat was plainly audible, then Mason said, “I’m listening. That’s all.”

  “My wife and I had dinner in this place. We didn’t both eat the same thing. I had red wine; she had white wine. I had prime ribs of beef cooked rare and French fried potatoes; she had fried oysters and vegetables. We both had the same dessert. We both became ill about half an hour after eating. She was only slightly ill. I was quite ill—a typical case of food poisoning, wouldn’t you say?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You mean it was?”

  Mason grinned. “I mean I wouldn’t say.”

  Shelby looked at the lawyer with manifest irritation in his restless dark eyes, then abruptly averted his glance.

  Mason stood with his elbows over the rail looking down at the rippling water which curled up against the sides of the vessel, splashed over into little foam-crested ripples and then fell rapidly astern.

  There was silence for several seconds, then Mason said abruptly, “Apparently we’re headed for the island.”

  “I suppose so,” Shelby said, and then after a moment added, “I was talking about this poisoning.”

  “So you were.”

  “I was pretty sick. I called a physician. This same physician treated my wife. I explained to him that it was food poisoning, probably something that had been canned because there was a burning metallic taste in my throat.”

  “I see,” Mason commented.

  “And do you know what happened?”

  “No.”

  “Your friend Sergeant Dorset shows up yesterday afternoon and tells me that I had been poisoned by arsenic—and apparently wants to make something of it.”

  “Such as what?”

  “Well, he asked me a lot of questions about what enemies I had and all that sort of tripe. Good Lord, I don’t want the newspaper notoriety of anything like that, particularly right at this time. I’m putting across several important business deals.”

  “How did Sergeant Dorset think the arsenic got in the food?”

  “That’s just the point. He wanted me to tell him. Why doesn’t he go to the restaurant? It must have been the cook at the restaurant.”

  “Anyone else poisoned?”

  “Dorset said that there had been no other complaints.”

  Mason raised his eyes. The sun was setting and a thin moist haze seemed to be rising from the water.

  Carlotta Benton came along the deck, said cheerily, “Oh, there you are. My, you look serious. I hope you haven’t been spoiling your appetite by talking business.”

  Mason said, “On the contrary, Mr. Shelby was telling me about an illness.”

  Shelby kicked Mason on the ankle.

  “Food poisoning,” Shelby interposed. “Something I ate in a restaurant.”

  “One can’t be too careful these days. I hope you’re all right now?” Carlotta Benton said.

  “Fit as a fiddle,” Shelby told her.

  “You look rather pale.”

  “I’m always that way.”

  “Well, I’m rounding up the guests for cocktails. Dinner will be served in about thirty minutes and Parker says he wants to give the cocktails time to take hold.”

  “Do you,” Mason asked casually and with no intimation he already possessed information not shared by the others, “know whether we’re headed for some fixed destination, or are we just cruising?”

  She laughed. “I’m not talking. Sealed orders.”

  “He’s probably going to the island,” Scott Shelby said.

  She laughed. “I don’t want to seem impolite, but I’ve been married twenty years. During that time I’ve learned to let my husband do the talking. About some things,” she added hastily.

  They all laughed politely and followed her down to the canopied after-deck where a radio had been tuned in to dance music.

  Della Street had been dancing with Parker Benton and from the sparkle of animation in her eyes Mason saw that she had been enjoying herself immensely. Marion Shelby had been dancing with Lawton Keller, and from the somewhat amused tolerance mingled with a slightly watchful glint in the woman’s eyes, Mason felt that Keller had probably been making passes at her, passes which had not been serious enough to call for definite action, yet which had left the woman slightly amused and slightly wary.

  Scott Shelby seemed nervously restless. He said in an undertone to Mason, “I wish he’d get all this social stuff over and get down to brass tacks.”

  “Got some proposition?” Mason asked.

  “I may have.”

  A steward in a white mess coat brought in cocktails and the conversation and drinking became general. Once or twice Shelby tried to bring the subject around to business but Parker Benton always headed him off.

  With darkness, the faint mist which had been forming on the water thickened into fog, and as they sat down to dinner the hoarse fog whistle boomed out its eerie warning. Thereafter at regular intervals through the meal the fog whistle served to remind them that they were on the water and that a fog was settling down.

  “Doesn’t look as though we’ll get back tonight,” Parker Benton said.

  “Wouldn’t you tackle it in a fog?” Della Street inquired.

  “Not unless I have to. It’s dangerous in the channel.”

  “A collision?” Jane Keller asked anxiously. “Would the boat sink?”

  “Not so much danger of a collision as danger of missing the channel and running aground on a mud flat and staying there for a lot longer than we’d like to,” Benton said.

  “Oh, but I couldn’t stay all night,” Mrs. Stanhope objected and then glanced at her sister.

  “I’m afraid you may not have much choice in the matter. I’ve plenty of room and we can put everybody up nicely, but …”

  “Look here,” Scott Shelby interrupted, “what’s the idea behind this thing? You know as well as I do that at this season of the year there’s always fog that forms at night on this part of the river.”

  “Not always,” Benton said.

  “Well, nearly always.”

  Parker Benton was very suave. “I can get out the motorboat and put you ashore at a little town about ten miles upstream. There’s an electric line which will get you back to the city.”

  “That would be deuced uncomfortable,” Shelby said, “and I’m just recovering from a severe case of stomach trouble.”

  “Food poisoning,” Marion Shelby hastened to explain.

  “Well,” Parker Benton announced, “I’m not going to risk the safety of the boat and the convenience of the other passengers. You can get in the launch and get an interurban if you want to.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “Well, all right,” Benton laughed. “Sit here and enjoy life then. Let’s see, I believe I have some champagne on ice.”

  “And I don’t talk business when I’ve been drinking,” Shelby declared.

  At the close of the dinner as coffee and liqueurs were being served, the yacht suddenly throbbed and quivered as the engines were thrown into reverse. A moment later there was the rattle of the chain through the hawse pipes and a few minutes later the engines ceased running.

  Parker Benton passed cigars, cigarettes, said, “Ladies and gentlemen, the island.”

  For a moment no one said anything.

  Then Benton turned to Scott Shelby. “All right,” he said. “What’s your proposition?”

  Shelby was terse. “I haven’t any.”

  “Going to sit tight?” Benton asked.

  “Perhaps.”

  Benton turned to Jane Keller, said, “You have thirty thousand dollars at stake, Mrs. Keller. Sometimes half a loaf is better than no bread. I have the island at stake. Sometimes a poor compromise is better than a good lawsuit. Now then, Shelby, what’s your proposition?”

  Shelby said, “Give me ten thousand dollars in cash and I’ll make a quitclaim deed.”

  Benton said instantly, “That’s too much.”

  “To me, it is ridiculously small. I think there’s oil on the island.”

  Benton studied the smoke which was curling up in a thin, blue wisp from the end of his cigar. “To be perfectly frank with you, Shelby, I had felt that if Mrs. Keller wanted to shave the price she was getting by two thousand dollars, I would add two thousand dollars to what the island was costing me. That would make four thousand dollars that you could have for a quitclaim deed and you could then step out of the picture.”

  Shelby stiffly shook his head.

  “Otherwise,” Benton said, “I will either back out of the deal entirely, or,” and here he glanced swiftly at Mason, and then slowed his delivery somewhat so that he spoke with calm deliberation, “I will instruct the escrow holder to accept a certificate of title, subject to the provisions of an outstanding oil lease. I feel that you don’t have a leg to stand on and that I can get an injunction prohibiting you from setting foot on the island.”

  “You may get the injunction but it won’t become final until after it has gone through the Supreme Court,” Shelby said.

  “And that also I am prepared to take into consideration,” Benton went on, smiling. “I don’t think it will make such a great deal of difference to me, Mr. Shelby. I am not buying this island for speculation. I am buying it for a home and since I don’t intend to sell it, I don’t care how long the litigation takes. Just so I keep you off the island.”

  “Suppose I win it?”

  Parker Benton said, “My legal department is preparing an opinion on that. If their opinion coincides with that of Mr. Mason, I will be very much inclined to go ahead and complete the deal and then let you take any legal steps you see fit.”

  Shelby shifted his position. “That means no one would make any money out of it except the lawyers.”

  “And I’d have the island,” Benton said.

  “I don’t think I’d like that idea,” Shelby blurted.

  “You don’t have to take that way out,” Parker Benton told him. “You can take four thousand dollars in cold hard cash and forget about it. Otherwise you’ll have a lawsuit and a continuing expense.”

  “Are you making that four thousand dollars in the form of a definite offer?”

  Parker Benton glanced at Jane Keller, then at Mason, said, “As far as my two thousand of it is concerned, it’s an offer.”

  Martha Stanhope spoke up quickly. “Jane, you understand what Mr. Benton wants.”

  Lawton Keller said, “The way it looks to me, if Mr. Benton wants to buy that island, he should put up the entire four thousand dollars. After all, the price my sister-in-law is getting is low enough.”

  Benton looked at Lawton Keller with cold dislike. He said, “As far as I am concerned, my offer is final. I consider the two thousand dollars I am willing to donate as a very material concession on my part. Usually, it’s up to the seller to convey a clear title.”

  Keller said, “You want this island.”

  “Of course, I want it.”

  “Well, go ahead and pay for it then.”

  “You mean you people won’t put up two thousand dollars?”

  Martha Stanhope said, “Lawton, I wish you’d shut up. Don’t be so greedy. After all, Jane is the one that has the say and I think it’s a very reasonable settlement myself.”

  “How about it, Mrs. Keller?” Benton asked. “Is it a definite offer?”

  “What does Mr. Mason think?” Jane Keller asked.

  Mason turned to Shelby. “If that is made as a definite offer, will you give us a definite acceptance?”

  “No,” Shelby said.

  “As far as I’m concerned then, it’s not a definite offer,” Mason said. “If and when you tell us that an offer of four thousand dollars will be accepted, I think something might be worked out at that figure but I’m not going to make any offers in advance of some commitment on your part.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it weakens our position and leads to trading. We make an offer. Then you make an offer. Then someone wants to ‘split the difference.’ I don’t do business that way. Make an offer of four thousand and I think it can be worked out. Wait for my clients to make an offer and you’ll be waiting all winter.”

  “And that’s that,” Shelby said.

  “Now then,” Mason went on, “do you own that oil lease?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Is it all yours or have you assigned it to some company?”

  Shelby swiftly placed his hand to his chin, stroked the angle of his jaw, holding his hand so that his palm concealed his mouth. His eyes avoided those of Mason and those of his wife. He said, “I don’t see that that makes any difference.”

  “It makes quite a bit of difference,” Mason told him, “particularly whether the lease has been assigned and whether you’re in a position to negotiate a settlement.”