“Mine,” Benton said. “I can communicate with the pilothouse, phone the engine room, the galley, and the lookout station on the crow’s-nest as well as the bow of the ship. I can, of course, also communicate on the other system with the various staterooms and with the steward. Scott Shelby could not have called his wife from the bow of the ship.”

  Mason asked, “That box up there in the bow containing a telephone holds an instrument that can call only one stateroom?”

  “That’s right,” Parker Benton said. “It is on the circuit which communicates with my stateroom, with the pilothouse, the engine room, the galley, etc. It can’t reach any stateroom other than mine.”

  “Therefore?’ Mason asked.

  “Therefore,” Benton said positively, “if Marion Shelby received any such call as she says she did, it must have come from one of the other staterooms or from the steward’s desk.”

  “Well?” Mason asked.

  “The other staterooms,” Benton said dryly, “were all occupied.”

  “And the steward’s office?”

  “The steward on duty is a man who has been with me for some time, one whom I can trust absolutely. With that number of guests aboard the yacht I felt that it would be wise to have a steward stay on duty until two o’clock in the morning. This man volunteered to sit up. I saved his life once. His loyalty to me is almost a religion with him.”

  “Was he asleep?”

  “He was sitting at his desk reading when the thing happened. He didn’t hear the scream, but he did hear the sound of a shot and the sound of something bumping against the side of the yacht as the current swept it on past.”

  “And so?” Mason asked.

  “And so,” Parker Benton said, “I find myself in a very embarrassing position. Apparently one of my guests has disappeared. His wife tells a story which on its face is impossible.”

  “I don’t see anything impossible about it,” Mason said.

  “She says that her husband telephoned her from the telephone station at the bow of the yacht. You can see what happened. When I was showing my guests around, I pointed out that little boxed-in telephone at the bow. The guests naturally assumed that the telephones would have been connected on one circuit. It makes a nice story but it simply doesn’t stand up.”

  Mason said, “Pardon me, Benton, I know something about evidence. You haven’t proved a falsity of the wife’s story.”

  “No?”

  “No,” Mason said crisply.

  “What’s your theory?”

  “Her husband may have told her that he was telephoning from the bow of the ship. It may have been the husband who had made the mistake about the telephone circuit. He was there when you showed the guests the phone.”

  “In that event,” Parker Benton said dryly, “he was telephoning from one of the other staterooms or from the steward’s office. And I know he wasn’t telephoning from the steward’s office.”

  Mason said, “That makes it a most interesting problem. What became of the gun Mrs. Shelby was carrying?”

  “I thought I’d better take charge of it. The officers will want it. One of the chambers holds an empty cartridge case. The others are loaded.”

  Mason said, “Some persons always keep a gun loaded that way—an empty shell under the hammer of the gun.”

  “We’ll leave that for the officers,” Benton said. “You seem to be sticking up for Mrs. Shelby. Has she retained you?”

  “Heavens no! I’m sticking up for her because I like her, and because I know absolutely what attitude the officers will take. They’ll crucify her. That’s why I’m trying to see if there isn’t some other factor we haven’t considered.”

  “I’m afraid there isn’t.”

  “You’re doing everything you can to locate the body?”

  “Everything. I have both boats out and we’re combing the water. There isn’t the slightest chance the man is alive and swimming. He must have gone to the bottom, and it’s more than twenty feet deep right here.”

  “Was the husband dressed or undressed. In other words, did you find his clothes in the stateroom?”

  Benton said, “Shelby and his wife went to bed. There are twin beds in that cabin. She is rather a sound sleeper. Sometime after she got to sleep, Scott Shelby evidently got up and dressed. The peculiar thing is he didn’t put on his socks, or his underwear, just slipped on trousers, shirt, shoes and a coat and went up on deck.”

  “Hat?” Mason asked.

  “That’s the strange thing. He put on his hat, but he left his underwear, his socks, his tie and scarf. Apparently he had dressed in a great hurry, but no one knows. The last anyone admits seeing him was when he turned out the light after he had got into bed. His wife says that he was morose and angry. He had fully expected that he would make a satisfactory settlement.”

  “On his own terms?”

  “Apparently. He considered that four thousand dollars was ridiculously small and moreover he felt that I had caused him to lose face by the manner in which I approached the subject. I haven’t all the details as yet, but that’s the general sketch as his wife gave it to me.”

  “And then what happened?”

  “She was sound asleep. The telephone rang. She answered it, but says she was only half awake. Her husband’s voice poured an urgent message into her ear, to come at once to the bow of the ship, to take his gun from the top of the dresser and bring it to him. He shouted at her to hurry, to get up there as quickly as possible, not to try to dress. And then she heard someone who she thinks was her husband, grunt, as though he had been making some great effort or had been struck by a blow. She thinks there was a sound such as the impact of a blow, but she can’t be certain. She was only half awake at the time.”

  “And what did she do?”

  “She says that without even stopping to think, she hung up the receiver, grabbed the gun, and dashed up to the deck, attired only in her nightdress.”

  Mason said, “You’ll notify the police?”

  “Just as soon as I feel I can spare one of the boats from the search.”

  “When will that be?”

  “As soon as I reach the conclusion it’s really useless to continue a search for the body—perhaps five minutes, perhaps ten. Then I’ll send the launch over to that town and telephone the sheriff’s office. In the meantime I’m going to make certain no one leaves this yacht.”

  Mason nodded.

  “You haven’t any suggestions?” Benton asked.

  “No.”

  “And no criticisms?”

  “None.”

  “Thank you. This is my first experience with anything of this sort, and I wanted you to see if my plan of procedure was proper.”

  “I would say it was eminently proper.”

  “Thank you,” Benton said, and moved away.

  Chapter 10

  An ominous sense of restraint settled upon the yacht. The guests huddled about, then went back to their cabins, only to return to the cold deck, restless, uncomfortable, and a little frightened.

  The crew in the rowboat kept up their fruitless search for the body and from the fog-filled night there could be heard the thunk … thunk … thunk of the oars in the oarlocks. Occasionally the sound of a voice called out a hoarse command.

  Mason, accompanied by Della Street, kept himself isolated in the bow of the yacht. The chill dampness of the fog had begun to penetrate and Della Street, giving a little shiver, asked, “What’s the idea, Chief? Why can’t we go where it’s warm?”

  Mason said, “I want to stay here until the officers come, Della.”

  “What’s the reason?”

  “In the first place, I don’t want any tampering with whatever evidence there may be in the bow of the boat. In the second place, I have an idea that by keeping somewhat isolated this way we may invite the confidence of some of the others.”

  “You want me to stay here with you.”

  “Not if you’re cold.”

  Della Street began flexing her knees, lowering and raising her body.

  “It’s the fact that my circulation is sluggish. I’ll start the blood circulating,” she said. “After all, being roused in the middle of the night this way and then standing out in the fog … But my stateroom seems ghastly … Chief, what about the status of the property now?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Will Parker Benton go ahead and buy it?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Then you mean if Scott Shelby is dead … Well, let’s suppose he’s murdered. His death didn’t do the murderer any good?”

  “Not so far as this particular deal is concerned. In fact it had just the opposite effect. Parker Benton now has notice of the lease. If he took the property, he would take it subject to the lease, regardless of the fact that it hasn’t been recorded. And with the death of Scott Shelby, there’s no opportunity of reaching a compromise, at least until some administrator has been appointed and a lot of red tape unwound. … That probably wouldn’t suit Parker Benton at all.”

  Della Street ceased her flexing exercises as the full import of this statement soaked into her mind.

  “Go ahead,” Mason said, laughing. “Say it.”

  “Then the murderer couldn’t have been one of the people who … Chief, that upsets my entire theory of the case … I had supposed, of course …”

  Her voice trailed away into thoughtful silence.

  Mason said, “I’m telling you the law, Della. But that doesn’t necessarily affect the motive for murder.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Mason said, “The murderer may not have known the law, may not have reasoned the thing out, may have felt that Scott Shelby was standing between the murderer and a nice profit on the sale of the property—or perhaps the property itself.”

  “Why that last?” Della Street asked.

  “Because,” Mason said, “if … Wait a minute, Della. We have a customer.”

  A figure silhouetted itself against the lights surrounded by their little fog auras.

  Lawton Keller tried to make his manner casual.

  “Oh, hello. I didn’t know there was anyone up here.”

  “Looking for something?” Mason asked.

  “Just taking a stroll to get warmed up … I suggested to Benton that it might be a good thing to serve a hot toddy but he doesn’t want the officers to come and smell liquor on our breaths. Personally, I’d give a lot for a good hot buttered rum.”

  “Sounds very tempting,” Mason said.

  “Provided we had the butter,” Della Street observed.

  “And the rum,” Lawton said, laughing.

  “And the hot water,” Mason supplemented.

  They all joined in laughter which seemed a little forced. Then Lawton Keller said, “Has anyone found out what Shelby was doing up here in the bow of the ship?”

  “Apparently not,” Mason said. “I don’t know. I haven’t been around where the others were talking. I preferred not to hear the various theories.”

  Lawton Keller said, “Well, I suppose I should be sorry. Personally I think the man was a crook and a blackmailer. Of course, even so, I wouldn’t want to have the deal go through as the result of such a price as that.”

  “Has it ever occurred to you,” Mason asked, “that Shelby’s death hasn’t changed the situation in the least?”

  Lawton Keller was evidently surprised. “Why, no,” he said, “I thought … Well, to tell you the truth I hadn’t given it a great deal of consideration.”

  “Better ask Parker Benton what he intends to do,” Mason said. “I think you’ll find that Benton has given it plenty of consideration. … No, on second thought, you hadn’t better ask him. It might show an undue eagerness.”

  Keller was quite evidently completely nonplused. “You mean that his death doesn’t clear the thing up?”

  “Makes it more complicated than ever,” Mason said.

  Keller was silent for several seconds, then he absentmindedly took a cigarette from his pocket, struck a match, and lit the cigarette. The hand which held the match was unsteady.

  Della Street noticed a slight tremor and flashed a quick glance at Mason.

  The lawyer cautioned her with a slight frown against making any comment, and then the match went out and they were once more in half darkness.

  Obviously jarred by the import of Mason’s statement, Keller started to turn away, then after a moment swung back to face Mason. “One thing,” he said, “that may or may not be important.”

  “What?”

  “Marjorie Stanhope was wandering around the deck shortly before the thing happened.”

  “How do you know?” Mason asked.

  “I saw her.”

  “Where?”

  “From the porthole of my stateroom. I couldn’t sleep. I got up to smoke a cigarette … wondered if the fog had lifted and whether we’d get back early in the morning or perhaps be held here for a while. I went over to the porthole of the stateroom … my stateroom looks out on the port side of the deck.”

  “Lights were on?” Mason asked, making his voice sound as casual as possible.

  “No, but there was some illumination. It wasn’t pitch dark.”

  “And what did you see?”

  “I saw Marjorie Stanhope walking along the deck.”

  “Toward the bow or toward the stern?”

  “Toward the stern.”

  “Walking as though she were strolling around or as though she had been some place.”

  “As though she’d been some place.”

  “Said anything about this to anyone?”

  “Just you, that’s all. Do you think I should?”

  Mason said, “Let your conscience be your guide.”

  “Well, I’m wondering. I suppose the officers will ask a lot of questions.”

  “Undoubtedly.”

  “And should I tell them?”

  “Well,” Mason said, “if they ask you if you saw anyone, you certainly couldn’t lie to them.”

  “No, I’d hardly want to do that.”

  “Of course,” Mason went on, “you’re not called upon to volunteer any information. But if they should take a statement from you now and you neglected to mention a fact as important as that and then had to recall it later in response to some specific question, you might find yourself in something of a fix.”

  “Yes, I can see that,” Lawton Keller said. “I’d prefer to have Marjorie Stanhope questioned first. Then if she mentions being on deck, everything will be all right.”

  “And if she doesn’t?” Mason asked.

  “Well, of course … My gosh, Mason, I never thought of that. If she doesn’t. If she tries to conceal it and then I come along … Gosh, that’s virtually the same as accusing her of something, isn’t it?”

  Mason said, unsympathetically, “Well, that’s your problem. I definitely don’t want to advise you.”

  Keller said, “I … Gosh, I don’t know whether to go to Miss Stanhope and tell her that I saw her or … or … just wait and see what she says. Perhaps I’d better go to her.”

  Mason stretched, yawned, said, “Well, I guess you won’t have much longer to deliberate on it. Unless I’m mistaken, these are the officers coming.”

  The sound of an air whistle came from the distant fog and the yacht answered with a short blast of its own whistle and swung the searchlight out over the water so that it was boring a milky tunnel into the night, a tunnel in which fog moisture swirled and gyrated in a kaleidoscope of misty motion.

  Keller said, “Yes, I guess these are the officers all right,” and rapidly moved away.

  Della said, “Shall I see if he goes to talk with Miss Stanhope, Chief?”

  “I don’t think he’ll have much time,” Mason said. Even as he spoke the speedboat came roaring out of the fog into the illumination of the searchlight.

  A man in the bow of the speedboat tossed a line to the deck of the yacht. It was caught and drawn up. A rope was attached to the end of the line, and a moment later the speedboat was secured.

  The two officers who came aboard the yacht were rural deputies who were quite evidently impressed by the importance of the occasion.

  The passengers assembled in the dining salon. The two officers sat at the head of the table. One of them asked the questions in a nasal voice. He was in the late sixties, thin, sparse, and with blue eyes that seemed covered with a film as they peered out through spectacles, the lenses of which were badly soiled with finger marks. But his mind covered all the various angles of the situation.

  “Now then,” he said, “I want to know whether anyone knows anything about this.”

  There was a moment’s silence which greeted his blanket question; then Mrs. Shelby said with grim determination, “I think I’m the one who knows all there is to know about it. I’ve told my story before, but I’ll tell it again.”

  She went on and told her story in detail.

  The deputy sheriff listened to her attentively, said, “Well, I guess that covers it,” glanced at his companion, cleared his throat, turned to Perry Mason and said, “You were out on deck, Mr. Mason?”

  “That’s right.”

  “What do you know about what happened?”

  “My recollection conforms substantially to the statement made by Mrs. Shelby.”

  “Anyone else on deck?” the deputy asked.

  There was a period of uncomfortable silence.

  “If it hadn’t been for that shot,” the second deputy interposed, “we’d think there wasn’t anything to it, just somebody falling overboard. That shot makes things kinda different. Are you certain you heard a shot, Mrs. Shelby?”

  “Yes.”

  “You had a gun?”

  “That’s right.”

  “But you didn’t shoot it?”

  “No.”

  “You’re sure of that?”

  “Yes.”

  “There’s one empty shell in the cylinder.”

  “I know that.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Mr. Benton broke the gun open after I told him what had happened and he told me there was an empty shell in it. I didn’t know it.”

  “All the others were loaded?”

  “I believe that’s right, yes.”

  The deputy sheriff once more glanced at his companion, then turned to Mason. “Just why were you out on the deck, Mr. Mason?”