"I stayed out on deck. I didn't want Sylvia to see me. I must have been there ten or fifteen minutes when Sylvia came out. A man followed her. He said, 'Frank's aboard. Beat it,' and then he stepped back into the casino. Sylvia went..." She abruptly stopped in mid-sentence.

  "Go on," Mason said, "went where?"

  She kept her jeweled fingers busy with the edge of the cigarette tray and said, "Went back."

  "Back where?"

  "Back on the speed boat, of course."

  Mason studied her face. "That wasn't what you were going to say."

  "Yes, it was."

  Mason said, "Don't be a fool. I know you started to say something else."

  "Why?"

  "Because the way you bit off that sentence showed that you'd almost betrayed yourself into saying something you didn't want to say. Then when I asked you where she went and you said that she went back to the shore, there was relief in your voice to think you hadn't gone far enough with your other sentence to keep from patching it up. Now I want to know where Sylvia went when she came out of the casino."

  Matilda Benson lit another cigarette and puffed on it.

  "Tell me where she went," Mason demanded insistently.

  "She went to the rail."

  "And what did she do at the rail?"

  Matilda Benson said slowly, "She fumbled with her handbag, and a second or so later I heard something splash in the water."

  "Something heavy?"

  "It made a splash."

  "Was it a gun?"

  "I'm sure I couldn't tell you what it was."

  "Did anyone else see her?"

  Matilda Benson delayed the shake of her head for almost a second.

  Mason said, "In other words, someone did see her."

  "The young couple who were doing the necking may have seen her. I don't know. It depends upon how engrossed they were in what they were doing. You see, when Sylvia came out of the lighted interior her eyes were unaccustomed to the darkness and she stood quite close to the young couple, apparently without knowing it. Just before the sound of the splash, the neckers acted as though they'd seen something, and I heard them whisper excitedly. Then Sylvia ran down to the speed boat."

  "Sylvia was standing close to you?"

  "Quite close, yes."

  "Now wait a minute," Mason went on. "There was a speed boat waiting at the landing?"

  "Yes."

  "Couldn't the people in that launch have seen her toss something overboard?"

  "I don't know. I don't think so."

  "Now, Sylvia came out of the casino and went right to the rail?"

  "That's right... This man told her Frank was aboard and to beat it. Then she went right to the rail."

  "And from the rail she went right down to the speed boat?"

  "Yes."

  "Now, who was this man?"

  "I don't know. It was someone who'd followed Sylvia up from the casino. He stuck his head out of the door told her Frank was aboard and for her to beat it. Then he ducked back into the door and Sylvia crossed to the rail."

  "You didn't see this man?"

  "Only as a dim figure popping his head out of the door from the casino."

  "Light was streaming through that door?"

  "No, it opens from stairs and a curtained corridor. There was very little light."

  "How was Sylvia dressed?"

  "She had on a dark suit with a three-quarter length jacket."

  "And a hat?"

  "Yes."

  "That was the same way she was dressed when you first saw her in the casino?"

  "Yes."

  "Now look here," Mason said, "she must have worn a coat over here."

  "She has a very nice fur coat that..."

  "I know she has," Mason said. "Now here's what I'm getting at: she must have checked that coat. Pretty soon the officers are going to come aboard. They'll get the names and addresses of everyone on the ship. After a while they'll let people go home. Then the check girl will report that someone has left a very valuable fur coat. The police will put two and two together. If Sylvia claims that fur coat, she'll be walking into a trap. If she doesn't claim it, it will be equivalent to a declaration of guilt. The police will trace that coat, and Sylvia will be in a sweet mess. Now do you suppose..."

  She interrupted him and said, "Yes, I could go down to the girl at the checking counter, tell her I'd lost my coat check, give her a dollar tip and..."

  "Could you describe the fur coat well enough to get it?" Mason asked.

  "Yes. I bought the coat for Sylvia. There's a tag on the inside of the pocket with Sylvia's name printed on it and the number of an insurance policy. I could tell the girl I was Sylvia, and get the coat."

  Mason surveyed the full-fleshed arms in rather critical appraisal. She nodded and said, "Yes, I can wear the coat. I wouldn't try to button it."

  "That," Mason told her, "will leave your coat unaccounted for. You checked it?"

  "Well, yes, but I can go down and present my check, get my coat, park it somewhere, then go back and make the stall about Sylvia's coat and go ashore with both coats. I'll go..."

  "No," Mason interrupted, "you can't do that. The girl in the check room might remember you, and you haven't enough time to wait more than a minute or two in between trips. It's too dangerous."

  "There's no other way out," she said.

  "Give me your check," Mason told her, "and wait here."

  She opened her handbag, handed the lawyer a printed oblong pasteboard, and remarked, "I like the way you're handling things. I'm going to show my gratitude in a substantial way."

  "Yes," the lawyer told her, "you can send me pies and cakes while I'm in jail."

  She stared at him with speculative eyes and said, "Apparently you don't mean that as a wise-crack."

  "I don't," he told her. "When they check up on me, I'm going to be in a spot. Sylvia left me holding the sack. You wait here."

  He walked down the passageway to the checking room, pushed the numbered pasteboard across the counter to the girl on duty and dropped a fifty-cent piece into her outstretched hand. "My wife's seasick," he explained. "Get me that coat in a rush."

  "Seasick! Why there's hardly any motion..."

  Mason made a grimace and said, "She thinks she's seasick. Suppose you go argue with her?"

  The girl's laughter rang out merrily as she handed Mason the coat. Her brown eyes swept the lawyer's broad shoulders and clean-cut features in swift appraisal. "We hope you won't stop coming out," she said, "just because your wife gets seasick."

  "I won't," Mason assured her, and took the coat to Matilda Benson. "Here you are," he said. "I'll leave it to you to get the other coat. You may have to..." He broke off as from the outer darkness came the sound of a speed boat roaring through the fog. "That," he said, "sounds like the officers. We'll have to hurry."

  "Shall I give them my right name?"

  "Not unless you have to," he told her, "but be careful. They'll probably want to see some identification, driver's license or something of that sort. You can tell what you're up against by getting a place near the last of the line-up. There are probably quite a few men and women on board who'd just as soon not give their right names. It'll be a tedious process weeding them out. Along toward the last, the officers may get tired and let down the bars a bit. Be careful you don't get caught in a lie."

  She tilted her head back, squared her jaw and said with calm confidence, "I've told some whoppers in my time and made them stick. You'd better go out that door to the left, because I'm going out through the door to the right."

  Mason said, "Happy landing," and walked out through the door to the left, into the casino. He was half way to the roulette tables when a man in a rubber raincoat which still glistened with fog and spray, called out, "Attention, everybody! A murder's been committed aboard this ship. No one's going to be allowed to leave. You will all kindly remain inside and not try to leave this room. If you'll co-operate with us, it won't be long. If you don't co-operate, you'll be here all night.

  CHAPTER 7

  PERRY MASON stood near the end of the long line which serpentined its way toward a table where two officers sat taking names, addresses, and checking credentials.

  The deserted gambling tables were an incongruous reminder of the gaiety which had been stilled by death. Laughter, the rattle of chips, and the whirring roulette balls no longer assailed the ears. The only sounds which broke the silence were the gruff voices of the officers, the frightened replies of the patrons, and the slow, rhythmic creaking of the old ship as it swayed on the lazy swells of the fog-covered ocean.

  Mason surveyed the line in frowning anxiety. He could find no trace of Matilda Benson, yet every person aboard the ship had been mustered into that line. It was certain that no one could have gone down the companionway without presenting a written pass signed by the officers who were conducting the examination.

  In the executive offices, men were busy with the details incident to murder cases. Photographs had been taken showing the location and position of the body. The furniture was being dusted with special powders, designed to bring out latent fingerprints. Men came and went from the entrance to the offices, and the frightened line of shuffling spectators turned anxious faces to regard these hurrying officers with morbid curiosity.

  A man emerged from the L-shaped hallway, approached the line and called out, "Where's Perry Mason, the lawyer?"

  Mason held up his hand.

  "This way," the officer said, turned on his heel, and strode back through the door. Mason followed him. He could hear the sound of voices as he walked down the corridor, voices which held the deep rumble of ominous interrogation. Then he heard the sound of Charlie Duncan's voice, raised in high-pitched, vehement denial.

  Mason followed the officer through the door into the outer office. Grim-faced officers were interrogating Duncan. As Mason entered the room, Duncan was saying "...of course I had difficulties with him. I didn't like the way he was running things. I filed suit against him this afternoon, but I didn't do it to take advantage of him. I did it because I wasn't going to be ruined by the goofy ideas of a man who doesn't know the business..."

  He stopped talking as he saw Mason.

  One of the officers said, "Are you Perry Mason, the lawyer?"

  Mason nodded.

  "You were in this room when the body was discovered?"

  "Yes."

  "What were you doing here?"

  "Sitting here, waiting."

  "Waiting for what?"

  "For someone to come in."

  "Had you knocked at the door of the inner office?"

  "Yes."

  "You didn't get any answer?"

  "No."

  "Did you try the knob of the door?"

  Mason frowned thoughtfully and said, "It's hard to tell, looking back on it, just what I did do. When I came in here, I regarded my visit as just a routine call, and, naturally, didn't pay any great attention to a lot of details which didn't impress me as being important or significant."

  One of the officers said, "Well, they aren't unimportant and they aren't insignificant."

  Mason smiled affably. "It's so difficult to tell in advance - which is probably why our hindsight is better than our foresight."

  There was a moment of silence, during which Mason studied the faces of the officers. They had evidently been recruited from various channels, and rushed out to make an investigation. One of the men was apparently a city police officer, with the rank of sergeant. Another was undoubtedly a motorcycle traffic officer. The third was a plainclothesman, apparently a detective. The other was probably a deputy sheriff or marshal, or both.

  While Mason was watching them, one of the officers entered the room with Arthur Manning. Accompanying Manning were two people, a young man in his middle twenties, and a girl, who was wearing a beige sport suit. A dark brown scarf, knotted loosely about her throat, matched her brown shoes and bag. She carried a coat with a fur collar over her arm.

  Manning said, "I've just found..."

  The sergeant checked him by holding up a warning hand and said, "Let's finish with this phase of the inquiry first. Now you, Mr. Mason, were waiting here in the outer office?"

  "Yes."

  "How long had you been here?"

  "Perhaps five minutes, perhaps not that long. I can't tell exactly."

  "You were waiting to see Mr. Grieb?"

  "Yes."

  "Why?"

  "I had business with him."

  "What was the nature of the business?"

  Mason shook his head smilingly. "As an attorney I can't be interrogated about the affairs of my clients."

  "You refuse to answer?"

  "Yes."

  "That's not the law," the sergeant protested angrily. "The only thing you can hold out is a confidential communication made to you by your client. I happen to know, because I heard the point argued in court once."

  Mason said deprecatingly, "You can hear so much argued in court, Sergeant, that it's quite discouraging. I, myself, have heard many court arguments."

  The plainclothesman grinned. The sergeant flushed, turned to Duncan and said, "When you came in the office, where was Mr. Mason sitting?"

  "In that chair."

  "What was he doing?"

  "Looking at a magazine."

  "You don't know what he was reading?"

  "No, I don't. He made some remark about the magazine being an old one. I can't remember just what it was."

  "The door to the inner office was locked?"

  "Yes."

  "You had a key for it?"

  "Yes."

  "Were there any other keys?"

  "Only the one Grieb had."

  "The one we found on his key ring?"

  "Yes."

  "It was customary to keep this door locked?"

  "Absolutely. That was one rule we never violated. This door was kept closed, locked and barred at all times."

  "So that Mr. Grieb, himself, must have opened this door?"

  "Yes."

  "And then returned to his desk, after admitting some visitor?"

  "That's right."

  "Now, there's no way of reaching that inner office, except through this door; is that right?"

  "That's right."

  "How about the porthole?" Mason asked. "There's a porthole directly over the desk, and another on either side. Wouldn't it have been possible for someone to have lowered himself down the side of the ship and fired a shot..."

  "No," the sergeant interrupted, "it would have been impossible. Excluding a theory of suicide, which the evidence won't support, the person who fired the fatal shot must have stood near the corner of Grieb's desk, and shot him with a .38 caliber automatic. Moreover, the empty shell was ejected and was found on the floor." He turned back to Duncan. "You opened the door to the inner office," he said, "and found Grieb's body in the chair. Then what did you do?"

  "I was pretty excited," Duncan said. "Naturally, it knocked me for a loop. I remember going over to make certain he was dead, and then I said something to Mason and... Oh, yes, we looked around for a gun. There was some question about whether it was suicide."

  "Do you remember anything else?"

  Duncan shook his head and said, "No. We came on out. Mason was making a few wise-cracks. I wanted him searched..."

  "Why did you want him searched?"

  "Because he'd been sitting here in the office. Naturally I was suspicious... That is, I thought it would be a good idea to search him and see if perhaps he had a key to that door, or a gun, or... Well, he might have had a lot of things in his pockets."

  "Did Mason object to being searched?"

  "On the contrary," Mason interrupted, smiling, "I demanded it. Mr. Perkins, an officer who came aboard with Mr. Duncan, handcuffed me, so I couldn't take anything from my pockets, took me into another room, had me undress, and searched me from the skin out. But Mr. Duncan was alone with the body for several minutes."

  "No, I wasn't," Duncan retorted angrily. "And that reminds me of something else I did. I pushed the alarm button which called Manning. That button sounds buzzers in various places and turns on a red light in all four corners of the gambling room. Manning came in here within a matter of seconds."