The Case of the Dangerous Dowager (9 page)

"I wasn't a jailer for nothing," Perkins admitted. "Lots of times guys would swear they had a lot more money than they did."

Duncan stared at Mason with narrowed eyes. There was no trace of a smile either on his lips or in his eyes.

"Twenty-five hundred in fifties and hundreds, eh?" he asked.

Perkins said, "That's right."

"Were you," Mason asked, "thinking of something, Duncan?"

"Yes," Duncan said, "I was just thinking that seventy-five hundred dollars from ten thousand would leave twenty-five hundred."

Perkins looked puzzled. Mason's grin was affable. "Quite right, Duncan," he said, "and ten thousand from twelve thousand five hundred would leave twenty-five hundred; and twenty-five thousand from twenty-seven thousand five hundred would still leave twenty-five hundred."

Duncan's face darkened. He said to Perkins, "Could he have folded or wadded up any papers and concealed them on him somewhere?"

Perkins said, with some show of impatience, "Not a chance. I know what to look for, and I know where to look. I've been searching guys for years. Some of 'em used to try putting a flexible saw around the inside of their collars or down the stiffening in the front of their coats. But they didn't get away with it. I'm telling you I searched this guy. He asked for it and he got it."

Duncan jerked the door open and pounded out into the outer corridor. Mason grinned at Perkins. "Did you inventory the chewing gum, Perkins?"

"Sure. Three sticks of Wrigley's Double-Mint. And I even looked at the wrappers to make certain they hadn't been tampered with."

"Well, how about having a stick?" Mason asked. "I think I'll put in another stick to freshen this one."

Perkins said, "No, I don't chew gum, thanks."

Mason paused with the stick of gum half in his mouth and said, "Wait a minute, Perkins. You didn't look in my mouth. Perhaps you'd better do that, just in case there's some question. Duncan, you know, might fight dirty if he had a chance."

"I was thinking of that," Perkins admitted, " – about looking in your mouth, I mean – when Duncan was making all those cracks, but I didn't want to say anything."

Mason moistened his thumb and the tip of his forefinger, pulled out the wad of chewing gum and said, "Well, you'd better take a look now."

Perkins turned Mason's head so that the light showed in his mouth. "Okay," he said, "now raise up your tongue."

Mason raised his tongue. Perkins grinned, nodded, and said, "I'm giving you a clean bill of health. I'll bet fifty bucks you haven't got anything on you except what I inventoried."

Mason slapped Perkins on the shoulder and said, "Let's mingle around and see what Duncan's doing. You can follow his mental processes. First he was damned anxious to have me searched, and then he didn't want me searched. Then, when he realized you were going to search me anyway, he wanted me gone over with a microscope. He figures that something's missing. He's not sure I have it; but if I haven't, he'd like to make me a fall guy, anyhow."

"Well," Perkins said, "so far as I'm concerned, this trip's a bust. I came out here to serve some papers. The man I was to serve them on is dead."

"By the way," Mason said, "how long have you been with Duncan?"

"What do you mean?"

"If it came to a question of an alibi," Mason asked, "how far could you go with Duncan?"

"He picked me up in Los Angeles at ten minutes to five," Perkins said, " – or right around there. It might have been quarter to five, or it might have been around five minutes to five."

"But it was before five o'clock?" Mason asked.

"Yes, I know it was before five o'clock, because he bought me a cocktail and I noticed the clock over the bar. It said five o'clock."

"Then what did you do?"

"We went to dinner; and Duncan explained to me what papers I was to serve and just how I was to go about doing it. He said he wanted to catch Grieb when the place was running full tilt. So I waited around with him until he said okay."

"Did he say why?"

"No, but I gathered it was something about Grieb keeping all the books and the cash. Duncan wanted to serve the papers when the cash was all on the tables and have me go around and make some sort of an inventory, I think."

"Did you have any authority to do that?" Mason asked.

"No, not unless Grieb consented to it, but that would have been the smart thing for Grieb to do."

Mason stepped to the porthole and casually tossed out the wad of gum he had been chewing. "Well, let's go out and see what's happening. Duncan's going to have a job on his hands with these people if he isn't careful. It'll be an hour or so before the officers can get out here."

"When you come right down to it," Perkins said, "this ship's on the high seas, and no one's got any authority here except a representative of the United States Marshal's office."

"Or the Captain," Mason suggested.

"Well, yes, the Captain's entitled to give orders. I suppose they have someone here who rates as a captain, but of course he's just a figurehead. Duncan and Grieb are the big shots. Now Grieb's dead, Duncan's the whole squeeze."

"Yes," Mason said, "and if you wanted to be cold-blooded about it, you could say that Grieb's death hadn't been the worst thing in the world for Charlie Duncan."

"Uh-huh," Perkins grunted noncommittally.

Mason went on, "Duncan, as the surviving partner, will have the job of winding up the partnership affairs. You know, Perkins, if I were you, seeing you have sort of an official status here, I'd stick around to make certain Duncan didn't go back into that room, perhaps long enough to open the vault and start prowling around. You know Manning, who's standing guard, is in the employ of the ship, and, now that Grieb's dead, he's dependent on Duncan for his bread and butter."

Perkins nodded. "I guess that's not a bad idea. The officers may figure I should take charge. I'm a deputy United States Marshal. Thanks for helping me out of a mean situation, Mason. If you'd wanted to be tough about being searched, it would have put me in an awful spot. As an officer, I'd have hated to watch you walk out of that room without being searched, but I'd hate like hell to have had to make a search without a warrant, you being a lawyer and all that."

Mason said, "Don't mention it, Perkins. You know your business, but I really think the place for you is keeping an eye on Manning."

He left the gambling salon for the fog-swept moisture of the decks. A little knot of people were grouped about the raised boat landing. A man standing out near the end was pounding on a rivet which held the grated landing stage. One of the group asked irritably, "How much longer is it going to be?"

Jimmy, the bartender, his white apron removed, a gold braided cap pulled low on his forehead, said in the soothing voice of a man who has learned his diplomacy dealing with drunks across a mahogany bar, "It won't be long now. We've got to get these rivets tightened up so they'll be safe. After all, you know, safety first. When we once get it fixed, it'll only take a minute to lower it and get you people started ashore. There are four speed boats working tonight, and they'll all be hanging around ready to unload, fill up and get going… Why don't you folks go back inside where it's warm? We'll call you just as soon as the landing's fixed."

The man with the irritable voice said, "How do we know this isn't a stall to keep us from leaving the ship with our winnings? I'm almost a hundred dollars ahead and I don't like the way this thing's being handled."

"Aw, go on back in the bar and buy yourself a drink with some of your winnings. It'll make you feel better."

There was a chorus of laughter.

Mason mingled with the crowd. Sylvia Oxman was nowhere in sight. He stood at the rail and stared into the foggy darkness. He could see the dim outlines of red and green lights where two of the speed boats were standing by. The sounds of laughter and joking comments which drifted up from these speed boats showed that the passengers were inclined to take the whole thing as a lark, taking advantage of the informality of the occasion to get acquainted with the unescorted women who had journeyed out to try their luck aboard the craft.

Mason re-entered the lighted interior and went to the bar. A feminine voice said, "How do you do, Mr. Mason."

He turned to meet the whimsical challenge of Matilda Benson's gray eyes.

She seemed hardly more than in her late fifties, the low-cut evening gown showing the firm-fleshed, rounded contours of her throat, bosom and shoulders. Her snow-white hair was swept back from her head in a boyish bob. Her gown sparkled with silver, which glittered in the light as she moved, matching the sheen of her hair.

"Well," she asked, "are you going to buy me a drink? I presume you've already attended to your business."

Mason glanced swiftly about him. A young man had taken Jimmy's place behind the bar and was toiling frantically, trying to keep up with the suddenly increased demands for drinks. His hands were flying from the bottles behind the bar to the keys of the cash register. Several of the persons seated at the bar were attired in hats and coats, waiting for the landing-stage to be fixed. They seemed to be entirely engrossed with their own affairs. There was none of that hushed tension which would grip the people when they realized a murder had been committed.

"Come over here," he invited, "and sit down. I want to talk with you."

"Why so grim?" she asked, laughing. "Don't tell me they've got your goat. I saw a man in a gray suit running around here looking as worried as a taxpayer making out his Income tax return. Someone called him 'Mr. Duncan,' asked him some questions, and got a curse for an answer. Surely, if you've got the opposition as worried as that, it's a good sign for us."

Mason said, "Lower your voice. Here, sit down at this table."

"You'll have to go to the bar if you want to get anything," she said. "I never saw such poor service. The bartender's away, and the man who was waiting on tables has had to take his place behind the bar, and…"

"We don't want service," Mason said, "we want to talk. This is a good place. All the others are crowding around the bar. Now, how long have you been here?"

"Quite a little while," she said chuckling. "I was here before you came aboard. I knew this was a pretty tough place and I thought I'd be on hand in case you needed reinforcements."

"Did you see Sam Grieb?"

"No."

Mason stared steadily at her and said, "Did you see anyone whom you knew?"

"Why?"

"Never mind why," Mason said, "go ahead and answer the question. Did you see anyone whom you knew?"

She said slowly, "Frank Oxman came out, but he didn't see me, and he didn't stay."

"How do you know he didn't see you?"

"Because I saw him first and took good care to keep out of his way."

"How long after you came here did he arrive?"

"About an hour and a half. I had dinner aboard, and it wasn't much of a dinner. However, I suppose…"

"Who else did you see?" Mason asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Go on," Mason told her.

"Why are you asking me these questions?"

"Because it's important."

"No one," she said, staring steadily at him.

"Did you know when I came aboard?"

She nodded and said, "I was out on deck, getting some fresh air. It was foggy, so I didn't stay long. I was there by the rail near the bow when you came aboard."

"Did you see anyone else whom you knew aboard the ship?"

"No."

"You'd swear to that?"

"Why, yes, if I had to." She settled back in her chair and said, "Now if you've quite finished, you might go to the bar and get me a Tom Collins. I can't satisfy my craving for tobacco by puffing at these insipid cigarettes. I'm dying for a real smoke. To tell you the truth, I went up on deck to find a place where I could puff on a cigar, but there was an amorous couple huddled against the rail and I was afraid the young man would go into a monastery and shave his head if I shattered his romantic ideals by letting him see what age and freedom will do for a woman."

Mason leaned across the table, studied the twinkling humor of the alert gray eyes and said abruptly, "Sam Grieb's been murdered."

Her face was an expressionless mask. "How do you know?" she asked.

Mason said slowly, "You knew he'd been murdered."

"I didn't know any such thing."

"Then why did you lie to me?"

The gray eyes glinted dangerously. "I'm not accustomed," she said, "to being talked to…"

"Why did you lie to me?" Mason asked.

"What do you mean?"

"You lied to me about Sylvia."

"What about her?"

"She was aboard, and you knew she was aboard. You saw her here."

The gray eyes faltered. She stretched a jeweled hand across the table and said, "Give me one of your cigarettes."

Mason opened his cigarette case. She took a cigarette, Mason scraped a match on the underside of the table, held the flame to her cigarette, took another cigarette for himself, lit it, and exhaled twin streams of white smoke through appreciative nostrils.

"I'm listening," he told her.

She avoided his eyes, puffed rapidly at the cigarette, took it from her lips, ground it into the ash tray and said, "Isn't there some place where we can smoke?"

"It may not be a good idea for us to be together at all," Mason said. "Right now this is the best place for us to talk. The gang's up at the bar with their backs turned to us… and I'm still listening."

She toyed with the rim of the ash tray with nervous fingers, then looked up at him and said, "Yes, Sylvia was out here."

"I know she was out here. Why didn't you tell me she was here?"

"Because… Well, because of lots of things."

"What, for instance?"

"The way Sylvia acted."

"For God's sake," Mason told her impatiently, "quit beating around the bush. I'm a lawyer retained by you to protect Sylvia's interests. How the devil can I do it if you keep playing button-button-who's-got-the-button? Inside of a few minutes the officers are going to show up, and the party may get rough. I want to know what happened, what I've got to guard against, and what I've got to meet."

She said slowly, "Sylvia went to the offices. I was afraid she was going to play right into Grieb's hand, and I didn't know what to do. I didn't want her to see me. That was why I went out on deck. I kept hoping you'd turn up. Sure enough, you came pretty soon after that. I heaved a big sigh of relief. I thought you'd probably run into Sylvia in the office."

"Now wait a minute," Mason said, "let's get this straight. Sylvia came aboard before I did?"

"Yes."

"How many boats before?"

"I don't know. I didn't see her when she first came aboard. Naturally, I hadn't expected she would come here at all. Otherwise I'd have stayed away. I didn't want her to know I was taking an interest in her affairs. If she'd seen me, she'd have known at once…"

"Never mind that," Mason said. "Let's get down to brass tacks and stay there. Where was she when you first saw her?"

"She was just coming into the casino."

"What did you do?"

"I kept out of sight. She went to a table, said something to the croupier, and then headed straight for that corridor which goes into Grieb's office… I slipped up the stairs and went out on deck."

"Was she betting?"

"No, she was asking something of the man at the wheel. I thought perhaps she was asking whether Grieb was in."

"So what?" Mason asked.

"Well, that's all. I went up on deck and stayed there. It was foggy and I got chilled, but I didn't dare go back for fear I'd run into her."

"Now, where was her husband?"

"Frank Oxman," she said, "must have come aboard earlier, perhaps while I was in the casino. The first I knew that he was aboard was when I saw him leave. He came out of the salon wearing a cap and overcoat, walked within a very few feet of me, and I was afraid he'd see me. Then he went to the place where passengers wait, and went down the stairs and took the boat which pulled out just a few minutes after you'd come aboard."

"Was anyone following him?" Mason asked.

She shook her head and said, "I don't think so," then said, "Wait a minute. There was a man who had been wandering around as though he was looking for someone. He kept hanging around but didn't gamble. He went back on the same speed boat Frank took. He may have been a detective."

"And I had arrived on board before that?"

"Yes. But not very long before. He left perhaps ten minutes after you arrived. You may have met him."

Mason frowned thoughtfully, then said, "I wouldn't have known him if I had met him. What about Sylvia?"

"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?"