"Of course it is," Duncan said impatiently, "but watch Mason. Don't let him pull any fast ones, and don't let him ditch anything."
Mason drawled, "If you feel that way about it, Duncan, in justice to myself, I demand that I be handcuffed."
"You're asking for it?" Perkins inquired. Mason nodded.
Perkins heaved a sigh of relief and said, "You heard him say that, Duncan."
Duncan said, "Sure I did. Don't be so damn technical. Put the bracelets on him."
Mason held out his wrists. Perkins slipped the handcuffs on them and said, "Come on, let's go."
"The second door on the left after you go through the door marked 'Private,' at the end of the bar," Duncan instructed.
The man in tweeds slipped his right arm through Mason's left arm and said, "Put your wrists down, buddy. Then your coat sleeves will conceal the handcuffs. I'll hold my hand here and we can walk through the bar without making a lot of commotion."
Mason, still casually chewing gum, permitted himself to be escorted along the passageway, through the bar, through the door marked "Private," and into Duncan 's bedroom.
Perkins closed the door behind them and said, "You understand I haven't any hard feelings."
Mason nodded.
"And I'm just following Duncan 's orders. He's the one who's responsible, in case you feel like making any trouble."
"I don't feel like making any trouble," Mason said, "unless you put me in a position where I have to. You're in enough trouble already."
"What do you mean?"
"Leaving Duncan alone in that room."
"Somebody has to stay there until the authorities show up."
Mason shrugged his shoulders as though dismissing the subject. "The name's Perkins?" he asked.
"Yes."
"All right, Perkins, Duncan wants you to search me, and I want to be searched. You can start with the wallet in my inside coat pocket. You'll find some money in there and some business cards, a driving license, and a lodge card."
Perkins pulled the wallet from the inner pocket of Mason's coat, opened it, looked hastily through the wallet, then pushed it back in Mason's pocket. He patted Mason's pockets in search of a gun, then inserted the key in the handcuffs with fumbling fingers and said, "I hope you aren't going to be sore about this, Mr. Mason, I…"
As the handcuffs clicked open, Mason said, "Now wait a minute, Perkins. Let's go at this thing right. I'm doing this for my own protection. Now let's make a good job of it."
Mason walked to the dresser and emptied his pockets, then unfastened his collar.
"What are you doing?" Perkins asked.
"I'm stripping," Mason told him, "and you're going to search every inch of me and every stitch of clothes I've got on. Later on, you're going to get on the witness stand and swear that I didn't take anything out of that room, that I haven't any weapon on me and that you've listed absolutely everything which was in my possession."
Perkins nodded and said, "That suits me swell."
Mason had just taken off his shirt when the door opened and Duncan entered the room.
"What's coming off here?" Duncan asked.
Mason grinned and said, "Everything. I'm going to get a clean bill of health out of this."
"You don't need to go that far," Duncan said, his voice conciliatory.
"Well, I'm going that far," Mason told him.
"But that's absurd. I'm not accusing you of murder or of robbery, but you're a lawyer and I don't know just what your client's up to. I thought perhaps you might have picked up a gun in there, or perhaps there was some evidence you didn't want to have the officers find and…"
"Exactly," Mason said, "so we're going to settle this business right now and right here."
"Just search him for a gun, Perkins," Duncan ordered. "This business of taking off all of his clothes is absurd."
Perkins frowned. "A little while ago," he said, "you wanted him turned inside out. Now you…"
Mason, unbuckling his belt and slipping off his trousers, interrupted him. "Can't you see what he's doing, Perkins? He realizes now that it would have been a lot better for him if he'd let me go out without being searched. Then if anything was missing he could blame it on me. He'd like to have you make just a casual search now, and then, later on, he could claim there was something you didn't find."
"You talk as though you knew all about what I was thinking," Duncan said sarcastically.
Mason kicked off his shoes, pulled off his undershirt, stepped out of his shorts and stooped to unfasten his garters. "Perhaps I do," he said grimly. "Now, Perkins, go through my clothes and make a list of everything you find. As you finish with my clothes, hand them back to me and I'll put them on."
Duncan shoved a cigar into his mouth, took from his pocket a card of matches bearing the imprint of the gambling ship, started to say something, then checked himself and stood, matches in hand, chewing the cigar thoughtfully and watching Perkins go through Mason's clothes and toss them back to the lawyer.
While Mason was dressing, Perkins made a laborious inventory of the articles on the dresser which Mason had taken from his pockets.
Mason turned to Duncan and said, "Light your cigar, Duncan, you make me nervous. Did you lock up the offices?"
Duncan nodded, absently pulled a key from his pocket and held it out to Perkins.
"Any other keys to the door?" Mason asked.
"Only the one Grieb has," Duncan said, "and Arthur Manning's on guard in front of the door, with instructions not to let anyone in. I've sent word by one of the speed boats to telephone the police and have them come out and take charge."
"I suppose," Mason said, "you've stopped anyone from leaving the ship?"
Duncan shook his head. "I haven't any authority to do that. They could sue me for damages. People come and go, and I've got no right to…" As he talked, his voice gradually lost its assurance, first became a mumbling monotone, then faded into dubious silence.
Perkins looked up from making his inventory and said, "Hell, Duncan, they shouldn't be allowed to leave. The police won't like that. The officers will want to interview everyone aboard the ship at the time. Letting people leave is the worst thing you can do." As he spoke, the ripping exhaust of a speed boat gave unmistakable evidence that the launches were continuing their regular trips.
Duncan stepped out into the corridor, pushed open the door to the bar and yelled, "Jimmy, come in here." He returned to the bedroom while Perkins was counting the money in Mason's wallet.
He left the door open, and the bald-headed bartender, wearing his white apron, a genial smile turning up his fat lips, entered the room and let the smile fade into frowning concentration as he surveyed the three men. His eyes grew hard and watchful. "What is it?" he asked.
Duncan said, "We've had some trouble aboard, Jimmy."
The bartender, taking a cautious step toward Perkins and Mason, held his left shoulder slightly forward, his weight on the balls of his feet, his right fist doubled. "What trouble?" he asked ominously.
"Not here," Duncan said hastily, "it's in the other office. Something's happened to Sam Grieb."
"What?" the bartender asked, his eyes still watching Mason and Perkins.
"He was murdered."
"Who did it?"
"We don't know."
"Okay," the bartender said, "what do I do with these guys?"
"Nothing. I want you to stop the launches," Duncan said. "Don't let anyone leave until the police get here."
"Have you sent word to the police?"
"Yes."
The bartender slowly turned away from Mason and Perkins, to stare at Duncan.
"Just how do you want me to go about it?"
"Put a couple of boys at the head of the landing stairs and on the platform. Don't let anyone come aboard or get off."