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."