Manning said, "Whatever you two say."
"Well," Mason pointed out, "they may subpoena you before the grand jury that's making the investigation. If they do, you answer questions, don't tell any lies; but, answer the questions in such a way you don't volunteer any information-that is, unless Paul instructs you to play it differently."
"Yes, sir," Manning said, "I can play the game, all right."
"Who else knows about this shooting match?" Mason asked.
"No one except Charlie Duncan, and of course he isn't going to talk."
"Where did you say it took place?"
"Right under the casino; there's a long passageway running the length of the storeroom. They keep a lot of canned goods down there."
"Which way did they shoot, toward the bow or toward the stern?"
"Toward the bow."
"What was the distance?"
"Oh, I'd say about thirty or forty feet."
"And Grieb beat Duncan shooting?"
"Yes."
"But Duncan's a good shot?"
"Yes, but you see, it was Grieb's gun and Grieb knew just how to handle it."
"Is Duncan left-handed?"
"No, he's right-handed. Sam was left-handed. That's why he kept the gun in the upper left-hand drawer of his desk."
"They shot into a beam at the end of the passageway?"
"That's right."
"What was the target they were shooting at?"
"A round piece of tin they'd cut from a can with a can opener."
"How did they hold it in place?"
"Drove a nail through it and stuck it into the beam."
"That piece of tin would have been about two or three inches in diameter?" Mason asked.
"Yes, you know, just the top of a tin can, an average-sized tin can."
"But neither one of them hit it, did they?"
"Sure they did. Grieb hit it almost dead center. Duncan missed the center by about half an inch."
Mason regarded Paul Drake with speculative eyes and said, "How about Duncan, Paul? Is he telling the truth about having been ashore filing papers and all that stuff?"
Drake said, "Yes, Perkins was with him, and then you'll remember that I had men shadowing him. Why, Perry? You don't think…"
"How about those fingerprints on the glass top of the desk? Did you find out anything about them?" Mason interrupted.
"A leak from the D.A.'s office," Drake said, "is that the print of the hand and fingers on the desk was made by Sylvia Oxman. I don't know how they found out, perhaps by getting her fingerprints from the articles in her house. It's a cinch they haven't been able to take any fingerprints from her. She's crawled into a hole and pulled the hole in after her."
Mason said thoughtfully, "And you don't think the police know where she is?"
"No… What do you think about this Benson suicide, Perry?"
Mason said, "I don't think, Paul," and closed one eye in a warning wink. "You'd better go back to the office and tip Della off to play 'em close to her chest. And it'd be a good plan to put Manning some place where the dicks can't find him."
"You're not going to release this story now?" Drake asked.
"No. I want to wait until Duncan has sewed himself up good and tight on the incidental details. I want to let the police build up a swell case against Sylvia. Then I want to smash down the house of cards with one big grandstand. I want to do it in a way that'll stampede the witnesses and hit the grand jury with such a smash the whole case will blow up. There are some things about what Sylvia did that would be better hushed up. And I'm not in such a sweet spot myself if the going gets rough. To make Manning's story hold water it's got to be played up just right… You, Manning, keep absolutely quiet about this. Paul will hide you somewhere…"
"You won't need me out on the ship?" Manning asked. "Getting stuff on Duncan?"
"Hell, no," Mason said. "Not now. We've got enough on him now to raise merry hell with a murder case. That's all I want. I'm not representing the insurance company."
"How about you, Perry?" Drake asked. "Can I take you some place?"
Mason shook his head and opened the car door. "I'm on my way," he said, reaching through the open window on the driver's side to give the detective's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Damn good work, Paul," he said. "It's probably saved my bacon."
CHAPTER 11
MASON, DRIVING a rented car, slid into a parking space opposite the Christy Hotel, looked up and down the street, then crossed Hollywood Boulevard. A newsboy waved a paper in his face and Mason caught a glimpse of headlines reading:
LAWYER WANTED IN CONNECTION WITH GAMBLING SHIP MURDER
He bought a paper, walked through the lobby of the hotel, toward the elevator. He paused abruptly as he saw the trim figure of Sylvia Oxman emerge from one of the cages and stand for a moment searching the lobby with her eyes.
Mason abruptly whipped open the newspaper, held it up so it concealed his chest, shoulders, and the lower part of his face, only his eyes being visible over the upper edge.
Sylvia Oxman, her survey of the lobby completed, walked directly to the telephone booths. Mason followed. Still holding the newspaper in front of his face, he stood where he could observe her through the glass door of the telephone booth. She dropped a dime into the slot and dialed a number. Mason was at some pains to watch her gloved forefinger as it spun the dial. He mentally checked each number as she dialed it.
She was, he realized, calling his office.
He stepped into an adjoining booth, and pulled the door shut behind him. Through the partition he could hear Sylvia Oxman's voice. "I want to speak to Mr. Mason, please… This is a client… He'll want to speak with me, I'm sure… Well, when do you expect him?… Will you please tell him that he was called by Miss IOU. I'd better spell that for you. It's I, for Irma, O, for Olga, Y-e-w, but please see that he gets the name as just Miss I. O. Yew. Tell him that I'll call later."
She hung up the receiver. Mason cupped his hands about his mouth, leaned against the thin partition, and called, "Hello, Sylvia, this is Mr. Mason talking."
He could hear her grab at the receiver in the other booth, heard her frantic "Hello! Hello!"-then silence. He stood leaning against the partition, grinning and listening.
Abruptly the door behind him opened, and he turned to confront Sylvia Oxman's smile. "Do you know," she asked, "that you scared me to death for a minute? I recognized your voice and couldn't imagine where in the world it was coming from… Why don't you stay in your office during office hours?"
"Can't," Mason told her.
"Why not?"
By way of answer, he unfolded the newspaper and let her read the headlines.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, her eyes dark with consternation, "I didn't know it would be anything like that."
"It is," Mason told her. "Why did you run out on me?"
"I had to. Frank was aboard."
"How did you know?"
"A man told me."
"Who was the man?"
"I don't know."
Mason said, "Look here. We'd better get where we can talk. How about your room?"
"How did you know I was registered here?"
"A little bird told me."
"The maid's making the room up," she said. "That's why I came downstairs to use the telephone. Let's go over in a corner of the lobby."
"All right," Mason said, and followed her to a comfortable nook. He seated himself beside her, stretched out his long legs, and gravely offered her a cigarette. They lit from the same match, and Mason said, "All right. Let's talk."
She motioned toward the newspaper. "How much of this," she asked, "is because of what you did for me?"
"All of it."
"I'm frightfully sorry. Would it… Would it have helped any if I hadn't run out on you?"