Oxman rotated the cigar in the flame of the match, in order to get it burning evenly, shook the match out, and said, "You're a rotten bluffer, Mason."
"I'm not bluffing," the lawyer told him. "I can prove the ninety-five-hundred-dollar business by the night clerk in the hotel. I don't need to rely on my private detectives there."
"Yes," Oxman said, studying the tip of the cigar with thoughtful eyes, but still keeping the faintly scornful smile about the corners of his mouth, "you could do that, all right. What you have overlooked is that you'd have to prove I had only ninety-five hundred dollars when I went aboard that gambling ship. As a matter of fact, I had seventeen thousand dollars. After I paid seventy-five hundred dollars for the IOU's, I had nine thousand five hundred left. I got the IOU's for about half what I expected I'd have to pay."
For a moment the two men smoked in silence. Gradually, the smile on Oxman's lips broadened into a grin. "You see, Mason," he said, "as a lawyer it should have occurred to you, but probably hasn't, that you'd have to prove I had only ninety-five hundred dollars when I went aboard the ship. There's no way on God's green earth you can prove it. As a matter of fact, it isn't so. I had seventeen thousand dollars."
Mason pinched out the end of his cigarette. "You don't understand what I'm getting at, Oxman. I'm not talking now about what I intend to prove in court. When I leave here, I'm going to Carter Squires. I'm going to tell him my story. Squires was financing you in this thing. He knows how much money you took aboard that ship. When he finds out you tried to double-cross him by knocking down seventy-five hundred dollars, leaving him holding the sack, he won't like it. From all I can hear, Squires is a poor man to cross… Well, the three minutes are up, Oxman. Go ahead and telephone the house detective."
Oxman sat motionless on the bed, his eyes hard and glittering, staring at Mason with hatred and apprehension. There was no trace of a smile about the corners of his mouth.
"All right, then," Mason said, "I'll be on my way." He started toward the door. Bed springs squeaked as Oxman jerked himself upright and started after the lawyer. "Now, wait a minute, Mason," he said. "Let's talk this thing over."
Mason turned toward him. "What do you want to talk over?" he asked.
Oxman said, "You're all wet, but I'd hate to have you go to Squires with a story like that."
"Well?" Mason inquired.
Oxman shrugged his shoulders and said, "Nothing. I'd just hate to have you do it. Squires can't make any trouble for me, you know, but I've been friendly with him for some time, and I'd hate to have you introduce an element of friction."
Mason stood facing Oxman, feet spread apart, shoulders squared, eyes studying the slender man with a cold scorn. Abruptly he pulled the IOU's from his pocket, tore them into pieces and stepped into the bathroom. A moment later he returned and said, "Okay, Oxman, we'll forget that about the forgeries and figure your IOU's are genuine."
Oxman's face showed sudden relief. "That's better," he said. "I thought you'd be sensible. Now, what do you want?"
"Nothing," Mason told him. "You may have walked down the corridor to those offices and seen Sylvia bending over the desk. You may have seen the original IOU's on the desk. I don't know. If you did, you'll never dare to admit it, because that would brand your story about paying seventy-five hundred dollars to Grieb as a lie."
"What are you getting at?" Oxman asked.
"Simply this," Mason said, grinning mirthlessly, "I thought I knew the answer, but I wanted to make sure. I wanted to find out definitely and positively that Carter Squires could establish that you had only ninety-five hundred dollars with you when you went aboard that gambling ship. Nine thousand five hundred dollars which he'd given you with which to pick up those IOU's.
"Now then, you've admitted in writing that you saw Grieb after you went aboard the ship. You claim that you purchased the IOU's from him. You have those IOU's in your possession. You've allowed the newspapers to take photographs of them. And you returned from that gambling ship with the same amount of cash with which you boarded it-nine thousand five hundred dollars. Now then, according to your story, you must have been the last person to see Grieb alive! You received seven thousand five hundred dollars in IOU's from him and you didn't pay him any money.
"The question arises, how did you get them? The answer is you had a fight with Grieb, shot him through the head and took the IOU's. In case it's of any interest to you, Mr. Frank Oxman, your wife will go before the Federal Grand Jury, look at those IOU's and unhesitatingly and absolutely identify them as the original IOU's which she gave Sam Grieb. That'll cost her seventy-five hundred dollars in cash, but having you hung for murder will be worth it."
Mason strode to the door and threw back the bolt. He turned on the threshold to look at Frank Oxman.
Oxman's face showed startled consternation. "My God, Mason. You can't do that. Sylvia can't. You wouldn't…"
Mason stepped out into the hallway, pulled the door half shut behind him, grinned and said, "And I don't think I want to play poker with you, Oxman. It wouldn't do me any good to win your clothes. They're too small for a real man to wear. Good day!"
Mason slammed the door, walked down the corridor to the stairway, descended two floors, and tapped on the door of Sylvia Oxman's room. He heard the rustle of motion on the other side of the door, but no sound of the door being opened.
"Okay, Sylvia," Mason said in a low voice, "open up."
She opened the door and stared at him with anxious, apprehensive eyes.
"You can quit worrying about your husband," Mason announced.
"Why, what did you do?"
"Put him on the defensive," Mason told her grimly. "My best guess is he'll take a run-out powder."
"Tell me what you did."
"Made him the last man to see Grieb alive," the lawyer said. "That lying written statement really puts him in a jam. Now it's up to him to squirm out. By the way, Sylvia, he's here in the hotel."
She recoiled. "He's where?"
"Here in the hotel, upstairs, in five-nineteen. How did you happen to come here?"
"Why… why, we came here once when we were dodging some people we didn't want to see. We didn't want to be home, and… Oh, I should have known he'd come here, if I stopped to think of it. This hotel is his hide-out… You didn't tell him I was here?"
"No, of course not."
"Do you think he knows?"
"I don't know. He may have seen you in the lobby. Do any of the bellboys know who you are?"
"No, I don't think so."
"Well," Mason told her, "you'd better sit tight. Keep your door locked and if anyone knocks, don't answer unless you know who it is."
She sat down on the edge of the bed as though her knees had lost their strength. "I don't want to stay here," she said. "I want to get out."
"No, Sylvia, that's the worst thing you could do. Remember, the officers are looking for you. You don't dare register now at any hotel. I think Frank will be leaving here within an hour."
She looked down at the carpet, then suddenly raised her eyes to his and said, "Mr. Mason, why are you doing this for me?"
"I want to see that you get a square deal," he told her.
"Why?"
"Oh, you're sort of a half-way client of mine," he said, making his voice casual.
"You said something like that once before. Now I want to know why." As he said nothing, but remained silent, she went on, "I saw you and another man aboard the gambling ship the other night when I went out to talk with Grieb about those notes. It impressed me at the time that there was something queer about the way everyone acted when I showed up. Now I realize what it must have been."
"What?" Mason asked her.