I have looked around, trying to find some means of communicating my predicament, some way of reaching someone, but the noise of the storm, the lateness of the hour, and the fact that I am isolated in a rear guest cabin have made this impossible.
I have one hope, and one hope alone. I have decided to write down everything that happened, seal it in a bottle, and toss that bottle out through the porthole. Then, if George should come back, I will tell him what I have done. I will tell him that the bottle will eventually drift ashore, and will most surely be found. In that way—well, at least I can hope that he will listen to reason, but I feel that the man, with the insane cunning which is apparently a family taint, intends to see to it that my hps will be forever sealed.
Signed
Mason felt the girl’s fingers pressing into his arm. “I’ve got him!” she exclaimed triumphantly. “I’ve got him, I’ve got him, I’ve got him! Do you realize what this letter means? I’ve got him!”
“It’s me you’re getting,” Mason pointed out. “I may want to use that arm again.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Just who is this Minerva Danby?” Mason asked.
“I don’t know very much about her except what’s in this letter. All I know is that she was drowned. She was washed overboard from Alder’s yacht about six months ago. That was the story.”
Mason said cautiously, “Since I now seem to have become an accessory after the fact to a full-scale burglary, you might tell me a little something about what happened.”
She said excitedly, “Oh, I always knew that there was something fishy with this business about Corrine. I felt certain she wasn’t dead, and now … Oh, you can see what a terrific difference it makes.”
“Just what difference does it make?”
She said, “I’m related to Corrine, probably the only living blood relative she has. Oh, this is going to make a difference, a big difference.”
Mason said, “Under the circumstances you’d better tell me a lot more.”
“What more is there to tell? The letter speaks for it-self.”
“It doesn’t speak for you.”
“Why should I speak?” she demanded.
Mason said, “Let’s try being practical for a change.
I’m a responsible citizen. I find you committing burglary and circumstances conspire to put me in a position of helping you out.”
“You said you were a lawyer.”
“All right, I’m a lawyer. It just might be that George S. Alder would very much enjoy being in a position to accuse me of having conspired with you to steal this evidence from his house.”
“Can’t you see,” she said, scornfully, “that Alder can’t accuse anyone of anything? He doesn’t dare let this letter be made public.”
“All right,” Mason said patiendy. “What are you going to do with the letter?”
“IH make it public.”
“And just how will you then account for the fact that this letter came into your possession?”
“Why, I’ll go to the newspapers. Ill say that … “
“Yes, go on,” Mason said.
“Couldn’t I say that I found the letter?”
“Where?”
“On the beach somewhere.”
“And then Alder would introduce witnesses showing that the letter had been in his possession, that it had been taken from his house, and you’d be facing a perjury charge as well as a burglary charge.”
There was dismay in her voice. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“I was satisfied you hadn’t. Now suppose you tell me who you are, how you knew the letter was there, and a few other things.”
“And suppose I don’t?”
“There’s always the police.”
“You haven’t told me anything about you,” she flared.
“That’s right,” Mason said dryly, “I haven’t.”
She thought the situation over for several seconds, then said with sullen reluctance. “I’m Dorothy Fenner. I have a job as secretary to a broker. When my mother died she left me a little money. I came here from Colorado two years ago.
“My mother was a sister of Cora Lansing. Cora married Jack Lansing. They had one child, Corrine. The marriage wasn’t a success. Cora Lansing married Samuel Nathan Alder. They had one son, George S. Alder. Corrine is five years older than George.
“So you see that, despite the difference in ages, I’m Corrine’s full cousin. We were very close. Aunt Cora died ten years ago, then George’s father died and left the property in a sort of trust to Corrine, George and Dorley Alder, George’s uncfe.”
“How do you get along with the Alders?” Mason asked. “Not very well, I take it.”
“I get along fine with Uncle Dorley. He’s a splendid man. I don’t get along with George Alder at all. No one does unless they let George dominate body and souL”
“And how did you know about this letter?” Mason asked.
“I … I can’t telL”
“Better get your story ready,” Mason warned.
She said, “I heaid about it.”
“How?”
“Well, if you want to know, Uncle Dorley gave me the hint.”
“Indeed,” Masofl said, his voice showing interest.
“It was just a question he asked,” she said. “He told me he understood Pete Cadiz had picked up a letter Minerva Danby had written before she was washed overboard. He asked me if I knew anything about it if George had said anything to me.”
“Do you know Pete Cadiz?”
“Sure. I guess all the yachtsmen know him. He’s a sort of beachcomber. Everyone knows who he is.”
“Then Dorley knows about the letter?”
“He knows something about it.”
“And why didn’t you go to George Alder and ask him about it point-blank?”
She said, “That shows how little you know George Alder. I think he was ready to destroy this letter. He’d have done it already, if perhaps he didn’t think Pete Cadiz or someone else knew what was in it.
“All I wanted to do was to read it. I knew George Alder was having a big party tonight and I know his house pretty well. I thought I could get in there while the guests were at dinner, go to George’s study, get the bottle from his desk, read the letter, and see what was in it.
“You probably wouldn’t know it, but he has the place trapped with all sorts of burglar alarms. There’s only one way to get into the house without being detected. That’s the way I used. I walked up to the point above the sandspit, undressed, put my clothes on my back and swam down to the island. I wore a dinner dress because if any one of the servants had seen me, they’d have taken it for granted George had invited me as one of the guests.”
“You know the servants?”
“Of course.”
“How about the dog? You didn’t seem to know him.”
“The dog double-crossed me,” she said bitterly. “There must be some instinct that enabled him to know I was taking something that didn’t belong to me. He was trained as a war dog and never got over it, and never will. Corrine picked him up after the Army finished with him. Carmen trained and fed him, and he loved her, but George took him over after Conine’s disappearance.”
“Do you have a camera aboard?”
“No, why?”
“I want to photograph this document.”
She said, “I have a portable typewriter. We could copy it—but why do you want a copy when we have the original?”
“You have the original,” Mason said. “In case I should ever be called upon to tell my story, I want to be sure that I tell it right. Now then, you’re going to get out your portable typewriter, copy that letter, keep one copy for yourself and give me one copy.”
“And what do I do with the letter itself?”