“Where was he last night?”
“Apparently in a hospital. He was scheduled to have an operation this morning — nothing serious. He’d had a couple of attacks of appendicitis, and the doctor told him to have it out when he could spare a few days from his business. He reported to the doctor yesterday and went to the hospital yesterday afternoon.”
“Did he have the operation?” Mason asked.
“No. There was nothing particularly urgent about it. When he heard of Wentworth’s death, he called off the operation, claims he can’t afford to be laid up right now. There’s too much business to be handled.”
Mason said, “Not that it means anything, but just for the purpose of keeping the records straight, that hospital business doesn’t mean a damn thing.”
“I know,” Drake said. “I’ve checked on it, however. He had a private room. A special nurse was to come today after the operation, but he was on general last night. Directions called for him to have a capsule of sodium amytal.”
“Did he get it?”
“Yes. The nurse gave it to him.”
“Would that make him stay put?” Mason asked.
“Yes, I think it would,” Drake said. “And the floor nurse looked in on him three or four times during the night.”
“Does it show on his chart when she looked in on him?”
“No, but the nurse says it was at least once before midnight, a couple of times after midnight, and once this morning. The special came on duty at eight o’clock. He was to have been operated on at ten.”
“Did they tell him about Wentworth?”
“They weren’t going to, but he insisted on talking with Wentworth over the telephone before he went under the anaesthetic, said he had some last minute instructions to give and wanted to verify certain matters. They tried to keep it from him but couldn’t.”
“How about Wentworth’s wife?” Mason asked.
“She was down in San Diego. It looks as though Wentworth had an appointment with her for this morning.”
“Where?”
“At San Diego.”
“And the wife’s boyfriend?”
“I don’t know, yet. But he has a yacht.”
“Where is it moored?”
“Outer yacht harbour, just inside the breakwater.”
Mason and the detective exchanged glances.
“Better check him pretty carefully,” Mason said.
“I’m doing that. He’s quite a sportsman, polo, yachting, and airplanes.”
“Airplanes?”
“Yes. He has an amphibian he plays around with.”
“Where does he keep it?”
“In a hangar on his estate.”
“And that’s where?”
“On a rugged promontory overlooking the ocean about ten miles from his yacht mooring.”
“Can you find out if the plane has been doing any travelling lately?”
Drake said, “I’m going to try to get a look at the log of the plane.”
“How about travelling? That wouldn’t be in the log.”
Drake shook his head and said, “Barring accident, we can’t find out about that.”
Mason drummed with the tips of his fingers. “Can you get in the estate, Paul?” he asked.
“It’s difficult,” Drake said, “but I think I have an operative who could do the job.”
Mason said, “There was rain last night, Paul. It came down pretty heavy for a while. If an airplane taxied off a dirt field, it would leave tracks, particularly if it was a little slow on the takeoff.”
Drake said, “I get you, Perry.”
“How about servants? Can you find out if they might have heard the sound of the motor?”
Drake said, “I could tell you the answer to that in advance, Perry. It’s ‘no.’”
“How come?”
“There wasn’t a servant on the place last night. Eversel gave them all a night off and had the chauffeur put a car at their disposal.”
Mason raised his eyebrows.
“That’s what I thought, too,” Drake said, “but it turns out it’s not particularly unusual. Eversel has a hard time keeping servants. The estate is isolated. There are no picture shows, beauty shops, or any sort of amusement facilities available. Naturally, you can’t expect servants to stay on a job like that seven days a week, fifty-two weeks a year. When they have time off, Eversel has to provide them with transportation if they’re going to leave the estate. So he frequently sends them out on a skylarking expedition, especially when he doesn’t expect to be home.”
“I see,” Mason said, his voice casual enough, but his eyes narrowed into thoughtful slits.
“The bullet,” Drake went on, “was fired downward, apparently through the skylight or when Wentworth was leaning forward. Probably the shot was fired through the skylight. The windows of that skylight roll back. They’re controlled from the inside. In warm weather, while the ship was moored or cruising through calm waters, Wentworth would roll the windows back and get ventilation through the opening.”
“It was warm last night,” Mason said.
“There’s no question but what the glass was rolled back when Anders went aboard,” Drake said. “Anders admits that in his statement to the police. He claims that’s the reason he could hear Miss Farr pleading with Wentworth and struggling.”
“Anyone else hear any screams?” Mason asked.
“No. Apparently, the screams weren’t particularly loud. People on yachts don’t listen for those things anyway. Some pretty wild parties go on at times. Most of the time the screams that come from a yacht are referred to as ‘the squeals of synthetic virtue.’ I’m getting a file of photographs taken by one of the newspapermen, showing the interior of the cabin just after the yacht was brought into the harbour. Incidentally, Perry, Wentworth was probably dead before the rain started.”
“How come?”
“He hadn’t closed the skylight. He would have...”
Della Street slipped quietly through the door from the outer office and came over to Mason’s desk. She slid a folded paper across to him. He unfolded the paper and read, “Frank Marley, partner of Wentworth, in the office. Wants to see you at once on an urgent matter.”
Mason thought for a moment, then slid the memo across to Drake.
The detective read it and said, “Oh, oh.”
“Send him in, Della,” Mason said.
The men waited in silence until Della Street escorted Marley into the office and quietly withdrew, closing the door behind her.
Marley, a small boned, dark, thin man in his late thirties, kept his face without expression as he stood still, glancing from Mason to Paul Drake.
“Come over and have a chair,” Mason invited. “I’m Mason. This is Paul Drake, who handles my investigations.”
Marley’s large, dark eyes, the sheen and color of ripe olives, moved from one man to the other. He smiled, then came forward and extended a hand to Mason. “Very pleased to meet you, Counsellor,” he said.
Mason’s big hand closed over the small, tapering fingers, received in return a grip of surprising strength. Then the huge diamond in Marley’s tie flashed as he turned to shake hands with the detective.
His hand dropped to his pocket and took out a cigarette case. A diamond on his ring finger made a glittering streak of light as he conveyed the cigarette to his lips. “I only have a few minutes, Mr. Mason,” he said significantly.
“Go right ahead.”
Marley smiled. His eyes were without expression. In a low, well modulated voice, he said, “My information is very confidential.”
Drake glanced at Mason, raising his eyebrows. The lawyer nodded, and Drake said, “Okay, Perry. See you later.” He studied Marley for a long moment, then he said, “Glad I met you, Marley. Probably see you again.”