He nodded.
“Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”
“I didn’t think it would do any good.”
She looked at him, her brows puckered together, her head tilted slightly to one side. “Well,” she said at length, “so you’re Perry Mason.”
Mason said nothing.
“And interested in information you think I have. Is that information going to get me in trouble?”
“I don’t know,” Mason said.
“Listen,” she told him, “I don’t want to go on the witness stand.”
“You’re not on the witness stand now.”
“No, but you might put me there.”
“Again, I might not.”
“Would you promise not to?”
“No.”
She caressed her knee with the tips of her fingers, her eyes distant and preoccupied with a survey of the possibilities of the situation. Abruptly, she brought her eyes into hard, sharp focus on the lawyer’s face, then said, “All right, I’m going to take a chance. I’m strong on taking chances.”
Mason settled back in the chair and shifted his eyes slightly so that she could talk without being conscious of his gaze.
She said, “I can’t go on the witness stand because a smart lawyer would make me out a sorry figure. I’ve always loved the outdoors — tennis, riding, skiing, all sports. Especially, I like yachting. You don’t get invited on boat trips by cultivating the company of impecunious young men of regular habits and virtuous intentions.
“You’ve heard of gold diggers? Well, I guess I’m a yacht digger. Whenever there was a cruise over to Catalina, I met all the yachtsmen I could. Whenever they wanted my telephone number, I gave it to them. That’s all I give them, my telephone number, my company, and a lot of laughs.
“Lots of times yachtsmen want girls along who are good sports, know something about handling a boat, are willing to do a good share of the work, and can keep the gang laughing.
“I suppose I could have used the same amount of mental effort in some commercial activity and made money. I work like the devil thinking up wisecracks, games, stunts, and how to drink a lot without getting too awfully drunk. If you’ve never tried it, eating a lot of butter before the drinking starts is a swell stunt.”
“I have a recipe which beats that,” Mason said.
“You have?”
“Yes.”
“Be a good sport and give it to me. That butter stunt is the best I’ve ever found.”
Mason said, “Mine is more simple. I don’t drink much after the drinking starts.”
“Oh,” she said, her voice showing disappointment. “I thought you were really going to say something.”
Mason said, “Don’t let me interrupt you.”
“I won’t — not again. Well, Mr. Mason, here’s the lowdown. Penn Wentworth took a shine to me. He was on the make. When you say ‘no’ to Penn, he starts wrestling, and when he wrestles, he gets out of control. Personally, I don’t like to be manhandled. My eyes, my judgment of distance, and my timing are all pretty good. I just won a tennis championship the other day.
“Well, when the party got just so rough, I warned him. Warning didn’t do any good. He was past that point. So I slipped my shoe off, doubled up my leg, waited my chance, and shot my heel straight to the chin.”
“Connect?” Mason asked.
“Of course I connected.”
“What happened to Wentworth?”
She said, “I thought I’d killed him. I poured water on his face, rubbed his chest and ribs, and fed him brandy with a teaspoon. It seemed like an hour before he came around, and he was still punch drunk for another thirty minutes.”
“Then what?” Mason asked. “Did he come up for round two, or did he toss in the towel when the bell rang?”
She grinned and said, “He tossed in the towel, and it made the start of a swell friendship. I got so I cared a lot for him after that, and he respected me. We had one of those friendships that are so rare between a man and a woman, just perfect pals. He found out that I liked boats, and he liked to have me with him. Occasionally, he’d go off on a trip just by himself when he didn’t want anyone around to bother him and talk to him. He never cared about yachting as yachting but used the yacht simply for incidental pleasure — attending the cruises, staging parties, and things of that sort. That’s why he had all those gadgets on the Pennwent.
“This is the part you’re not going to believe. However, it happens to be the truth. When Wentworth would have a fit of the blues, he liked to go on a cruise. He’d leave the handling of the boat pretty much up to me. He’d let me do the cooking. Sometimes we’d take an entire cruise without saying a word except a few comments about what he wanted to eat and about handling the boat. That suited me right down to the ground. I love to head out into the ocean with my hands on the wheel. It gives me a thrill, a sense of power. I know the ocean is cruel and merciless. I know that you can’t make any mistakes with the ocean. I like to play that kind of a game.”
She hesitated a moment, studying Mason’s face, apparently waiting for some comment. He made none. She said, “Naturally, I got to know Frank Marley. He’s different from Penn. Frank never made a pass at me. If he ever does, he’ll have all the dice loaded against me. He waits and watches and thinks and schemes, and you never know what he’s thinking about from what he says.
“Penn was a good egg. A girl couldn’t trust herself around Penn Wentworth for five minutes. He’d try a line, and if that didn’t work, he’d try massage, and if that didn’t work, he’d get rough. But there was one thing about Penn. You always knew where he stood, and he was never a hypocrite. Any girl who went out with Penn Wentworth knew that Penn was — well, sticky. Once you got past that first round with him, he made a swell friend. Penn had a lot to him. He was shrewd and fair. He had a sense of humour, and he could be a very good companion when he didn’t have the blues. When he had the blues, he wanted you to leave him alone, and he’d leave you alone.
“Frank Marley was the exact opposite. I’ve been out with Frank a lot of times. I’ve handled his boat a lot. He’d be sitting or standing somewhere nearby all the time, smoking cigarettes and watching me with half closed eyes through the cigarette smoke. He was always a perfect gentleman, always quiet, always well behaved — and always waiting.”
She stopped to study Mason’s face curiously, then said, “Oh, go ahead and look at me. I’ll keep on talking just the same.”
“No,” Mason said. “I’m listening. I listen with my ears and look with my eyes. I can’t do two things at once and really concentrate on them. Right now, I’m listening to your voice.”
“Don’t you think you can tell more about a woman by watching her when she talks than by listening to what she says?”
“Not always,” Mason said. “A lawyer trains himself to listen. Witnesses have usually rehearsed their story pretty well — at least to the extent of making the mannerisms and gestures more or less mechanical, but they rehearse silently. People really should cultivate the art of talking to themselves. They’d learn a lot about voices if they did.”
She laughed and said, “You make me feel frightfully naked — sitting there with your head turned and your ears taking in every word.”
“I didn’t intend to. You have a very observing mind.”
“Think so?”
“Yes.”
“Thanks.”
“Well,” Mason said, “that’s that. We were talking about Frank Marley’s boat.”
“I was talking about the yachts and the men,” she said. “Late in the afternoon, Wentworth called and said he’d like to see me. I drove down and went aboard. He said that he had to be in San Diego the next day for an appointment with his wife. He told me that he had finally decided to give her an ultimatum: either she would give him a divorce on reasonable terms or he would sue Sid Eversel for alienation of affections. Then he suggested that I go with him and that we take the Pennwent to Ensenada. He’d drive to San Diego to meet his wife. Of course, I’d stay aboard; he didn’t want his wife to know I was with him.