The captain’s eyes met those of Perry Mason. “I mean,” he said, “that we have information leading us to believe Carl Newberry was murdered.”
Mrs. Newberry stifled a half scream. Belle moved to her mother’s side.
Mason said, “Wouldn’t it be better, Captain, if you were to concentrate your efforts on trying to find the man who has gone overboard and postpone making this unwarranted search until later?”
“I’m doing everything in my power,” the captain said. “A man doesn’t stand much chance in this sea. I have a boat in readiness, with a volunteer crew at their stations. I’m not going to risk lives needlessly. We’re going back over our course. We’ve thrown out flares and life buoys. I don’t think there’s one chance in a thousand. I’ve told the first officer what to do, and he’s doing it. This investigation I’m making here is something I have to do myself. If you people will cooperate, it’ll be easier. If you won’t cooperate, I’m going ahead anyway, Now, if you will stand over there near the porthole, I’m going to search this cabin.”
He herded them into the comer by the porthole.
Methodically, carefully, the captain and the purser opened drawers, checked the contents, looked in bags and trunks. The purser raised the mattress of one of the twin beds. The captain said, “Wait a minute, Mr. Buchanan,” thrust his arm under the mattress, and dragged out a chamois-skin money belt. It, too, was wet. The contents bulged in the closed pockets.
“Can you tell us what this is, Mrs. Newberry?”
“Certainly,” she said, “it’s a money belt.”
“Can you tell us what’s in it?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“Can you tell us how it got wet?”
“I can, but I won’t.”
The captain said, “I’m going to find out what’s in this money belt. Would you like to help me count the money, Mrs. Newberry?”
She stood defiantly silent.
The captain shifted his eyes to Perry Mason. “You are her lawyer?”
“Yes.”
“Will you help me count this?”
Mason said tersely, “It’s your party, Captain.”
The captain nodded to the purser. “Very well, Mr. Buchanan, we’ll count the money.”
They opened the pockets of the money belt. The captain placed the contents of each pocket on the bed, where it was in plain sight of the people in the room. Somewhat clumsily, his sturdy, competent fingers separated the bills of large denomination. He and the purser added the total. “Eighteen thousand, seven hundred and fifty dollars,” the captain announced.
“This money is yours, Mrs. Newberry?” the captain asked.
Mason said, “Does it make any difference whether it belongs to her or to her husband, Captain?”
“It may,” the captain said. “I want her to answer that question.”
She said, “It’s...”
“You don’t have to answer any question you don’t want to, ” Mason warned.
“It’s my money,” she declared vehemently.
“Where did you get it?” the captain asked.
“That,” she said, “is something else which is none of your business.”
The captain frowningly regarded the money belt which he held in his hand. “How did this belt become wet?”
She remained silent.
“Can you tell me how long it’s been under that mattress?”
Again she made no answer.
The captain raised the mattress. “You’ll notice that the mattress isn’t wet, except for a spot or two where the belt touched it.”
Mrs. Newberry remained defiantly silent.
The captain lowered the mattress. “I’m sorry this was necessary, Mrs. Newberry. I’m taking over the custody of this money. The purser will give you a receipt for it and keep it in the ship’s safe.”
The purser took a notebook from his pocket, scribbled a receipt, signed it, and handed it to Mrs. Newberry. She snatched it from his fingers, tore it across, dropped the pieces to the floor, and stamped on them.
“You—!” she began, but Mason’s palm slid across her lips.
“Shut up,” the lawyer said.
For a moment they stood motionless, the woman’s body rigid. Then Mrs. Newberry clutched her fingers about Mason’s wrist, pulled his hand away from her mouth. Mason said, “Shut up.”
She controlled herself by an effort.
The captain said, “Come, Mr. Buchanan,” and led the way from the stateroom. He paused in the door, to turn and say to Mrs. Newberry, “I’m doing everything humanly possible to find your husband.”
He stepped into the corridor and pulled the door shut after him. Belle put her arms around her mother. “Mumsy, ” she pleaded, “what does this mean! What is it?”
Her mother shook her head. Her lips quivered. Mason guided her to the bed. She sat down, suddenly whirled, buried her face in the pillow, and started to sob. Belle knelt by her side, her hands stroking her mother’s hair. “Mumsy, Mumsy,” she pleaded. “Can’t you tell me?”
Mason nodded to Della Street. Together, they slipped from the stateroom.
Outside in the corridor, Della Street turned to Perry Mason. The ship, with the propellers turning only fast enough to give her steerage-way, rode slowly up the waves, then slid down to the troughs creaking with protest.
“Why didn’t you want me to help her?” Mason asked.
She hesitated for a moment, then raised her eyes to his. “Chief,” she said, “I don’t want you mixed up with that woman! Helping Belle was all right. I hate to see you mixed up with the mother.”
Mason laughed. “Good Lord, Della! Don’t let the captain’s attitude prejudice you. Frankly, I don’t know just what he’s trying to get at, but if he had an idea she carried her husband up to the deck and tossed him overboard, he’s having a pipe dream.”
She smiled. “Okay, Chief, let’s go to your stateroom and you can buy a drink.”
“Sold,” he told her, “and you’ll get over this silly prejudice against Mrs. Newberry.”
“As a client,” Della said, “I’m simply crazy about her. But... if she hadn’t been a client... Oh, well, skip it.”
Chapter 6
Monday morning found the ship slowly throbbing its way toward the docks, while representatives of the sheriffs office held mysterious conferences with the ship’s officers.
The passengers, hushed by the tragedy, whispering bits of gossip which were magnified and distorted with each surreptitious repetition, stood huddled in groups about the deck.
Roy Hungerford sought out Perry Mason.
“Look here, Mr. Mason,” he said, “I don’t pretend to know what this is all about. But I want you to know where I stand.”
“All right. Where do you stand?” Mason asked.
“Mrs. Newberry impresses me as being a fine woman,” Hungerford said. “She’s absolutely incapable of having murdered her husband. And Belle’s one girl in a million.”
Mason nodded.
“Don’t you suppose,” Hungerford asked, “that you could get the captain to drop this silly business and—”
“No,” Mason interrupted, “not as matters stand. I hear there’s a witness who claims to have seen Mr. and Mrs. Newberry on deck together shortly before nine o’clock. The officers are being particularly secretive about it. Apparently they don’t want me to know who this witness is, or—”
“I can tell you who the witness is, if that’ll be any help,” Hungerford said eagerly.
“It’ll help a lot,” Mason told him. “They’re keeping her under cover.”
Hungerford said, “She’s Aileen Fell.”
“You mean the spectacled schoolteacher?”
“Yes, the one from Santa Barbito who’s on a six months’ leave of absence — nervous breakdown or something.”