Ted Shale shook his head to clear his senses, and abruptly the drugged stupor which was the aftermath of his unaccustomed and heavy sleep in the middle of the afternoon left his senses.
He realized that the yacht was under way, that he was listening to the rapid purr of a powerful high-speed motor, that the hissing noise was made by the calm water of a tranquil sea sliding past the bow. A light swell was making the splotches of sunlight move sedately up and down the woodwork on the opposite side of the stateroom.
Ted jumped from the bunk, and wrenched at the knob of the stateroom door.
The door was locked.
Chapter 7
The little Monterey-type cottage sat back a few feet from the sidewalk. From the windows could be seen the blue crescent of Catalina Island’s bay. Behind it, the hills rose to the jagged crest of a mountain skyline.
The house was quite evidently furnished to be rented by the day, week, or month. The rugs were of a coarse weave which furnished a durable protection for the floor yet enabled sand from shoes and bare feet to sift through, rather than remain imbedded in the texture of the rugs themselves.
Much of the furniture was built in, enameled white, with an orange trim. The painting had evidently been done by an amateur — probably the slender woman, with the network of crow’s-feet about her eyes, who owned the cottage.
Pearl Right and her brother, Warren Hilbers, sat side by side on the wicker settee in the front room. It was that hour which comes just after sunset when fading daylight merges into darkness. Every living thing seemed hushed and relaxed. The windless ocean was calm and tranquil. People, strolling quietly along the wide boulevard which skirted the bay, were for the most part content to walk silently. When they conversed, it was in low tones.
Enough light came through the window which faced the bay to show that Pearl Right had carried the beauty of the twenties into her early thirties. Her eyes were of the dark, brilliant type associated with a highly emotional temperament. Her nose was short, indicating a certain emotional instability; while the way she carried her head, the manner in which she pointed her chin, indicated independence and a love of freedom.
Her brother was her junior by three and a half years, yet seemed to have a more balanced responsibility of outlook. His high forehead, wavy black hair, long, clean-cut nose, and deep-set eyes indicated that he could carry thought to the point of brooding. His mouth was a bit too sensitive, but his voice when he spoke had a peculiarly deep resonance which created the impression of controlled power. That voice held vibrations as vaguely disturbing as those generated by the lower notes of a pipe organ. He said, “I don’t see why you changed your mind.”
Pearl Right spoke with the rapidity of one who is accustomed to talking as she thinks, spilling her thoughts haphazardly, rather than trying to shape them into finished ideas. “I’m tired of the whole mess. I don’t care enough. I don’t care if I never see him again. It’s so much with me, and then I’m through. He can do whatever he wants. That mysterious cruise, that hypnotic spell Addison Stearne casts over him, have done their work on me. Last week I cared — a lot. Yesterday, I was mad. Today — I don’t care. I don’t change my mind. My mind changes me.”
“But why did you want me to fix things so that...” He broke off as a boy on a bicycle dismounted in front of the little cottage. In silence, they watched the rider kick a support into place under his bicycle, march up the short stretch of cement walk, and knock.
The man and woman exchanged glances, then Warren Hilbers went to the door. “What is it?”
“I’m from the telephone company. There’s a long distance call for the woman who is registered in this cottage.”
“You have her name?” Hilbers asked.
“No, just the house number.”
Warren Hilbers hesitated perceptibly, then pushed his hand down into his pocket, took out a quarter, gave it to the boy, and said, “Thank you.”
“She’ll come to the telephone office?” the boy asked.
Again the man hesitated.
Behind him, Pearl Right said, “Yes, I’ll be right over.”
The boy went back to his wheel and pedaled away. Brother and sister regarded each other with a puzzled frown. “There’s only one person who would know you’re here,” Warren Hilbers said. “What are you going to do if he should tell you that what you said made him use that gun? You’d be responsible — in a way.”
Pearl Right said rapidly, “I don’t think it’s Arthur. Come on, let’s find out.”
It was only two blocks to the telephone office. An operator indicated a booth, said, “If you’ll be seated, I’ll have your party within a few minutes,” and then within less than sixty seconds, rang the bell on the telephone. Pearl picked up the receiver. Nita Moline said, “Pearl, do you know who this is?”
Pearl Right hesitated a moment, said, “I’m not sure. It...”
She realized then that the woman at the other end of the line had been waiting only to make certain of her identity by hearing her voice. Once reassured on that point, the message came quickly. “Pearl, I’m at Santa Delbarra. Something terrible has happened. Get back to the mainland just as quickly as you can... When you left Saturday, did you leave any message at your house — something perhaps addressed to Arthur?”
Pearl Right said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I can’t understand why you’re calling. I...”
“Pearl, snap out of it! Did you leave a message addressed to Arthur?”
“Well, I... Yes, I...”
“Get home and destroy it. And don’t ever tell anyone I called you. Remember I’m doing this for you — and it’s a lot more than you’d do for me.”
The receiver clicked at the other end of the line.
Pearl Right dropped the receiver into its cradle, waited for a moment, scowling at the telephone, then pushed open the door of the booth and walked out. Warren was waiting for her half a block down the street. “What was it?” he asked.
“Nita Moline. I’ve got to get home at once.”
“Why?”
“I left a note for Arthur to find. I didn’t intend to ever go back. Something’s happened. I must get back and destroy that note before it’s found.”
He studied her from his deep-set, thoughtful eyes. He asked, “What has happened?”
“She wouldn’t tell me. She just said ‘something terrible’ and hung up.”
“Pearl — could Arthur have repeated what you said to Stearne, and—”
“I don’t care what he said,” Pearl Right interrupted. “And don’t you ever dare intimate that I’m responsible. Warren, you’ve got to trust me, and help me. I want to get back and destroy that note.”
“You know where I stand, Pearl. Only I wish Nita had told you definitely. When do we start?”
“Now.”
“Okay. The speedboat’s ready.”
Chapter 8
Parker Gibbs had a passion for doing a neat job in a workmanlike manner. Had he been a manufacturer, he would naturally have gravitated into the field of precision instruments. Had he been an artist, he would have drawn with fine lines, etching in all of the little details. There would have been no trace of the impressionistic in his technique.
Gibbs drove his car to Santa Delbarra, where it took him two hours to find out approximately all that the authorities knew about the murders. A little judicious bribery even secured for him a set of the photographs the sheriff’s office had taken. Those photos showed Stearne lying on his back, Right sprawled at his feet — and Right’s shoulders were lying over Stearne’s legs.