Shale said to Duryea, “Who is this person?”
Duryea said, “He’s not a member of my official family. You’re under no obligation to answer the question if you don’t want to.”
Shale said, “I think I’ve said everything I need to.”
“And that yacht, the Albatross,” Gramps Wiggins went on, shaking a finger at the witness. “Didn’t she go out and have a meeting with another yacht some place, sort of a rendezvous?”
“I don’t know,” Shale said. “I was asleep. By the time I was permitted on deck again, the yacht was headed back toward Santa Delbarra.”
“Humph,” Gramps Wiggins snorted.
Duryea said, “That’s all, unless there’s some statement you wish to make. If there is, I’ll be glad to hear it.”
Wordlessly, they scraped back chairs and left the office.
When they had gone, Gramps Wiggins said, “That wasn’t the young woman Tucker seen goin’ aboard the yacht Saturday. But he didn’t see her on the beach Sunday either. He seen her come out on the deck o’ that yacht an’ pitch herself over-board.”
“She says she fainted,” Duryea said.
“That’s what she says. Tucker says she pitched herself over-board.”
“Why did you ask him about the Albatross having a rendezvous with some other ship?” Duryea asked.
“I keep wonderin’ about this trip the Gypsy Queen was scheduled to make that Sunday afternoon,” Gramps Wiggins said, pulling a moist black plug of chewing tobacco from his pocket and whittling off a small piece. “Stearne let the crew all go until three o’clock, then she was goin’ to take a cruise. That’s a funny time to go cruisin’. Well, the Gypsy Queen didn’t go, an’ the Albatross did. Now then, seems like the Albatross just went out to sea for a while, an’ then came back. Why’d she do that?”
Duryea said, “You’ve got me there, Gramps.”
“She was tryin’ to keep the Gypsy Queens rendezvous. Where’s that Harpler girl?”
Sheriff Lassen said, “I let the Harpler girl go. She don’t know anything at all, except she saw young Shale start to run for a boat. She began lookin’ around, and saw a few ripples in the water, then got a glimpse of some blond hair, so in she went.”
“How about this here yachtin’ trip she went on Sunday?” Gramps asked.
The sheriff regarded him with a jaundiced eye. “It was her yacht, wasn’t it? What are you tryin’ to do, anyway?” Duryea interposed hastily, “We can reach her any time we need her, Sheriff. I confess that I didn’t consider her as a particularly important witness, and saw no reason for holding her here.”
He pushed back his chair, stretched, yawned, said, “Well, I guess that’s about all for tonight.” He nodded to the deputy at the door. “That’ll be all, Carter. Tell ’em all they can go home. I won’t need you any more tonight.”
Carter opened the door into the entrance office, said, “Everybody can go now.” The sheriff arose and sauntered out, without saying good night.
“You have Tucker’s address?” Duryea asked Gramps Wiggins.
“Uh huh.”
“We’ll keep in touch with him. We’ll let things simmer along for a while, and...”
Sam Carter, the deputy sheriff, re-entered the office. “Man out there by the name of Hazlit says he wants to see you, and that it’s important.”
Duryea frowned and shook his head. “I’m investigating this murder case now, and...”
“Says he’s a lawyer.”
“That’s different,” Duryea said. “Show him in. You don’t mind waiting a minute, do you, Gramps?”
“Nope. Want me to wait outside?”
Duryea smiled at the man’s anxiety to be allowed to remain. “I’m afraid Mr. Hazlit will want to talk with me in private,” he said. “If he’s an attorney...”
Carter opened the door, and Hazlit came bustling into the office accompanied by Nita Moline.
Miss Moline said, “Mr. Duryea, this is my lawyer, Mr. Hazlit.”
“Oh,” Duryea said, shaking hands. “I’m glad to meet you, Mr. Hazlit. I didn’t know Miss Moline had a lawyer waiting.”
“I wasn’t waiting,” Hazlit said. “I just got here — just this minute got here.”
“If I’d known you were coming, I’d have waited to question Miss Moline...”
“Oh, it isn’t that. As far as that’s concerned, I’ve told her to go ahead and tell the truth. Answer all the questions you want to ask. She has nothing to conceal.”
Nita Moline said indignantly, “I didn’t know the scope his questions were going to take. He’s even insinuated that...”
“Just a minute, my dear. Just a minute,” Hazlit said, holding up a warning hand. He turned to Duryea, and, with his voice at its unctuously agreeable best, said, “I have something which I think is a clue, something which could be investigated.”
“What is it?” Duryea asked, sitting down.
Gramps Wiggins, realizing that the interview was going to proceed without any objection to his presence, tiptoed over to the darkest corner of the office and lowered himself quietly into a chair.
Hazlit said, “I am Miss Moline’s attorney largely because of my familiarity with the affairs of Mr. Stearne. I handled all of his legal business during his lifetime. One of the important matters was an option which was to have expired at midnight Saturday, an option which apparently Mr. Stearne hadn’t taken up, although it seemed most advantageous from a business standpoint that he do so. I had Miss Moline appointed special administratrix with the will annexed this morning, so that she could file an application asking for an extension of time on this option, and she duly signed an acceptance of the option late this afternoon. I suppose, of course, there’ll be litigation over it. However, I’m only mentioning that to give you the general picture.”
“I see. You mentioned that you had a clue?”
“Yes. It now appears that Mr. Stearne exercised that option.”
“Well?” Duryea asked.
Hazlit took an envelope from his pocket, handling it almost reverently. “I have here,” he said, “an envelope addressed to Mr. Addison Stearne at his Los Angeles office. This envelope was mailed at four-thirty-five P.M. Saturday from Santa Delbarra.”
“Yes?” Duryea asked.
“In it,” Hazlit said, “is a carbon copy of a letter to Elwell & Fielding, exercising the option, and in a large measure explaining why the acceptance had not been made before. On the second sheet of this carbon copy appears, in the hand-writing of Mr. Stearne, a notation to the effect that he had mailed the original letter himself from Santa Delbarra before five o’clock Saturday afternoon, by depositing it in the post office at Santa Delbarra.”
Duryea said, “Let’s see that letter.”
He took the carbon copy in his hands, studied it for several minutes. “Was this letter written in his office prior to the time of his departure?” he asked.
“I don’t think so. If it had been, the carbon copy would have been left in the office, and he’d have taken the original with him to mail.”
Duryea said, “I notice that it’s dated at Santa Delbarra.”
“Yes.”
“Did he have a typewriter on his yacht?”
“Yes. He had a portable typewriter. Occasionally, he used it — although C. Arthur Right, who had at one time been his secretary, quite frequently did typing for him. Elwell & Fielding assure me absolutely that they have received no such letter in the mail. I think, Mr. Duryea, that’s a plain, deliberate lie. They were advised of Mr. Stearne’s death and thought they could capitalize on it by claiming that this letter had never been received. What I want you to do... er... that is, what would seem to be indicated,” and Hazlit paused long enough to take a deep breath, before saying slowly and solemnly, “is bring those two crooks in front of your grand jury. If Stearne mailed that letter, it is a matter of importance in helping you fix the time he met his death. It might well be important in connection with a motivation.”