“Do you remember where?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know exactly...”
“It was Mrs. Raleigh’s cottage,” Hilbers interposed. “It’s owned by a Mrs. Elvira Raleigh. I rent it occasionally when I’m over there with a yachting party. You know a speedboat is not like a cruiser, and even so, it’s nice to have a place on shore where you can bathe in fresh water.”
“When did you leave Catalina?”
“Sunday night. That’s another thing that you should know about, Mr. Duryea. When Pearl left the house Saturday morning, she didn’t intend to come back. She left a note for her husband. The note said that she had put up with his indifference, with his friendship for a man who had been deliberately trying to break up their home, that now Arthur had come to her with the suggestion she get a divorce so he could marry the cast-off mistress of that man, that she had decided to decline with thanks, that as far as she was concerned, Arthur could try and get a divorce right here in California, and that she would contest that divorce. Moreover, she intended to sue Addison Stearne for alienation of affections, and would file a suit Monday morning.”
“Where did you leave that note?” Duryea asked Mrs. Right.
“Where Arthur couldn’t fail to see it, right on the top of his dresser.”
“Could the servants have seen it?”
“No. It was in an envelope.”
“Was the envelope sealed?”
“No. I didn’t seal it,” Mrs. Right said, after thinking a moment.
Hilbers said, “Sunday evening, just as it was getting dark, a messenger came to the bungalow where we were staying over in Catalina. He said Pearl was wanted on the phone. Pearl went to the telephone. It was Nita Moline. She said that something terrible had happened, that Pearl must get home right away and that if Pearl had left any messages she wouldn’t want to have made public, she had better get home and destroy them.”
“How could she have learned about that message?” Duryea asked.
“That’s what we want to know. As I see it, there’s only one way. Arthur must have been at the house some time after seven-thirty Saturday morning. He must have read that message, must have put it back in the envelope, must have seen Nita Moline and told her what was in it.”
“You found the message there when you returned?” Duryea asked Mrs. Right.
She nodded.
Hilbers said, “Nita Moline has been pretty shrewd. She wanted to keep from being smeared in the press. She knew that letter was there. She was afraid that if Pearl didn’t show up, the officers would search the house and find it.”
“Have you asked Miss Moline how she knew the message was there?” Duryea asked Mrs. Right.
“No. I don’t think she was quite as definite as Warren makes it sound. She simply intimated that she knew I had left the house without intending to return and said something to the effect that if I’d left any message, it might be a good plan to go home and get it. Something like that. I can’t remember the exact words.”
Hilbers looked at his watch and smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry, Mr. Duryea, we’ve taken up a lot more of your time than I had intended, but I did want Pearl to get this off her mind, and I’d like to have you tell her that the evidence at least indicates that Addison Stearne had every opportunity to explain things to Arthur Right.”
Duryea said to Mrs. Right, “That’s absolutely correct. The evidence indicates that Arthur Right was on the yacht with Mr. Stearne for some little time. He either sailed with him for the yacht harbor, or else he joined him here in Santa Delbarra some little time before the murder was committed. At least, that’s the way the evidence looks now. If your husband had decided to kill Addison Stearne, it would certainly seem that Stearne had every opportunity to explain everything he could have explained. And, of course, if your assumption of murder and suicide is correct, the evidence has been tampered with. If that has been done,” and Duryea’s mouth suddenly became firm, “it’s a crime in itself, and the person who would do it is entitled to no consideration whatever.”
Hilbers flashed him a quick glance of gratitude.
Pearl Right said, almost tearfully, “Promise you’ll do one thing, Mr. Duryea. Please, please, try to find out whether Addison Stearne really was her father or... well, you know, taking the position of a father — or... or...”
“Whether she was his mistress,” Hilbers interposed.
She nodded.
Hilbers turned once more to Milred. “I hope,” he said, “we’re forgiven for intruding on your evening. It means so much to us. I realize how...”
She impulsively gave him her hand. “Don’t apologize, Mr. Hilbers. I think you did just the right thing.”
Duryea escorted them to the door. When they had left, he turned to his wife. “Well?” he asked.
She said, “I could sympathize with both of them, Frank. It’s a terrible ordeal for her, and I think he’s splendid. Do you suppose that she’s right, and the evidence was tampered with?”
“There’s a very good chance,” Duryea admitted. “Let’s pull a Gramps Wiggins.”
“How?”
“Go down and look that yacht over, just a quiet checkup before we tell anyone about this.”
“Given up the idea of the movie?”
“Yes. The second show will have started fifteen minutes ago. We’ll see that picture show tomorrow night. It’s on at the Mission Theater tonight, tomorrow, and Wednesday, then it goes to the El Cajon and stays there until the end of the week.”
“Come on,” Milred said. “What’s holding us back? After all, I’m a Wiggins, you know — or has Gramps told you?”
Chapter 16
“What’s the sheriff doing?” Milred asked as Frank Duryea drove his car around the turn to the waterfront. “Leaving it all up to you?”
“Oh, he’s going through the motions, picking up witnesses here and there, and uncovering clues. But he isn’t furnishing any flashes of inspiration. He’ll ride along. If the case naturally gets solved, he’ll be in on it. If it doesn’t, he’ll find some way of squirming out from under. He’s a good politician, and he takes the position that after he’s unearthed the people who had contacts with the murdered men, it’s up to me to take their statements and... well, you know how Lassen is.”
“I know.”
Duryea swung the car into the parking zone by the yacht club. “Any guards?” she asked.
“No. We took them off and locked the yacht. Miss Moline’s been appointed special administratrix. She wants possession, and we’ll probably surrender the keys to her tomorrow.”
Duryea took his wife’s arm, led her across a strip of roadway to the narrow macadamized walk which led to the yacht club. “I’ll have to stop in at the club,” he said, “and get permission to use one of the skiffs. They...”
She said, “Why do that? You’ll just make the whole thing so conspicuous. Why not do it all under cover?”
“Are you suggesting that I, the district attorney of Santa Delbarra County, violate the law by stealing a skiff?”
“Uh huh.”
“If we get caught, I’ll prosecute you,” he warned.
“Would the judge let me argue my own case to the jury?”
“Perhaps.”
She smiled up at him and said, “I think I’d have you at a disadvantage. Shhhhhh, Frank. Let’s tiptoe. There’s someone in the yacht club.”
Duryea looked through the big lighted windows. Half a dozen persons were gathered in a little group, sitting in reclining wicker chairs, drinking and chatting. The air was blue with tobacco smoke. “Bet they’re discussing the murder,” Milred said.
“Why don’t you bet on something that isn’t a cinch?”