She nodded.
“You took some letters for Mr. Stearne?”
“Yes.”
Duryea took a long breath, picked out his watch, dropped it back in his pocket, and said, “About what time did you go aboard?”
“I want to keep out of it. I’ve got to keep out of it. You can’t use me as a witness.”
“Why?”
“I have my reasons.”
Gramps Wiggins piped up, “She’s workin’ nights. She’s afraid that they’ll fire her if they find out she’s when goin’ out daytimes doin’ work on the side. I told her mebbe you could keep her name outa the papers.”
Duryea said, “I’m afraid I can’t guarantee that. I’ll do my best, however.”
Gramps said in a kindly voice, “He’ll take care of you some way. Now just go ahead an’ tell him what happened.”
She looked, not to Duryea, but at Wiggins.
“You do what I tell you.” Gramps said firmly. “We ain’t got time for a lot o’ monkeyshines.”
“But the papers...”
“I’ll talk ’em out of it,” Gramps promised. “I can lie like a house afire when I make up my mind to. You just go ahead an’ tell the skipper here about what happened.”
She said, in a low voice, “I’d done some work for Mr. Stearne once before, and Saturday he telephoned and asked me to come down to the yacht right away.”
“And you went?” Duryea asked.
“Of course. It was good pay.”
“And what happened?”
“Mr. Stearne said he had some letters. There were half a dozen.”
“What were they?”
Gramps interposed. “I had her bring her notebook. The letters are in there, written in shorthand just as she took ’em down when he dictated. She can write ’em out again.”
Duryea said, “My secretary will furnish a typewriter. Mrs. Rodman can do it right here in the office. Now, was there a letter to Elwell & Fielding?”
“Yes.”
“And you mailed that?” Duryea asked, feeling that he was at last getting something definite.
“No, sir, I didn’t. I mailed a copy of it to Mr. Stearne’s office.”
“You didn’t mail the original to Elwell & Fielding?”
“No, sir. He made a notation on that copy, and told me to address an envelope to his office in Los Angeles. He said I could drop the copy in the mailbox; but the original he said he’d mail personally at the post office. He said he’d have to swear that he’d mailed it himself.”
“Now, what time was this?”
“I went aboard the yacht about three o’clock and left shortly after four.”
“Was anyone else there?”
“No, just the two men.”
“And you mailed some letters from the mailbox near the yacht club?”
“Yes. Mr. Stearne told me to put them in the first mailbox I came to, and I knew that mailbox was there. Before I dropped them in the chute, I took a look to see that there was another collection of mail that afternoon — it being Saturday, you know — and I just thought I’d make sure.”
“What time did you mail them?”
“A few minutes after four o’clock. There was a sign on the box saying there was a mail collection at four-twenty-five.”
Duryea said, “Now begin at the beginning and tell me just what happened.”
“Well, I don’t know that there’s very much to tell. Mr. Stearne telephoned about half past two and asked me how soon I could be there. I told him in about twenty minutes, and I guess I got there in about fifteen. I was all dressed to go out, and all I had to do was grab my notebook, some pencils, my purse, put on a hat, and go. I...”
“Go on a streetcar, walk, or...”
“Took a taxi,” she said. “He asked me to do that.”
“And you discharged the taxi there at the parking place by the yacht club?”
“Yes.”
“And then what did you do?”
“Walked out to the float.”
“You knew the yacht, of course?”
“Yes. I’d seen it before.”
“And someone came out to take you aboard?”
“Yes. Mr. Right.”
“You’d met him before?”
“Yes.”
“When you got aboard, what happened?”
“Mr. Stearne seemed in a very good humor. He was in the cabin, where the steering wheel is, and card tables, and so forth.”
“Then what?”
“He said he wanted to give me some dictation. I sat down at one of the card tables. Mr. Stearne started dictating right away. He dictated those letters, walking back and forth while he was dictating. He’s a fast dictator. He knew what he wanted to say, and said it. You know, lots of persons talk rapidly enough when they’re just talking, but as soon as they start dictating they’ll dictate a word or two, then stop and think, and then dictate another word or two, then stop some more, then ask you what it was they’ve said, and when you read it to them, they’ll say, ‘Strike it out.’ ”
Duryea grinned.
Mrs. Rodman said hastily, “I didn’t mean—”
“It’s all right,” Duryea interrupted. “The shoe fits about nine out of every ten men who dictate.”
“Well, Mr. Stearne wasn’t that way at all. He knew exactly what he wanted to say, and he’d say it, giving you eight or ten words at a time, then pausing just for a second, and then giving you eight or ten more words.”
“He dictated half a dozen letters?”
“I think so, five or six.”
“Were they long?”
“No. This one to Elwell & Fielding was the only long one. The others were short.”
“Would you say that he completed his dictation by three-thirty?”
“Before that. Well, wait a minute. By the time he started dictating... well, perhaps it was around twenty minutes past three when he finished.”
“Then what?”
“Then Mr. Right took me down into the lower cabin and fixed up a typewriter on a taboret.”
“A portable machine?”
“Yes.”
“Were you accustomed to it?”
“I can type on anything.”
“Wouldn’t it have been more convenient to have done the typewriting up in that upper cabin?”
“Probably, but they didn’t want to be disturbed by the noise of the typewriter. That’s why I went down in the lower cabin. At least, I suppose so.”
“How long did it take you to write the letters?”
“Oh, around thirty minutes.”
“But you didn’t leave the yacht...”
“No, sir. I finished the letters and went back to the upper cabin. The two men were talking. I think they were angry. Mr. Stearne told me to go out and wait for a few minutes. I stood at the rail for nearly five minutes, looking over at the other yachts. Mr. Right came out and went down to the lower cabin. Then Mr. Stearne called to me to come in with the letters. His face was flushed, and he was short and curt. He read the letters, signed them, and told me to seal and stamp them. I put them in their envelopes and put on the stamps. Then was when Mr. Stearne said he’d mail that letter to Elwell & Fielding. And he took the carbon copy I’d made for his office and wrote something on it, then put it back in the envelope. He gave me ten dollars and wanted to know if that was satisfactory. I told him very much so, and he said Mr. Right could take me ashore, and I could mail the other letters at the first mailbox. Mr. Right rowed me ashore, and that’s all I know.”
“Did you notice any change in Mr. Right’s manner?”
“Well — not particularly — although I don’t think he said a word to me, except to say good-by when he put me ashore.”
“You have your notebook with you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’d like to have you write those letters out so I can study them.”