“And I take it you granted her request?”
“Yes, very reluctantly.”
“For a financial consideration.”
“No. Of course not. I told her I’d be glad to co-operate.”
“This, I take it, is explaining that trip.”
“It is.”
“All right, go ahead.”
“Well, it seems she made an arrangement with Ted Shale by which he was to do most of the watching. She wanted to stay aboard and help. Well, that was all right. Then she suggested that Ted Shale go below to get some sleep, which he did. Then Miss Moline decided that there wouldn’t be any use trying to do anything while the officers were aboard the Gypsy Queen. She wanted to do some telephoning and asked me if I’d wake up Mr. Shale if I noticed the officers leaving the Gypsy Queen. I told her I wouldn’t promise to watch. Do you know, Mr. Duryea, I suddenly had an idea her whole plea had been be-cause she wanted to have someone aboard my yacht — to look through it, perhaps. I felt very resentful. I told her I wouldn’t keep watch to see when or if the officers left, and that I wouldn’t even promise to keep the yacht there. I let her see that I left I’d been imposed on a bit.”
“Well, she went ashore, and I kept feeling more and more resentful. But curiosity impelled me to look over at the other yacht occasionally. Then I began to think Miss Moline had perhaps merely wanted to have this Mr. Shale where she could keep him out of circulation for a while until she could shape his recollection of what had happened. Well, I got good and mad at the way she’d dumped her problems in my lap. So I decided to show her a thing or two. I just dropped the mooring and went for a little pleasure cruise.”
“Now, I believe you kept young Shale locked in his state-room?”
She smiled. “I went down to his cabin and called through the door that I was sailing and he’d have to go ashore. A violent snore was my only answer. I thought perhaps the young gentleman might be putting on an act. Or he might merely have been eager to accompany me on an unchaperoned yachting trip. I can assure you that ambitious young men under those circumstances can become very much of a nuisance. So I took steps to see that he would at least be awake when he left his room. I didn’t want him using the old alibi of walking in his sleep.”
“How far did you go?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I just went out and sailed around and watched the sun on the mountains.”
“And young Shale?”
“He woke up around sundown. He made an unearthly racket, and I went down to see how things were progressing. He seemed to be very unaccustomed to being locked in a room.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him that I was sorry I’d locked the door, but I’d decided to take a little sail, and I felt that an ounce of precaution would be better than a pound of struggle. He laughed and said he’d go back to sleep if I could reassure him he wasn’t being kidnapped. And how about his job? Well, he was so nice about it and sounded so thoroughly reasonable that I opened the door and let him out. I didn’t even exact any promises. I didn’t have to. He’s a nice chap, and he knows something about yachting. He helped me bring the yacht in.”
“Miss Moline met you?”
“Yes.”
“What was her attitude?”
She said, “I’m afraid Miss Moline has been a trifle spoiled. I had to explain to her that I wasn’t in her employ, and that I objected to being used as a cat’s-paw. Then she begged my pardon, and...”
“Did Mr. Shale remain on board to watch — after that?”
“Yes. Miss Moline apologized very prettily. She said she’d had to do some telephoning and it had taken much too long. She asked if I wouldn’t please let Mr. Shale watch until morning. She said she’d make other arrangements then, and would I be a good sport and not be too worried about the conventions.”
“What did you tell her?”
“By that time, I felt pretty well acquainted with Shale. I felt certain that, while he hadn’t taken any vows, a young woman who didn’t throw the first stone wouldn’t get hit with any rocks. So I told her I’d let it ride until morning.”
“What did she do after that?”
“She left to go to Los Angeles. It seemed Mr. Stearne’s lawyer had sent for her. Mr. Shale kept watch all night. He was a good soldier about it too. And a perfect gentleman.”
“You don’t know whether he saw anyone go aboard the yacht?” Duryea asked, more as a matter of routine than any-thing else.
“Yes. Someone went aboard before I had turned in. It was shortly after Miss Moline had left-oh, I’d say somewhere around one o’clock.”
Duryea sat bolt upright in his chair, his back rigid, his eyes hard and cautious. “You mean someone went aboard the Gypsy Queen?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“We don’t know.”
“Miss Moline wasn’t with you then?”
“No. She had gone.”
“Was this a man or a woman?”
Joan Harpler hesitated until the very hesitation became significant, then she said, “It was either a man — or a woman dressed in man’s clothes.”
“How long was this person aboard?”
“Not over five minutes.”
“Do you know what he was after?”
“Something that was on the yacht.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about this?”
“You didn’t ask me to keep watch. I supposed that if you’d wanted the yacht watched, you’d have arranged to have had it watched. You certainly had plenty of men and plenty of opportunity.”
“Yes,” Duryea conceded. “I must admit you’re right there. Could you give a very clear description of this man?”
“I’m afraid I couldn’t. He was rather an indistinct figure to me. He was very clever in handling a skiff. I noticed that. Shale was the one who watched him through the night glasses, and Shale would know more about him than I would. The man was carrying something, both when he went aboard and when he went ashore, a rather small, heavy bag of some sort.”
“How did you know it was heavy?”
“By the way he handled it, and then by the noise he made when he put it down in the bottom of the skiff.”
“A traveling bag?” Duryea asked.
“It was more like a small, square suitcase.”
He studied her face for a flicker of expression which would indicate that she knew the significance of what she was saying, but he could see nothing. “Was it a portable typewriter?”
She frowned as though trying to reconstruct the scene, and said, “It could very well have been a portable typewriter.”
Chapter 22
Frank Duryea stretched out in the rattan chaise longue in the solarium and gave himself to the solace of a cigar. It was that mystic moment when the cares of the business world are dissolved in a blue haze of aromatic smoke.
The maid, back on duty now, was getting ready to put dinner on the table. Milred, in a cool print dress that made her seem as clean and dainty as though she had been some choice bit of merchandise wrapped in cellophane, watched her husband speculatively. Her half-closed eyes gave to her face an expression of contentment and of seductive speculation.
Gramps Wiggins, bustling about in the suit of clothes he had dug out of the closet in the trailer, clasped a frosted cocktail shaker in his hands and shook it up and down with the vehemence of a big dog shaking a rabbit.
“What do you call it, Gramps?” Milred asked.
“Well,” he said, “rightly it ain’t got no name. Heard a fellow the other night crackin’ wise about his cocktail, said he called it the ‘Block and Tackle’ because you drink it, walk a block, an’ tackle anythin’. Well, this here cocktail, she ain’t like that. No, sir. You don’t need to walk no block, jus’ drink it an’ phss-s-s-s-t! You take off like a skyrocket!”