“Yes. She’s an attractive young brunette, about a hundred and twenty pounds. She has a good figure, and knows it.”
“Had you ever seen her before?”
“Yes, but I can’t remember just when it was. Incidentally, you might be interested to learn that she left something behind.”
“What?”
“A bathing suit.”
“Where is it?” Duryea asked.
“I have it over in my house. Would you like it?”
“Very much,” Duryea said. “It might be important. — You’re sure that it was left by the sister?”
“At least by one of the women in Mr. Hilbers’ party. It was hanging in the shower. I’d intended to hold it until Mr. Hilbers happened to be over here again. Just a moment and I’ll get it.”
She disappeared in the house and returned presently with a rubber bathing suit. A peculiar montage of marine scenery had been worked into the rubber — waves curling into green crests, over which pelicans were flying. Here and there a seal thrust its head out of the water. These seals all had the same facial expression — a whisker-twisting smirk — a leer of cynical triumph.
Duryea held it up to Milred. His wife, studying it carefully and with a practiced eye, said, “Not bad. It looks as though it had been shaped to curves.”
Duryea said to Mrs. Raleigh, “I’m going to take this. Would you mind writing your name or putting your initials on a hem somewhere? Some little mark so you can identify it later on as being the same suit which you found in the shower.”
He handed her a fountain pen. She scrawled her initials on the hem of the panties.
Duryea took from his pocket a picture he had cut from a newspaper. “Just to make certain — is this the woman?”
“Yes. I hadn’t noticed that picture before. How did it happen to be in the paper?”
“Her husband was C. Arthur Right,” Duryea said. “He was murdered.”
“Was that her husband? Good heavens! I knew she was married, but I didn’t know what her married name was.”
Duryea folded the bathing suit. “Please don’t say anything to anyone about this interview,” he warned.
It was as they were walking back toward the pier that Milred asked, “What about the bathing suit, Frank? You look as grim as an executioner.”
Duryea said, “When I went aboard that yacht Sunday morning, there were three witnesses, Miss Moline and Ted Shale, both sopping wet, and Miss Harpler. Miss Harpler was wearing a bathing suit. It was rubber. The ornamental design dyed on it was a series of curling waves, flying pelicans and grinning seals. Now, figure that one out!”
Gramps chuckled. “Now you’re gettin’ somewhere, son. Now you’re whizzin’!”
Miss Harpler managed to appear definitely irritated behind a mask of light banter.
She said, “I suppose being a district attorney must have its compensations — as Emerson would say. However, I think I’d find it frightfully boring — even embarrassing — being forced to inquire into such intimate and trivial matters.”
Duryea kept his smile, but leveled his brows in his best cross-examiner manner. “It all depends on what one calls trivial.”
“I suppose so,” she said, adjusting her hair casually. “I’m afraid I couldn’t bring myself to consider the personal and private wardrobes of the bystanders particularly important. What was it you wanted to know about my bathing suit, Mr. Duryea?”
“Rubber, isn’t it?”
“I believe so, yes. It was sold to me as being rubber.”
“And the general motif of the pattern is that of life at the beach — grinning seals, pelicans gliding over the waves?”
“Exactly,” she said, “and occasionally the pelicans are shown diving. I haven’t examined it carefully to see if they catch any fish when they dive. We could, of course, do so. It is, I suppose, a matter of the greatest importance. And the expression on the seals’ faces. You think they’re singing? I hadn’t examined them very closely; but then, I lack the trained legal mind. I wear a bathing suit to comply with the law. It hadn’t occurred to me that the expressions on the seals’ faces would have anything to do with the solution of a double murder. However, if you think the expressions on their dear little faces will be important, I can’t refuse to trot them out for your inspection.”
“Oh, I think it’s of the greatest importance,” Duryea said. “I can’t imagine a more significant clue.”
“Then we must look at them without delay. I had intended to dine out tonight. To be frank, when I received your summons, I felt somewhat put out at having to keep my host waiting. But, after all, if I can make so important a contribution toward apprehending the murderer of two fellow yachtsmen, as to see whether the seals on my bathing suit are really grinning, I’ll feel that the sacrifice certainly hasn’t been in vain.”
Duryea pushed back his chair. “I’m glad you feel that way about it. Suppose we run down to your yacht and inspect the bathing suit right now.”
“Do you suppose I’d have to be there?” she asked. “Wouldn’t you feel free to inspect it with more professional detachment in my absence?”
“Oh, I should have to see it on you to observe the general effect.”
“I see. Unfortunately, Mr. Duryea, I’m alone on the yacht, and while, of course, your keen interest in your professional duties would keep your attention concentrated entirely upon the expressions of the little seals, I’d...”
“My wife is in the adjoining office,” Duryea interposed, summoning what dignity he could under the circumstances. “I’ll ask her to accompany us.”
“I think that would be simply splendid! I’ve often thought the wife of a great detective must take a keen interest in her husband’s profession. How nice it will be to let her sit on the sidelines. Then she can see you down on your knees peering at the design on a girl’s bathing suit. With her own ears she can hear you say, ‘Now, Miss Harpler, you’re absolutely certain this is your very own bathing suit? Turn around, please, so I can see the fit in the back.’ Oh, I think it’s a splendid idea having Mrs. Duryea with us! Is that an accident, or did you really plan it that way?”
Duryea crossed through his outer office and into the library. He closed the door behind him and said hastily, “Listen, I’m going to ask you folks to...”
Abruptly Milred burst out laughing.
“What is it now?” he asked with some irritation.
“Your face,” she said. “You look as though you’d been caught stealing jam.”
“And maybe you think I don’t feel like it.”
“Why? What’s the matter?”
“Well, in place of showing her this bathing suit and asking her if it was hers, I thought it might be better to approach the subject indirectly.”
“And she thought you were propositioning her?” Milred asked.
Duryea said, “She seemed to have that in mind as a possibility. Obviously, if she has her own bathing suit, this isn’t hers. If she can’t produce her bathing suit, then we’re in a position to get her story without showing our hand.”
“Well,” Gramps said, “what’s wrong with that?”
“Quite obviously,” Duryea said, “you underestimate Miss Harpler’s command of polite sarcasm. She makes me feel as though I were a lecherous Peeping Tom, using my position to...”
“And you want me to chaperon you?” Milred interrupted.
He nodded.
“I’m afraid I’d make a poor chaperon, dear. And don’t let her bluff you. You have a rather disquieting effect upon attractive young women. I happen to know. And if she has enough intelligence to be politely sarcastic, she’s laughing very much at your rather visible discomfiture. Take her over your knee and give her a good spanking.”