“Well, yes,” he admitted, “about fifteen or twenty minutes before I noticed you on the yacht, I became interested in a shell. I examined it closely for two or three minutes.”
“And during that time, you weren’t watching. That is, you weren’t where you could see anyone who happened to get aboard the yacht.”
“I guess that’s right.”
“That was fifteen or twenty minutes before you saw me?”
“Yes.”
She nodded her head with quick emphasis. “That would make it just about right. In fact, I think I remember seeing you. You were crouched over — or kneeling or sitting down, holding something in your hand, and...”
“I was kneeling, looking down at the shell. I didn’t pick it up because there seemed to be something in it.”
“But you were holding your hand near it?”
“Probably.”
“Yes. I remember seeing you — just in a general way. That was when I was casting off the skiff and going out to the yacht.”
He asked suddenly, “What is it that you want me to do for you?”
“I want to know who goes aboard the Gypsy Queen during the next three or four days.”
“Just during the days?”
“No. All of the time.”
“That all?”
“Yes.”
He laughed and said, “I’m afraid I’d have to be twins, standing out on that beach...”
“Oh, but you wouldn’t have to. While I was aboard the Albatross — Miss Harpler’s yacht, you know — I made arrangements with her to co-operate. She said she’d be glad to until I could make other arrangements. She said you could come on board her yacht and watch from there.”
“You told her that I was going to do it?” Shale asked.
“Well, not exactly. I told her I wanted to have someone watch the yacht, that I was particularly interested in finding out who went aboard, and how long they stayed. I think she was the one who mentioned that you might be available.”
“I’m afraid you’ve failed to take into consideration the fact that I’m working on a job. The sales manager of the Freelander Pasteboard...”
“He wants you to get the Order for that hotel business, doesn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“Well, this would be working on it.”
“I don’t get you.”
“You see, I’m going to have something to say about how the estate is managed. I can’t give you all the details, but I’ll have some voice in the business of the estate — directly or in-directly. Your company doesn’t care where the order comes from. These hotels are going to keep right on using paper, you know.”
He said cautiously, “If the sales manager could be convinced that you were...”
“Anyhow, the district attorney told you to wait here. You can’t leave. If you do this for me, I’ll do all I can to get you a whopping big paper order. Is it a bargain?”
Shale thought it over. “The district attorney told me to stay on at the Balboa Hotel. He’d hardly understand it if I went out to live on the yacht.”
“That’ll be all right. You can call the hotel for messages, ring the desk clerk four or five times a day.”
“Suppose I don’t know the persons who get on and off the yacht? What do I do then? Try to follow them?”
“No. Get a good description, the time they went aboard, the time they left, and whether they brought anything out with them. I’ll give you a pair of very fine night binoculars. Use them. Try to be able to identify those people when you see them again.”
“When does this start?” asked Ted,
“As soon as you’ve finished your drink.”
Shale said, “It’s a bargain.”
“That’s splendid. Please don’t go back to your hotel. Just get in the car, and we’ll drive down to the Albatross.”
“Why don’t you want me to return to the hotel?”
“Because if you do, someone’s going to trace you to the yacht.”
“I left some clothes in my room. I wanted to have them pressed as soon as they were dry.”
“That’s all right. You can telephone the hotel. The valet will go up and get your things. I’ll telephone for you while you’re paying the check. Where are they?”
“Hanging over the bathtub.”
“No, no,” she said as he made to rise, “stay right where you are. Get the check from the waiter and pay it. Then we won’t lose any time.”
She entered the telephone booth and pulled the door shut behind her. The waiter, hovering about, brought the check at Ted’s signal. Shale took from his pocket the folded bank note Nita Moline had given him. It was a fifty-dollar bill.
Chapter 5
George V. Hazlit, who for years had been Addison Stearne’s lawyer, made it a point to cultivate an air of judicial dignity. With it, he was able to impress nearly all of his clients and many of his fellow members at the bar. He frequently served on committees of the Bar Association, impressing upon one and all that he was only too glad to donate his time for the betterment of the profession. These activities clothed him with an aura of professional respectability which was one of Hazlit’s most valuable assets. Things which an ordinary attorney might do at his peril could be carried off by such a prominent and influential member of the bar with impunity. The few persons who ever saw evidences of irregularities either dismissed their conclusions as being unworthy of belief, or else felt that they were not acquainted with the entire circumstances.
Neldon Tucker, the junior partner, was a quick-witted opportunist. His greatest asset was his voice. Nature had given him vocal cords which enabled him to put just the right amount of irony, of sarcasm, or of amazed incredulity into his voice — just enough so that the jury and courtroom spectators would consider it the spontaneous and unconscious reflex of a genuine emotion. Other attorneys over-acted. Neldon Tucker never even seemed to be acting.
Tucker breezed through the courtrooms, handling trial after trial with the rapidity of an omnivorous legal machine. He didn’t win all of his cases, but he won most of them. Those he didn’t win, he didn’t worry about. If he had paused to take stock of himself, he would have realized that he usually went into court only about half prepared, trusting to his ingenuity, his versatility, and his acting to make up for the lack of preparation.
George Hazlit, ensconced in his private office, frowned as he dialed the telephone. For more than an hour now, he had been fruitlessly spinning the dial of that telephone at frequent intervals. His face still wore its carefully cultivated expression of calm judicial impassivity, but there was a gathering frown on his forehead.
Outside, dusk settled on the street. Hazlit switched on the lights, dialed Exbrook 95621. After a few minutes, there came to his ears the faint sounds which indicated that the phone at the other end of the line was ringing steadily. If his party just happened to be returning home, fumbling perhaps with the door key, it would take some little time to reach the phone. So Hazlit waited for a good thirty seconds before dropping the receiver back into its cradle. Then he pushed back his chair, got up, and walked over to stare out into the gathering darkness. The office buildings in the downtown business section showed dark and gloomy. On a Sunday night there were hardly any lights showing in offices. There was, of course, plenty of traffic. It had been a fine day, and city dwellers had taken advantage of it. A steady stream of motorists flowed by beneath Hazlit’s window. Surely Neldon Tucker would be headed for home by this time, and Parker Gibbs, who did detective work for the firm, would certainly be in soon. His wife had said she expected him any minute.
Hazlit had left word at the apartment house where Ethel Dunn, his secretary, lived, that she was to call him just as soon as she got in. There was, therefore, nothing for Hazlit to do except wait — and that was hardest of all. He could feel his nerves cracking under the strain. So much to do, and he couldn’t even get started — just because Addison Stearne had seen fit to die on a Sunday.