We came to a trim white hull surmounted by teakwood and brass. The upper cabin had square windows of heavy plate glass. There was a line of conventional round ports on the lower level.
“This is it,” Billings said. “Please keep on the mat and don’t step on the deck with those shoes. I’ll open up the cabin.”
We climbed aboard. Billings fitted a key to a padlock. A sliding panel opened up a companionway where rubber treads were bound with glistening brass. A light switch flooded a cabin into brilliance.
“It was here,” Billings said.
I soaked up the luxurious atmosphere of the cabin. It fairly reeked with money.
My feet moved over the carpet. I might have been walking on thick moss in a virgin forest. The color scheme of that cabin had been carefully carried out even to the last thread. Expensive draperies masked the interior of the cabin from the curious outer world. Chairs, books, a fine radio — every creature comfort that could possibly be packed into the confines of a yacht’s cabin.
“Where was the body?” I asked.
“As nearly as I can gather from what my son told me, it was lying here. You see, there isn’t the faintest stain in the carpet.” I got down on my hands and knees.
“You don’t need to do that,” he said. “There isn’t the faintest stain in the carpet.”
I kept crawling around. I saw that Billings was getting irritated.
“Not even the faintest stain in the carpet,” I agreed with him at length.
“You could have taken my word for that,” he said.
“There isn’t any stain in the carpet,” I went on, “because the carpet is brand new and has only recently been installed.”
“What the devil are you talking about?” he demanded. “This carpet has been here ever since—”
I shook my head and moved one of the chairs about an inch. The place where the legs of the chair had made an indentation in the deep carpet were plainly visible.
“The carpet,” I said, “has been here ever since the chair was placed there.”
“This is a very fine carpet. It returns to its original position very rapidly. You will find that—”
“I know,” I said, “but it’s impossible to completely elim- inate the marks of the chairs. You’ll notice this same thing about every one of the chairs. What’s more, you’ll notice there’s a photograph of you sitting in the cabin, reading.” I indicated a framed photograph. “You can’t tell the color of the carpet from that picture, but you certainly can see the pattern. It isn’t this one.”
There was dismay on his face as he looked at the picture.
I walked around the cabin, looking in the dark corners, running my fingers around inaccessible places.
“You’ll notice right here, Mr. Billings, there’s a very faint smear here where something has been wiped with what evidently was a damp rag and — Wait a minute, what’s this?”
“What?”
“Over here in the corner, about two feet up,” I said.
“I hadn’t noticed it,” he told me, bending down.
“I’m satisfied you haven’t, but you’d better notice it now.”
“What is it?”
I said, “It’s a small, round hole with a very peculiar dark ring around the outer perimeter. It’s about the size of a thirty-eight-caliber bullet, and there’s a very, very faint reddish-brown streak here which looks as though it might be a piece of animal tissue which was adhering to the bullet and which was carried partially into the hole made by the bullet.”
John Carver Billings looked at me in silence.
“And now,” I went on casually, “if, as you said, you had an appointment with Bishop for Tuesday night at your house, how did it happen you went over to spend the evening with Mr. Waldo W. Jefferson? How did you know Mr. Bishop wasn’t going to be able to keep his appointment at your house?”
Billings looked as though I’d thrown a bucket of cold salt water in his face. He gave one gasp, then simply stood there, jaw sagging.
And in that instant I became conscious of sound.
It was a peculiar pounding sound, as though made by many feet. Very plainly the hum of voices became audible, voices which seemed to be right outside the yacht, but which were muffled by the walls of the cabin so that they registered only as undertones of rumbling conversation in heavy masculine voices.
John Carver Billings climbed the steps and slid back the hatch. “Who are you?” a voice asked.
Before Billings had a chance to answer, I heard the voice of the gateman saying, “That’s Mr. Billings, sir. John Carver Billings. He came aboard just a few moments before you arrived.”
“Going some place, buddy?” a heavy voice asked.
“Mr. John Carver Billings, the banker,” the watchman’s voice said.
The heavy voice said, “Oh.” The tone was deferential.
Steps moved on. The watchman remained behind to explain. “There’s been a bit of trouble, sir. I wanted to tell you about it but you didn’t have the time to listen. There seems to have been a body found aboard the Effie A. The night watchman was attracted by a very evident disagreeable odor. The owner of the boat, you know, is away on a vacation. It seems that someone forced the lock and — I’m afraid it’s going to make for a nasty bit of publicity, sir, but there was nothing the club could do except notify the police.”
“I see,” Billings said. “The owner of the boat isn’t here?”
“No, sir. He’s on a trip to Europe. The boat’s been closed up and—”
“No one’s borrowed it?”
“No, sir. No one.”
John Carver Billings said impatiently, “Well, go ahead, don’t let me interfere. See that the police are given every assistance.” He slammed the sliding panel shut and came back down to the cabin.
His skin was the color of stale library paste. He avoided my eyes.
I said, “I’m going to have to do a lot of work and I’m going to have to do it fast. I want some money.”
He pulled a wallet from his pocket, opened it, and started taking out hundred-dollar bills.
I said, “Your son stopped payment of a check that was given the partnership in Los Angeles, and—”
“I’m very, very sorry about that. That’s a matter which will be rectified at once, Mr. Lam. I’ll instruct the bank to—”
“Don’t instruct the bank to do anything,” I said. “Payment of the check was stopped. Let it stay that way. But you can add five hundred dollars to what you’re giving me as expense money.”
“Expense money?”
“That’s right. There’s going to be a hell of a lot of expenses. You can add the five hundred dollars onto the other.”
He merely nodded and kept on dishing out folding money.
Looking at the size of the wallet I knew then that he’d carefully prepared for just such an emergency. This was getaway money, and there was a terrific wad of it. That, the bullet hole in the yacht, and the new carpet told me just about all I needed to know.
Chapter Fourteen
I’d once done a favor for this broker, a favor he couldn’t very well forget, so when I called him at eight o’clock in the morning he was eager to see that my business received top priority.
I said, “I have thirteen hundred and fifty dollars in cash.”
“Yes, Lam.”
“I want you to invest three hundred and fifty dollars in stock of the Skyhook Mining and Development Syndicate.”
“Never heard of it, Lam.”
“Find out about it, hear about it. Locate the stock. I want it. I want it fast.”
“Yes. And the other thousand dollars?”