Erle Gardner - The Case of the Substitute Face

“Has it occurred to you,” Mason asked, “that this theory you’re outlining presupposes, that Mrs. Moar had been deliberately planning her husband’s death for some time?”

“Of course it has.”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Mason said.

“Think it over,” she told him. “It makes plenty of sense.

It makes the facts all fit together. She knew that Evelyn Whiting knew Carl Newberry was really Carl Moar. She had reason to believe Celinda Dail also knew. By setting the stage with you, she thoroughly convinced you Moar had been guilty of embezzlement. Under the circumstances, if he’d gone on deck, shot himself, and gone overboard, it would have looked like suicide.”

“That,” Mason said, “doesn’t coincide with my idea of Mrs. Moar’s character.”

“I know it doesn’t,” Della Street said quietly, “but it coincides with mine.”

“Look here,” Mason told her, “has it ever occurred to you that if the testimony of Aileen Fell doesn’t stand up, the Prosecution hasn’t a leg to stand on?”

“There’s the circumstantial evidence that Mrs. Moar had been on deck with her husband — her wet dress, wet shoes, and the money belt.”

“All right, suppose she did go on deck with her husband. That doesn’t mean she killed him.”

Della Street stared thoughtfully at the carpet. “Chief, if you can break down Aileen Fell’s testimony, can you get her off?”

Mason nodded. “With Aileen Fell’s testimony out of the way, a jury will figure it was as apt to have been suicide as murder.”

“What makes you think you can get Aileen Fell’s testimony out of the way?”

“Because of the statement she made to her cabin-mate. It doesn’t coincide with what she’s saying now. Remember this, she’s rather a morbid personality. She was on deck, standing by herself, thrilling to the storm. I noticed her earlier in the evening. She was seated by herself over at one of the tables, wearing a blue dinner gown, and attacking her food with grim efficiency.”

“She’ll be a hard woman to cross-examine,” Della Street said.

“Why?” Mason asked.

“She won’t have too much regard for the facts. She’ll consider the cross-examination as a personal duel between herself and the attorney for the Defense. She’ll get more and more positive as you seem to doubt her word. She’s just that type.”

Mason grinned and said, “Don’t worry about her, Della. She’s going to fold up on cross-examination.”

“You seem to be certain, Chief.”

“I am,” he said, grinning — “that is, if Paul Drake gets that picture of her in her dinner dress.”

“What’s that got to do with it?”

Mason chuckled. “It’s a secret.”

The telephone rang.

Della Street picked up the receiver, received a message from the desk, and said, “Oscar’s downstairs. He wants to see you.”

“Oscar?” Mason asked.

She nodded. “Remember, the chap who waited on our table.”

Mason said, “Oh, yes. Go on out and talk with him, Della. If he’s broke and wants a loan, give him twenty-five bucks and my compliments. If he has some information, bring him in.”

Della Street glided from the room. Mason started pacing the floor, his head bowed in thought, hands thrust deep in his trouser pockets.

After a few moments, he paused by the window, stared moodily at the rivulets of rain which made patterns down the windowpane. He turned as a door opened and Della Street escorted the table steward into the room.

“Hello, Oscar,” Mason said.

Smiles wreathed the man’s face. “Good morning, Mr. Mason. I don’t want to take up much of your time. I just wanted to run in and speak to you for a minute. You were so nice to me on the ship that I thought... Well, I thought perhaps I could help you .”

Mason glanced inquiringly at Della Street. She gave an almost imperceptible nod of the head. Mason said, “What is it, Oscar?”

The man stood somewhat ill at ease. “Well, Mr. Mason, I don’t know as I’m doing right in this thing, but you see, we went through a bit of a blow coming into port, and then there was this business of all the commotion on the upper deck, and the boats being made ready to lower, and all that. Well, the next morning, come daylight, they sent us up to get the canvas covers back on the boats and get everything shipshape. One of the men found a gun up there and the first officer took charge of it.”

“What sort of a gun?” Mason asked.

“A thirty-eight caliber blued-steel revolver. I couldn’t see the make. It looked like a pretty good gun.”

“Anything else?” Mason asked.

“Yes, sir.”

The man fumbled in his pocket, produced a folded piece of paper and said, “I found this, sir. I asked the first officer if it was important and he said no, to pitch it overboard. You know, the first officer’s in command, but I felt perhaps... Well, I thought I’d save it. And then when I heard you were Mrs. Moar’s lawyer — I thought I’d bring it in and let you have a look at it.”

He took from the paper a long, irregular piece of blue silk print. “I found this stuck on one of the cleats, sir.”

Mason took the bit of cloth. “Looks like a piece torn out of a woman’s dress.”

Oscar nodded.

“Any idea where it came from?” Mason asked.

“No, sir, but it was on a cleat on the outside of the rail.”

“On the outside of the rail!”

“Yes, sir.”

“Port or starboard?”

“Port, sir, and a little aft of amidship.”

Mason said, “Let’s get this straight. You mean the cleat was on the outside of the rail. Is that right?”

“Yes, sir. And from the way it was caught, I’d say this part of the hem caught on the cleat and then the rest of it ripped loose, leaving this triangular piece.”

“How much of it was wrapped around the cleat?” Mason asked.

“This hem part was wrapped around a couple of times, and about eight or ten inches up at this end was flapping in the breeze. Perhaps I should have reported it to the police, sir, but I was working under the first officer and he said to throw it overboard. So if I turn it in to the police and it should be important, the first officer would have it in for me as long as I was on the run, so I’m handing it to you and asking that you’ll just keep it confidential, sir.”

Mason smiled and said, “Oscar, thanks a lot. That’s appreciated. I’ll keep quiet about it and you do the same. Now you’ve been to quite a bit of trouble, coming in here and I’m wondering if you wouldn’t accept a...”

“No, sir,” the man said hastily. “You were so nice to me on the ship that it’s a pleasure to do something for you in return. I thought I’d bring this up to you, and hope it might be some help.”

Mason shook hands with him, escorted him to the exit door and said, “Well, Oscar, perhaps some day I’ll be able to do something for you.”

“Yes, sir, thank you, sir. I hope you sail with me again, sir.”

Mason closed the door, came back, looked at Della Street and asked, “Well?”

She shook her head. “I can’t place it, Chief. And yet I remember having seen it. Some woman wore that dress, but for the life of me, I can’t tell right now who she was. After all, there were a couple of hundred passengers in first class.”

Mason took a small pair of scissors from his toilet case. He was cutting the cloth into three pieces as Paul Drake opened the door from his room and said, “Going into the dressmaking business, Perry?”

Mason said, “Paul, here’s something — a piece of cloth torn from a woman’s dress. I want you to make a few quiet inquiries among the passengers and see if you can find out who had a dress of that description.”