Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Stepdaughter’s Secret

“And what do I tell them?” Blair asked.

“The truth,” Mason said, “but you don’t tell them that you have taken two and two and made four. You give them the figures and let them make their own addition.”

“The police are in on this blackmail business?” Blair asked.

Mason said, “The police are investigating another crime.”

“Another crime! You mean there’s something other than blackmail?”

Mason, his eyes on Blair’s face, said, “I mean murder.”

For a moment Blair was motionless. Then his face paled. “Murder?” he said.

“Murder,” Mason said.

“But who?... What...?”

“Someone took the Bancroft yacht last night and sailed it out into the harbour. Apparently the yacht drifted around for a while and came to rest at the upper end of the bay on some sand flats. When the sheriff boarded the boat this afternoon there was a body aboard it.”

“A body!” Blair exclaimed. “Good heavens, not any one of the Bancrofts! Not—”

“No,” Mason said, “the body of a young man. He may very well prove to be a young man with a criminal record.”

“You mean... Carleton?”

“Not Carleton,” Mason said. “Someone else.”

“But how did the body get aboard the boat?”

“That,” Mason said, “is anybody’s guess. You’ve given me all the information you care to impart and I’ve given you all the information I dare to impart to you.”

Mason arose and extended his hand. “Good night, Mr Blair, and thank you for coming in.”

Blair hesitated for a long moment, then gave Mason his hand.

The flesh was cold to the touch.

“Good night, Mr Mason,” he said, and moved out of the exit door, which Della Street held open for him, as though he were marching toward an execution chamber.

Newspaper headlines screamed across the top of the morning papers: body found on socialite’s yacht — may tie in with blackmail attempt –

The story dramatically played up the family, their silence which was attributed to an attempt to cover up the reason for extortion, and said all inquiries should be referred to Perry Mason, noted criminal attorney.

Della Street placed the morning newspapers on Mason’s desk as he entered.

“Well,” she said, “the press isn’t too bad. So far, the police haven’t intimated that any of the Bancrofts are directly suspected of murder, but their silence is supposed to connect up with the reason for the extortion note.”

“That’s good,” Mason said.

“And,” she said, “Mr Bancroft has been in the outer office for the last fifteen minutes, waiting for you to come in.”

“Bring him in,” Mason said. “We’ll see what’s new at his end.”

Bancroft evidently had passed a sleepless night. His face was grey with fatigue, the eyes lined with heavy pouches under the lower lids.

“How bad was it?” Mason asked.

“It was bad,” Bancroft said, “but fortunately my wife was a real trouper. She said that she would only answer questions in the presence of her husband and in the presence of her attorney.”

“And you?” Mason asked.

“I said the same.”

“Did you give any reason for your silence?”

“Simply that there were certain things that we could not discuss at the present time; that at the proper time and in the proper place we would make a statement, but that we could not make a statement at the present time which would be aired in the public press.”

Mason said, “All right, now we’ve got to go to work.”

“Doing what?”

Mason said, “Your wife recognized the place where the boat ran aground?”

“Yes. It was right close to a wharf where we frequently get gas and oil. The wharf is closed during the night and apparently Gilly had planned to tie the boat up at this wharf but the dragging anchor caught before he quite got to the wharf.”

“How deep was the water when your wife jumped overboard?”

“It was over her head — or she thinks it was, at first, but within a few swimming strokes she reached a point where she could put her feet on the bottom and walk ashore.”

Mason said, “No gun was found on the boat. Your wife’s purse wasn’t found. Your wife feels that she dropped the purse and the gun as she jumped overboard.”

“That’s right. She thinks she heard the gun hit the deck and then bounce into the water. There was a splash.”

“All right,” Mason said, “what we have to do is locate that gun.”

“ We have!”

“That’s right.”

“Are you crazy?” Bancroft asked. “That is the one piece of evidence that we can’t afford to have the police get their hands on. That gun is registered in my name, and if ballistics show it was the murder weapon—”

“Calm down,” Mason said. “I didn’t say we had to recover the gun, I said we had to locate it.”

“You mean locate it and—”

“That’s right,” Mason said, “locate and leave it there in cold storage, so to speak.”

“How are we going to do that?”

Mason said, “I want you to take a chart of the bay, pinpoint the location of the yacht. Paul Drake is going to have to take a diver out there and explore the bottom.”

“And if he finds the gun and my wife’s purse?”

“Drake,” Mason said, “will say nothing until I tell him to.”

“Isn’t he supposed to report evidence to the police?”

“Drake won’t know the significance of either the gun or the purse,” Mason said. “I’ll see that he doesn’t. He’ll simply have a diver explore the floor of the bay at that point.”

“But we know the stuff is there,” Bancroft said. “There’s no need to confirm it.”

Mason regarded him with steady eyes. “You know your wife told you it was there,” he said. “I’d like to confirm her statement.”

“You don’t doubt her word?”

Mason said, “When I’m handling a murder case I doubt everything and everybody — even you.”

“But,” Bancroft protested, “why do you have to know it’s there?”

“Because,” Mason said, “if your wife ever tells her story on the witness stand, we’re going to demand that the sheriff send down a diver at that place and find the evidence which will corroborate her story.”

“Well, you can do that without first checking the evidence.”

“No, I can’t,” Mason said. “If I make that demand and a diver goes down there and the evidence isn’t there, I’ve given your wife a one-way ticket to the gas chamber.”

“But I tell you the evidence is there. It has to be. She jumped overboard, she had the strap of the purse over her wrist. She knows exactly where she jumped and—”

Mason said, “She’s never going to tell her story unless she’s forced to tell it on the witness stand. If she is forced to tell it, I want to be sure I can corroborate it.”

“But when they find that gun... Don’t you understand, Mason, the gun is registered in my name, and their ballistics department can prove it fired the fatal bullet. It ties the crime directly to Phyllis.”

“Or to you,” Mason said.

Bancroft was thoughtfully silent for a moment, then said, “How long before Drake will make his investigation?”

“It’ll be done under cover of darkness,” Mason said. “I want a diagram which pinpoints the location of that boat at the time your wife jumped overboard.”

Bancroft seemed suddenly relieved. “You won’t want it before tonight.”

“I’ll want the map early. Drake won’t make the search until tonight.”

“Okay,” Bancroft said, “you’ll have the map.”