Drake’s face showed dismay.
“What’s the matter?” Mason asked.
Drake said, “You would have to pick the night when I’m nursing a sore throat, and having aches and pains in every joint.”
“You’re getting the flu?” Mason asked.
“I think I’m headed that way,” Drake admitted, “but I haven’t any fever. I’m just feeling uncomfortable. I wanted to go to a Turkish bath, but if you...”
“Forget it,” Mason interrupted. “There’s not a darn thing you can do. I’m just going to study what happens on that boat, and be in a position to advance a theory to the Court tomorrow morning.”
“The judge is certainly interested in that candle business,” Drake said.
Mason nodded, “If I can work out a theory that will hold water, I can blow that case out of court tomorrow morning. And if I can’t, I’m licked.”
Della Street said quietly, “I’m going with you. Chief.”
“Nonsense,” Mason interrupted. “I just want to go down there and see what happens, and...”
“And I’m going with you,” she interrupted.
“All right,” Mason said with a grin. “Come along.”
Chapter 18
A low, thin mist hung over the midnight waters. Above the mist the stars were pale pin-points.
Mason helped Della Street from the car. Their feet echoed along the boards of the float which led to the caretaker’s cabin of the yacht club. The silhouettes of the small pleasure yachts tied to the float seemed ghostly and unreal in the damp chill of the night.
A light glowed in the little cabin at the end of the pier, and as the man who was sitting in the warm interior of the office heard the pound of Mason’s heels and the quick staccato tap tap tap of Della Street’s feet, he opened the door and grinned a greeting.
“Hello, Cameron,” Mason said.
“Evenin’,” Cameron greeted them.
“Is everything all ready?”
Cameron’s eyes twinkled in quiet humor. A short, stubby pipe was gripped in his teeth firmly. He removed this pipe, said, “Better come in for a few minutes and get warm. It’s going to be mighty cold out there on the water. There’s a stove in the cabin of the yacht, but you’ll be plenty cold getting out there. I’ve got a kettle of hot water on the stove and some rum. If you folks would like a hot buttered rum, I...”
Mason didn’t even wait for him to finish. “What is holding you back?” he demanded.
Cameron smiled and, glancing at. Della Street, asked Mason somewhat diffidently, “Two glasses or three?”
It was Della who answered the question. “Three,” she announced.
“And you can make ‘em just as strong as you like,” Mason said.
Cameron put a generous portion of butter into three cups, adding boiling water, sugar, spices, and then poured in the rum. “Got a brother in the dairy business,” he said. “Manage to keep myself supplied with enough butter to take the edge off my rum toddies. You folks want to take your coats off?”
“No,” Mason said. “We’ll get started as soon as we’ve finished our rum, and it won’t do us any harm to get good and warm before we start.”
Della and Mason silently toasted each other over the rims of the thick porcelain cups, then sipped the hot beverage.
“That,” Mason announced, “is a lifesaver.”
“Uh huh. Kind of crisp tonight. It gets chilly along about midnight down on the water eight or nine months out of the year. I have to get out and make the rounds ever so often. I’m telling you, it certainly feels good to come back to my cozy little cabin.”
“Don’t you get lonely?” Della asked.
Cameron puffed contentedly on his pipe. “Nope,” he said, “I’ve got books and — well, I don’t know. You get lonely in a big house, but in a little cabin like this with everything ship-shape, you don’t get lonesome. You get so after a while you can get along with yourself better than with anybody else.”
“How long will it take us to get out to the yacht?” Mason asked.
“Oh, not over ten minutes. Now as I get it, you want to have me take you out there with my outboard motor, and leave you there. Then I’m to come back for you around two o’clock. That right?”
“That’s right.”
“Okay,” Cameron said, “I’ll be there. Just wanted to get the time straight in my mind because I hate to leave this place alone. I really ain’t supposed to, but I guess a short trip like this won’t hurt anything. But I’d like to time things so you’ll be ready to start back soon’s I get there. You found some clue?”
Mason laughed. “Not a clue. We’re just looking around.”
“Humph!”
“Of course we might find something.”
“That’s right. How’d I do on the witness stand today? Didn’t hurt your case any, did I?”
“Not a bit.”
“That’s good. I hope you get both of them off. They’re fine people. Mr. Burbank is a good friend of mine. And that daughter of his. Say, there’s a live wire for you! A regular little thoroughbred, that girl! Well, anytime you’re ready to start.”
Mason and Della Street placed their empty cups on the drain board of the little sink. “Let’s go,” Mason said.
The outboard motor sputtered into life. The bow of the boat moving through the water pushed ahead of it a bow wave which broke out into a series of ripples on each side. The cold night air brushed moist, chill fingers against their faces. The little boat chugged out into the channel, then after a minute or two rounded a point and started fighting against the tide up the black waters of the estuary.
“Rather hard to navigate here?” Mason said.
“Oh, you get so you know your way around. Learn a few simple landmarks and you’re okay. Keep the tip of that point outlined against that little glow of light on the other side. Keep ‘em right in line. See, I’ve got ‘em dead astern.”
Mason laughed, “You’ll have me applying for a pilot’s license directly.”
Della Street said, “Something ahead.”
The outboard motor promptly slowed its speed.
“That’s the yacht,” the boatman said.
They swung around the yacht in a circle, came up close to the rail. The boatman said to Mason, “Now if you can just get aboard...”
Mason nodded, reached up, caught the cold, clammy, iron handrail of the yacht, and clambered aboard. The boatman tossed him a rope, said to Della, “Now, Miss, I’ll give you a hand.”
They boosted Della Street up to the deck of the yacht. Cameron moved over to cling to the handrail, holding the skiff up against the yacht. “She’s aground already,” he said.
“That’s right.”
“Well, watch your step when she settles. Shell go over part way, then sort of stick and then go way over with a lurch. Now, you want me back here at two o’clock. That right?”
“That’s right,” Mason said.
“Okay, I’ll be here. You watch your step now. Don’t get hurt.”
“We won’t,” Mason promised.
Cameron still seemed reluctant to shove off. He continued for several seconds to stand holding the rail, the idling outboard motor pop-pop-popping, a faint odor of burnt gasoline clinging to the water. “Well, I’ll be on my way. Right around two o’clock, eh?”
“That’s right.”
“Think you’ll be all done and ready to start back by that time?”
“I think so.”
“Well, I’ll be seeing you.”