Mason slipped the negative from his pocket. “Let me have your purse, Della.”
She gave him her purse. Mason slipped the negative between the leaves of the small notebook which she carried in the purse. “Think you know what to do with this?” he asked.
“The thing you said you’d like to do up there?”
“Yes. You and Paul Drake beat it. Get that done on the largest scale possible. I’ll join you in town.”
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“Pay a social call,” he said. “I’ll get back.”
Mason nodded to MacGregor.
MacGregor let them out of the basement door. Mason walked quietly around the house. MacGregor waited for his signal to cross the yard.
Lights blazed on in the front of the house. Mason, walking around the corner, signalled MacGregor, climbed the front steps, and rang the bell.
For a moment there was no response, then Mason heard the sound of quick steps in the hallway. He stepped back a few paces to look out across the moonlit yard. He glimpsed two fleeting shadows as MacGregor and Della Street made a dash for the break in the hedge. He glanced back toward the ocean. In a low, white building at the far end of the garage he saw lights come on, then go off. A moment later he heard the sound of a door rolling back on a steel track.
Abruptly the porch light flooded him with brilliance. A wicket in the front door swung back. Mason was conscious of a pair of intense eyes staring steadily at him. A voice, ominously calm, said, “Who are you and what do you want?”
“My name’s Mason,” the lawyer said. “I want to talk with you.”
“Are you Perry Mason, the lawyer?”
“Yes.”
“What do you want to talk with me about?”
“About Penn Wentworth.”
“I don’t care to discuss him with you.”
Mason said, “I think you do.”
“Well, I don’t,” the voice said. “This is private property. I don’t allow trespassers. I’ll give you thirty seconds to get started for the gate. At the end of that time, I’ll telephone the police.”
The lights on the porch switched out. After a moment the lights in the front of the house went out. Mason was left standing on the front porch in the moonlight.
“Very well,” Mason said. He turned, walked down the front steps, but instead of turning to the right toward the gate, turned to the left and strode rapidly toward the hangar.
He was almost at the door of the hangar when he heard the slam of a door in the house behind him and running steps on the graveled walk.
Mason entered the hangar. His flashlight explored the interior, showed a trim, white amphibian plane. Seated in the cabin was a beautiful, olive-skinned woman with dark eyes.
Mason climbed up on the step of the plane and opened the cabin door.
The woman’s voice said reproachfully, “You blinded me with that flashlight, dear.”
Mason entered the cabin. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Wentworth,” he said.
At the sound of his voice, she stiffened to attention. Mason saw her lips twitch with emotion. The cabin door jerked open, and the voice of Eversel behind him said, “Get the hell out of here.”
Mason calmly sat down in one of the seats.
Eversel said, “Get the hell out.”
Juanita Wentworth switched on the lights in the plane, illuminating the cabin, showing Eversel, a bronzed, young giant with reddish brown, excitable eyes, holding a gun in his right hand.
Mason said, “Better put away the gun, Eversel. Don’t you think we’ve had enough gun play?”
Eversel said, “This is my property. I’m ordering you out and off. If you don’t go, I’ll treat you as I would any other trespasser.”
“I wouldn’t advise you to,” Mason said. “You’re in deep enough already. A witness has identified you as the man who climbed aboard Wentworth’s yacht just before the shooting.”
He settled back in the seat.
“That’s a lie,” Eversel said.
Mason shrugged his shoulders.
Juanita Wentworth said, “Please, Sidney — no trouble.”
After a moment Eversel asked, “What do you want?”
“A complete statement,” Mason said, “admitting that you were the one who boarded the Pennwent while Mae Farr was struggling with Wentworth in the cabin.”
“I wasn’t there,” Eversel said.
Mason arched his eyebrows. “After that, you took this airplane and flew to San Diego.”
“What if I did? This is a private plane. I go where I damn please.”
“An amphibian, I notice,” Mason said casually. “While you were flying to San Diego, did you, perhaps, happen to fly over the Pennwent and look down into the lighted interior of the cabin?”
“What the devil are you talking about?”
“Just asking questions,” Mason said.
“Don’t do it. It isn’t healthy.”
Mason said conversationally, “Do you know, Eversel, I have a peculiar idea about what happened aboard that yacht. You’re quite an amateur photographer. It’s a funny thing about that shot. No one heard it.”
“Well, what’s strange about that?” Eversel asked belligerently. “People in the other boats were making whoopee. If they heard a noise, they’d take it as the backfire of a truck or a boat engine.”
Mason said, “Do you know, Eversel, I was wondering if it couldn’t have been a flashlight bulb that Mae Farr thought was a shot. Wentworth knew he was trapped as soon as the picture was taken. He ran back to the after cabin and held the door tightly shut while he was getting into his clothes. He thought perhaps it was a raid.”
Eversel said, “I suppose you’d like to cook up some cock and bull story like that in order to get your client, Mae Farr, acquitted of murder.”
“She’s a little adventuress,” Mrs. Wentworth said.
“It was just an idea I had,” Mason observed almost apologetically.
“Well, it’s an idea that didn’t pan out,” Eversel said sharply, “and if you make any insinuations like that in court, I’ll sue you for slander.”
“Of course,” Mason went on conversationally, “you hoped that as soon as Wentworth realized the full import of what had happened, he would decide to get in touch with his estranged wife and meet her terms on a property settlement. He knew that photograph would put him in rather a bad light.”
“You’re crazy,” Eversel said.
“You and Mrs. Wentworth wanted to get married,” Mason said. “You’d been just a little too eager. Wentworth wouldn’t let his wife have an uncontested divorce. You were pretty desperate. You couldn’t afford to have your name dragged into a scandal.”
“I tell you you’re crazy.”
Mason went on calmly, “I don’t think it was only a question of money. It was probably also a question of jealousy on Wentworth’s part. He was fascinated by the woman he had married and who had grown to despise him.” The lawyer turned to Mrs. Wentworth and made a little bow. “Seeing Mrs. Wentworth, one can well appreciate how he felt.”
Eversel said, “You’re not only crazy, but you’re insulting. By God, I won’t stand for it.”
Mason said, “The preliminary hearing is tomorrow morning. Through an understanding with the justice of the peace, witnesses whom I think important are subpoenaed.”
“Juanita is going to be there,” Eversel said.
“So I understand,” Mason observed, taking a folded subpoena from his pocket and extending it to Eversel, “and so are you, Eversel.”
Eversel dashed the subpoena from the lawyer’s hand to the floor. “Not by a damn sight,” he said.
Mason shrugged his shoulders and said, “Suit yourself. You can figure whether it’s better for you to be there and answer routine questions, or to make yourself conspicuous by your absence and force the Justice to take proceedings to enforce your attendance.”