The captain said grimly, “We think your husband’s missing. Do you know anything about it?”
“Why, what do you mean?”
The captain glanced at the purser. “Mrs. Newberry, are you absolutely certain you haven’t seen your husband since he left this stateroom?”
“Why, yes, of course.”
“And you came directly here to your stateroom after you left the dining saloon?”
“That’s right.”
“Do you know where your husband went?”
“I think... I think he went up to the bar to see a man. I don’t know.”
“You didn’t go with him?”
“No.”
“You didn’t go up on deck with him?”
“Certainly not.”
Once more, the captain exchanged glances with the purser. “I remember when your party left the table, Mrs. Newberry. It was about eight-fifty, wasn’t it?”
“A little later than that, I would say,” she said. “About eight-fifty-five.”
“I think I can help you there, Captain,” Della Street interposed. “Mr. Mason left the dining room at eight-thirty-five. I then went over to the Newberry table. I was there for fifteen minutes. When the party broke up, I glanced at my watch, and it was eight-fifty-two.”
“Any particular reason for looking at your watch?” the captain asked.
“Yes. Mr. Mason was on deck, and I was to join him at nine o’clock.”
“Did you leave the dining saloon with the Newberrys?”
“No,” Della said, “I chatted with them for a while, then Mr. Newberry received a note from a bellboy. He said he had to see a man on a business matter. The party broke up then. I went to my stateroom.”
“What did you do?” the captain asked.
Her eyes showed surprise. “Why,” she said, “I put on a ram coat and beret, and went up to try and find Mr. Mason.”
“And he was on deck?”
“Yes.”
The captain regarded Mason thoughtfully for a few moments, then turned back to Mrs. Newberry. “I notice you’ve changed your dress, Mrs. Newberry.”
Her eyes flashed indignation. “Will you kindly tell me,” she demanded, “what business that is of yours, and if you know anything about my husband, please say so.”
The captain said doggedly, “I want to know why you changed your dress.”
“I shall report you for impertinence,” she said coldly.
The captain hesitated for a moment, then blurted, “I’m going to inspect your closet, Mrs. Newberry — with your permission.”
“Well,” she snapped, “of all the nerve! I most certainly won’t give you permission.”
“I’m sorry,” the captain said, “because I’m going to search it anyway.”
Mason stepped toward the closet door, regarding the captain with puzzled eyes. “Just a minute, Captain. I think we’re entitled to know exactly what it is you’re looking for. After all, the law makes a person’s property safe from unreasonable search.”
The captain said shortly, “I don’t care to hear any law, Mr. Mason. This is my ship. On board it I’m the law. I’m responsible for what I do. I’m going to look in that closet. Get back out of the way.”
For a moment Mason and the captain locked eyes, the captain’s weatherbeaten countenance showed dogged determination. Mason’s granite-hard features devoid of expression. Then Mason stepped to one side and said, “You’re taking the responsibility for this, Captain.”
“I’m taking the responsibility.”
Mrs. Newberry flung herself toward the closet. “You can’t do it! It’s an outrage! Mr. Mason, why don’t you stop him?”
The lawyer, trained from years of courtroom experience to make lightning-fast appraisals of character, said simply, “I can’t stop him, Mrs. Newberry. He’s going to search that closet.”
She stood with her back against the closet door, her arms outspread. “Well,” she said, “I can stop him!”
The lawyer stared at her intently until her defiant eyes shifted to his.
“If anything significant should be in that closet, you’re not helping things any,” he warned.
“I don’t know what he’s looking for, and I don’t care,” she blazed. “It’s the principle of the thing. The captain should be out on deck, saving the man who’s fallen overboard, instead of snooping through my things!”
The captain said, “I’m going to search that closet.” He moved forward. “Will you get away from that door, Madam?”
Mason said, “Captain, will you please tell us what you expect to find in that closet?”
The captain shook his head. “It’s something I’m not going to discuss until I’ve seen if it’s in there.”
“Let’s get it over with,” Mason advised Mrs. Newberry.
Slowly, and reluctantly, she moved away from the door, and came to stand at Mason’s side, her right hand resting on his arm. Mason, watching the captain, could feel her hand tremble. “He’d have done it anyway,” Mason said in an undertone. “It looks better this way. What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” she said defiantly. “I hate to be shoved around, that’s all.”
The captain opened the closet door, fumbled around for a moment, then dropped to his knees to look on the floor. A moment later he backed out of the closet, straightened, and held up a wet black lace evening gown in one hand, a pair of wet black satin shoes in the other.
“This is the gown you wore at dinner, Mrs. Newberry?” he asked. “And these are your shoes?”
She hesitated a moment, then said, “Yes.”
“And since you didn’t go out on deck, how did these articles get wet?”
Mason stepped forward and said, “You’ll pardon me, Captain, but here’s where I take a hand. What difference does it make whether she went up on deck or whether she went to her stateroom? As I see it, there’s no reason why she should be called upon to account for her actions.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Mason,” the captain said, his eyes never shifting from Mrs. Newberry’s countenance, “but there are things about this you don’t know about.”
“Would it,” Mason inquired, “be asking too much if I asked you to tell me what they are?”
“Yes,” the captain said, “it would. Will you kindly explain, Mrs. Newberry, how it happened that your dress became soaking wet?”
Mason said, “All right, Captain, you were supreme in your field, I’m supreme in mine. As master of this ship, you took the responsibility of searching that closet. Now then, as Mrs. Newberry’s attorney, I’m taking the responsibility of telling you this has gone far enough. If you want Mrs. Newberry to cooperate with you, you’ll tell her exactly what you’re after and why you’re after it.”
“I’ve asked a question,” the captain said, his eyes fixed on Mrs. Newberry, “I’m going to have an answer.”
Mrs. Newberry, standing very erect, said, “I haven’t the slightest intention of answering.”
The captain nodded to the purser. “We’ll look the place over, Mr. Buchanan.”
“I take it,” Mason observed, “that means you’re going to make a further search.”
“It does,” the captain said shortly.
Mason circled Mrs. Newberry with his arm, the fingers gripping her wrist. Her flesh was cold to his touch. “Take it easy,” he cautioned.
Belle Newberry said, “Well, I’m not going to take it easy! I think this is an outrage and an insult to Mother and to me. I demand an explanation! And I want to know what you know about my father and why you think he’s missing.”
“I’m sorry, ” the captain said, facing her, “this thing may not have been an accident. Now do you understand?”
“You mean... that...”
Mason said, “Let’s get this straight, Captain. Are you insinuating that Mr. Newberry may have committed suicide?”