Erle Stanley Gardner
The Case of the Turning Tide
Foreword
The relatively few persons who have had first-hand dealings with real murder know that truth is not only stranger than fiction, but is much more exciting.
As one who has had intimate contact with several murders, who has also done some writing and some reading, I tried to find out just why this was so. I haven’t found all the answers, but I think I have found some.
It is the difference between milk and meat.
Our so-called “murder mysteries” are escape fiction, and have become highly standardized through too much usage. Attempts to “create suspense,” “plant” clues, and above all, to “surprise the reader,” have robbed the reader of far more than they have given him in return.
In this book events are permitted to stream across the page in just about the way they would have happened in real life. Such clues as the reader will find are the ones that are there naturally. And if the reader isn’t “surprised” in the conventional manner by having the characters who seem painted the blackest with the brush of guilt turn out to be the most innocent, while the real murderer is the one person who has seemed “as pure as the driven snow,” I hope he will at least be entertained.
Reading it over, now that it is finished, I can find numerous technical errors — according to the standards of escape literature. I find that I also get some of the thrill which was inevitably associated with every real murder case on which I ever worked.
If the reader can get a taste of this “meat” he will feel compensated and I will be amply rewarded for the extra effort this book has cost.
Erle Stanley Gardner
Cast of Characters
TED SHALE — A traveling paper salesman who rescued a waterlogged blond maiden and found himself involved in a double murder.
JOAN HARPLER — Another good Samaritan, the well-built owner and captain of the yacht Albatross — definitely not the type one would expect to find sailing alone.
NITA MOLINE — An invited guest on the Gypsy Queen. Easy on the eyes, she had ample resources — both physical and financial.
FRANK DURYEA — He’d been district attorney of Santa Delbarra County for three years but couldn’t stomach scenes of violence.
MILRED DURYEA — Frank’s good-looking wife, who had the knack of keeping her youth, her figure and her husband.
ADDISON STEARNE — Wealthy owner of the Gypsy Queen, who shrewdly reduced everything to dollars and cents.
C. ARTHUR RIGHT — Former secretary to Stearne, he still had illusions about his ex-employer.
GRAMPS WIGGINS — Milred’s globe-trotting grandfather. This family skeleton was a mystery addict with unconventional ideas on sleuthing.
GEORGE V. HAZLIT — Addison Stearne’s attorney. He cultivated an aura of professional respectability that enabled him to do things in an extraordinary fashion.
PARKER GIBBS — A private detective employed by Hazlit, who knew full well that a man in his occupation is paid to secure results.
PEARL RIGHT — C. Arthur Right’s attractive but unloved wife, who resented Stearne’s hypnotic spell over her husband.
WARREN HILBERS — Mrs. Right’s playboy brother, whose first love was speedboats. No one ever forgot his pipe-organ voice.
JACK ELWELL — An oil-lease speculator who was most anxious not to receive a letter that would cost him a pretty penny.
NED FIELDING — Elwell’s young partner. His magnetic personality and regular profile tempted many female investors.
MRS. PARKER GIBBS — Jealous and suspicious wife of the detective, she asked as many questions as a D.A.
MARTHA GAYMAN — Secretary to Elwell & Fielding. Her employers thought her too dumb to lie.
Chapter 1
Ted Shale walked along the hard-packed sand which had been left by the outgoing tide. He walked with the leisurely manner of one who has no definite destination in mind. To the south, the ocean was a sheet of deep blue. Above it arched the cloudless vault of the sky. The sunlight reflected from the water as from a burnished mirror. Behind him and to the north, the city of Santa Delbarra cuddled against the hazy blue slopes of the mountains. The sides of its stucco buildings were white in the sunlight. Green palm fronds splashed color contrast against red tile roofs.
It was Sunday. The sound of church bells, mellowed by distance, drifted through the balmy air. Out in the bay, some two dozen yachts swung to their moorings. On one of them stood a girl in a tight-fitting white bathing suit decorated with green and brown figures. The morning sun touched her smooth, bronzed skin. Her body was smooth, supple, and desirable, and she was fully conscious of that fact.
There was no other sign of life on any of the yachts.
A hundred feet or more beyond the yacht on which the girl was standing, the Gypsy Queen floated in regal splendor. The exhaust from its Diesel motor, disguised as a funnel, gave it the appearance of a miniature liner. Glistening with mahogany, brass, and white enamel, it dwarfed the other yachts in the harbor. Shale’s interest centered on this yacht. From time to time, he shifted his eyes to it. Aboard it was Addison Stearne, who controlled, among other things, a string of Pacific Coast hotels. The sales manager of the Freelander Pasteboard Products Company had sent Shale to Santa Delbarra with instructions to get an order from Stearne.
So far Shale hadn’t even been able to see the man, let alone, talk with him.
Shale was only too well aware that Sunday might be an unpropitious time to make an approach, but, talking with some of the crew of the Gypsy Queen who had been on shore leave, Shale had learned that Stearne had left orders the yacht was to be ready to put to sea at three o’clock Sunday afternoon.
Shale’s investigations had further disclosed that every man on the crew had been given overnight shore leave, had, in fact, been warned to stay ashore and not come back to the yacht. That had included even the cook. Obviously, Stearne would require some breakfast, and Shale intended to approach the man the minute he set foot on the landing float at the yacht club. Whether the time was propitious or not, Shale determined he was going to have a try at it.
It was as yet too early for many people to be at the beach, but a few family parties were gathered near the wall which served as a windbreak. Three or four children ran along the hard-packed sand. As they played, they shouted shrill little cries which spread out over the water and were lost. Farther down the beach, a flock of shore birds, moving in unison as though following carefully rehearsed maneuvers, ran up and down the sand, eagerly searching for food at every receding wavelet, turning in leg-twinkling retreat as another wave splashed up the beach.
Ted Shale regarded the girl in the bathing suit with surreptitious appreciation. She had chestnut-colored hair. Her waist was small. Her hips had a long slope which was pleasing to the eye. She had been swimming, and water glistened in sun-reflecting drops from her arms and legs.
There was no faintest breath of wind. Dead calm made the ocean flat as a floor. The pennant atop the clubhouse clung to the short pole. Along the landing float a cluster of small boats were tied in a confused tangle.
Abruptly a figure debouched from the cabin of the Gypsy Queen. A young woman ran to the rail. She wore a white sailor shirt and blue dungarees. As she bent over the rail, her hair, a shock of spun gold, fell down about her face. She made a feeble motion with her left hand as though to brush the hair back from her forehead, then her arm fell forward, dangling toward the water. Her head dropped limply. For a moment she hung precariously, then slumped over the rail and splashed into the water.