The Case of the Dangerous Dowager

Mason smoked for a few moments in thoughtful silence, then said, 'That story doesn't hang together. It doesn't fit in with the other facts. No jury on earth would ever believe it. But years of practicing law have taught me to put more reliance in my judgment of character than in my ability to correlate events. Looking at you when you talk, I feel you're telling the truth. I'm going to stick with you, Sylvia; but God help you if you ever have to tell that story to a jury.'

'But I won't have to,' she said. 'No one knows I was in there… except you.'

He shook his head, watched the smoke eddy upward from the tip of his cigarette, and said, 'In addition to Belgrade's sell-out, there's another hurdle. You left fingerprints, Sylvia.'

'Where?'

'On the desk. When you put your left hand on the glass top and leaned over to look at the IOU's, you left a perfect print of your palm and fingers.'

She frowned. 'Couldn't you claim that had been done earlier in the day?'

'No. They know better, Sylvia. There were no other prints on top of that hand print. It wasn't even smudged.'

'All right,' she said, 'I'll take my medicine if I have to. But don't think you'll ever get me to go on the witness stand and tell a story which isn't the truth. I'll tell the truth if it kills me.'

'It probably will,' Mason said grimly… 'Why did you run out on me, Sylvia?'

'I told you why. Because I'd learned my husband was aboard.'

'How did you learn it?'

'A man told me.'

'Who was this man?'

'I don't know.'

'Had you ever seen him before?'

'Not before that night, but I'd seen him two or three times during the evening. I…'

'Go on,' he urged, as her voice trailed away into silence.

'I have an idea he may have been following me.'

'What did he say to you?'

'He said, 'Beat it, Sylvia, your husband's aboard,' or something like that. I remember he used the words, 'Beat it.''

'When did he tell you that?'

'Just as I stepped out on deck.'

'Could you describe him?'

'Yes. He wore a blue serge suit, black shoes with thick soles, a blue-and-black striped tie with an opal tie pin. He was about fifty years old, with thick, black hair, and a stubby black mustache. He wasn't particularly tall, but he was quite heavy.'

'Had you spoken to him during the evening?'

'No.'

'And you thought he might be following you?'

'Well, you understand how it is with an unattached woman on a gambling ship. People look her over. Some of the more persistent hang around.'

'In other words, you thought this man was a masher?'

'Yes.'

'Do you still think so?'

'I don't know.'

'He evidently knew your husband.'

She nodded.

'And for some reason warned you that your husband was aboard.'

Again she nodded.

'Did you see your husband?'

'No.'

Mason ground out the stub of his cigarette in the ash tray, doubled up his knees, leaned forward, placed his elbows on them, interlaced his fingers, and stared thoughtfully at the carpet. 'This didn't look so hot when I started in, Sylvia,' he said, 'and it keeps getting worse as we go along.'

'Well, I can't help it. I've told you the truth, and…' She broke off as a newsboy delivered an armload of papers to the bellboy. As the bellboy stacked the papers on the glass top of the cigar stand, Mason, glancing at Sylvia Oxman's face, saw her eyes widen.

'What is it?' he asked, without taking his eyes from her face.

'Those newspapers.'

'What newspapers?'

'The ones the boy just brought in.'

'What about them?'

'Look at the headlines… No, he's turned the papers down now so you can't see the headlines… Here, boy…'

'Wait a minute,' Mason interrupted. 'You sit tight. I'll stroll by and pick up a couple of papers.'

He sauntered over to the cigar stand, bought a package of cigarettes, and then, as an afterthought, bought two of the noon editions. Huge headlines across the front page read:

OXMAN ACCUSES WIFE IN GAMBLING SHIP MURDER

Down below appeared in smaller headlines:

PROMINENT ATTORNEY SHIELDING WIFE, BROKER CLAIMS.

Mason tucked the papers under his arm, crossed over to where Sylvia Oxman was waiting, sat down beside her and said, 'This looks bad, Sylvia. I think it's a jolt you're going to have to take right on the chin. Don't show any emotion. Someone may be watching us. Read it as though you were only casually interested.'

The cold tips of her fingers brushed across the back of his hand as she took one of the papers, nodded, and settled back in the chair. Mason hitched his chair around so the light came over his shoulder, and read:

'In a surprise statement made to police today, Frank Oxman, well-known broker and popular clubman, disclosed evidence which police claim completely solves the mysterious murder of Sam Grieb, proprietor of the gambling ship, The Horn of Plenty.

'Prior to Oxman's statement, the case had presented some of the most spectacular and mystifying angles ever encountered by local police. While there is a technical question of legal jurisdiction, because, at the time of the murder, the gambling ship was anchored beyond the twelve-mile limit, both local police and the sheriff's office are co-operating with the federal authorities in an attempt to solve the murder. The federal authorities, following their usual procedure, refused to comment, other than to state they were making progress. It was, however, learned from a source high in police circles that the case is now completely solved. It only remains to dispose of incidental matters, including among others, the part played by a well-known criminal attorney whose recent spectacular successes have made his name a family byword.

'The authorities were frantically running down numerous clues in the most mystifying murder of the year, when Frank Oxman's surprise statement, released through Worsham amp; Weaver, his attorneys, came with the force of a bombshell. Its repercussions will undoubtedly involve at least one well-known lawyer, and may drag a wealthy, white-haired great-grandmother into the toils of the law. This woman was at one time supposed to have committed suicide. In the light of Oxman's statement, police are now inclined to scout the suicide theory.

'While the broker's statement was given secretly by his attorneys to the authorities, it is understood the police may shortly make the statement public. In the meantime, while Worsham amp; Weaver refused to discuss any matters contained in the statement, they did admit such a statement had been prepared in their offices and submitted to the federal investigators. The attorneys refused to divulge the location of their client, but Oxman was run to earth by an Associated Press reporter, and admitted he had disclosed facts involving his wife in the murder.

'Evidently in the grip of strong emotion, he admitted that he and his wife had been estranged for some weeks. A mutual love for their child had, according to the broker, been instrumental in delaying the