The desk was devoid of any papers save the check Drake had just written. It lay on a brown blotter, encased in a leather backer. Aside from this check, the blotter and the leather backer, there was nothing whatever on the glass-topped surface.

"Which one of you is Oxman?" the man behind the desk asked.

Drake glanced helplessly at the lawyer.

Mason stepped forward and said, "My name's Mason."

Grieb nodded. "Glad to know you, Mr. Mason," he said, and shifted his pale eyes to Paul Drake. "You wanted a check cashed, Mr. Oxman, and it's customary to ask a few questions to establish credit. Is this your first visit to the ship?"

Drake nodded.

"Know anyone out here?" Grieb asked.

"No," Drake said.

"Would you mind giving me your residence address, your occupation, and your telephone number, both at your residence and at your office?"

Mason said, "I think we can save you all this trouble, Mr. Grieb."

Grieb raised his eyebrows, and in a flat, toneless voice said, "How do you figure in this, Mr. Mason?"

"I'm with this gentleman," Mason explained, indicating Drake with a nod of his head.

"Friend of his?"

"I'm his lawyer."

Grieb interlaced fat hands across his stomach. Huge diamonds on his fingers caught the light and glittered scintillating accompaniment to the motion. "A lawyer, eh?" he said, almost musingly.

Mason nodded, moving closer to the edge of the desk.

"And just how did you propose to save us all this trouble?" Grieb asked, still in that same fiat voice.

Mason, smiling amiably, suddenly reached across the desk and picked up the check from the blotter. "You won't have to cash it," he said.

Grieb sat bolt-upright in his chair. His diamonds made a glittering streak of motion as he started to reach for the check, then caught himself, and sat with his finger-tips resting on the edge of the blotter. "What's the idea?" he asked.

Mason said, "My client isn't a very good gambler. He's rather a hard loser. He started to place a few casual bets, then won a little money, got into the spirit of the thing, and was swept off his feet. He's come down to earth now. He doesn't want any more money. He's finished gambling."

Grieb's eyes focused on Mason's face. "This little business matter," he said coldly, "is between Oxman and me."

Mason handed the check across to Drake. "Better tear it up," he said.

Drake tore it into pieces and shoved the pieces down deep into his trousers pocket. Grieb got to his feet. Mason moved so that he was standing between Drake and the gambler. "My client made a mistake in giving you this check," he said, by way of explanation.

"You mean there aren't any funds in the bank to cover it?" Grieb asked ominously.

"Of course there are," Mason said. "Telephone the bank tomorrow if that's what's bothering you. What I meant was that I don't want my client to have one of his checks cashed through this gambling ship. You see, we didn't come out here to gamble."

Grieb slowly sat down, eyed the two men for a moment, then indicated chairs with a glittering gesture of his right hand. "Sit down, gentlemen," he said. "I want to talk with you."

Drake looked to Mason for instructions. Mason nodded and seated himself on Grieb's left. Drake rather ostentatiously moved over to a chair nearer the door, farther from Grieb. The gambler still sat very erect, his fingertips resting on the edge of the blotter. "That check's good?" he asked.

Mason laughed. "I'll guarantee this gentleman's checks up to any amount he wants to write them."

"With that signature and on that bank?" Grieb persisted.

Mason nodded and said, apparently as an afterthought, "Or with any other signature."

Grieb's eyes studied Paul Drake, who, obviously ill at ease, returned the stare. Grieb shifted his eyes to Perry Mason and surveyed the granite-hard face of the lawyer. "So your name's Mason and you're a lawyer?"

Mason nodded.

"Tell me more about you."

"Why?" Mason asked.

"Because I want to know," Grieb said.

"I think," Mason told him, "our little business transaction is entirely concluded, isn't it, Mr. Grieb?"

Grieb shook his head. Suddenly a puzzled frown crossed his forehead. He said, "Say, wait a minute, you're not Perry Mason, are you?"

Mason nodded. Grieb swung half around in the swivel chair and put his right elbow on the blotter. "That," he said, "is different. Suppose we talk business, gentlemen."

Mason raised his eyebrows and said, "Business?"

Grieb nodded, turned suddenly to Drake and said, "If you didn't come out here to gamble, what did you come out here for, Mr. Oxman?"

Drake sucked in a quick breath, as though about to answer, then glanced at Mason and became silent.

Mason said easily, "Let me do the talking." He turned to the gambler and said, "I don't want any misunderstandings, Mr. Grieb. You don't know this man. He's offered you a check signed 'Frank Oxman.' That check's good as gold, but that doesn't mean this man is really Frank Oxman. It only means he has a banking account under that name. And if you should ever say that Frank Oxman won or lost a dime on your ship, you might get yourself into serious trouble. My client came out here, not for the purpose of gambling, but for the purpose of looking the place over."

"Why did he want to look it over?" Grieb asked.

"He wanted to find out something about the general background, what it looked like, and things of that sort."

"So now you claim he isn't Frank Oxman, eh?" Grieb asked.

Mason smiled affably. "No," he said, "I haven't made that claim."

"Then he is Frank Oxman."

"I won't even admit that," Mason said, smiling.

Grieb said slowly, "You two came out here to try and collect evidence."

Mason remained silent.

"You thought you could look the joint over, maybe strike up an acquaintance with one of the croupiers, stick around until the tables closed, get one of the men in conversation, and find out something you wanted to know," Grieb charged.

Mason took a cigarette case from his pocket, extracted a cigarette, and lit it. "After all," he said, "does it make any difference why we came out here?"

Grieb said, "You're damn right it does."

Mason exhaled cigarette smoke as he slipped the compact cigarette case back into his pocket. "Just how does it make a difference?" he asked.

Grieb said, "I have some business to talk over with your client."

"You haven't anything to talk over with my client," Mason said. "My client, from now on, is deaf, dumb and blind."

"All right, then, I have some business to talk over with you."

"Right now," Mason said, crossing his long legs and blowing smoke at the ceiling, "I'm not in a mood to talk… Nice offices you have here, Grieb."

Grieb nodded casually. "I'd like to have you boys meet my partner," he said, and shifted his position slightly, raising one side of his body as though pressing with his right foot. A moment later an electric buzzer sounded, and Grieb, pushing back the swivel chair, said, "Excuse me a minute."

The lawyer and Drake exchanged glances as Grieb walked to the heavy mahogany door, slid back the peephole, then pulled back the lever which controlled the bolts, opened the door and said to the special officer who stood on the threshold, "Arthur, get hold of Charlie Duncan for me. Tell him I want him in here at once."

The guard glanced curiously at the two visitors. "Charlie went ashore to telephone," he said. "He's coming right back. I'll tell him as soon as he comes aboard."

Grieb pushed the door shut, slammed the bolts into position, and waddled back to the desk. "How about a drink, boys?"

Mason shook his head. "Any reason why we can't go ashore?" he asked.

"I'd prefer to have you wait a little while."

"Wait for what?"