“There was. Mrs. Prescott felt certain Stella Anderson had been spying on us; that she’d seen what had taken place.”

  Stella Anderson jumped to her feet and exclaimed indignantly, “I wasn’t spying! I never spy. I mind my own business and—”

  The coroner’s gavel banged into silence. “You’ll have to be seated and keep quiet, Mrs. Anderson,” he said, “or else leave the room.”

  Jimmy Driscoll seemed to pay no attention whatever to the interruption. With the air of a man who has an unpleasant duty to perform, but is determined to discharge it faithfully, he said, “Before our departure, we had some discussion about what we could do to prevent Mrs. Anderson from telling Walter Prescott what she had seen. Rosalind conceived the idea of having her sister come over, dress up in the same dress Mrs. Prescott had been wearing, and appear at the window where Mrs. Anderson could get a good look at her face. We telephoned Miss Swaine from the airport. I listened to Rosalind Prescott’s conversation, and heard the instructions she gave Miss Swaine.”

  “Then what did you do?”

  “Then we flew to Reno.”

  “Did you know Walter Prescott was dead at that time?”

  “No—what’s more,” Driscoll said calmly, “I can prove that I didn’t kill him, and that I didn’t have anything to do with his death.”

  Cuff got to his feet belligerently and said, “I demand that my client be given an opportunity to prove his innocence.”

  “No one’s stopping him,” Scanlon said good-naturedly.

  Overmeyer said, “I want the record to show, and Counsel to understand, the attitude of the district attorney’s office is that of making an impartial, independent investigation. We’re not trying to pin this crime on anyone. We want the facts, that’s all.”

  “Go ahead,” Rodney Cuff said to Driscoll.

  Perry Mason stirred uneasily in his seat, started to say something, then lapsed into silence.

  Driscoll said, “Walter Prescott was alive at eleven fifty-five. He telephoned his partner at that time. Five minutes later, just as the noon whistles were blowing, there was an automobile accident in front of Prescott’s house. I ran out and helped remove the injured man from the coupe. I then returned to Prescott’s house and gave Rosalind Prescott the gun with which, the evidence shows, the murder must have been committed. That gun was placed back of the drawer in the desk, and was subsequently found there by the police. Now, from that time until the time I left the house the witness, Stella Anderson, was watching that room. She didn’t see anyone take the gun out from behind the drawer in the desk. At quarter past twelve Rosalind Prescott and I left the house by the side door—that’s the one which opens on Fourteenth Street, and went to the airport, where we took the next plane out and went to Reno.”

  Emil Scanlon said very seductively, “That, of course, leaves a gap between eleven fifty-five and twelve o’clock. Not a great deal of time, to be certain, but one, nevertheless, within which a shot could easily have been fired.”

  Driscoll said, “During that time, I was engaged in telephoning.”

  “Could you prove that?” the deputy district attorney asked.

  “Yes,” Rodney Cuff said, answering for the witness. “If I may be allowed to call a witness I can prove my point.”

  Scanlon hesitated for a moment, glanced at the deputy district attorney, then at Rodney Cuff, then back to Oscar Overmeyer.

  Overmeyer slowly, almost imperceptibly, nodded his head, and Emil Scanlon said, “Very well, we’ll grant you permission to put on a witness. It’s rather irregular to handle the thing in this way, but this is a peculiar case and we’re anxious to get at what actually happened.”

  There was something of triumph in Rodney Cuff’s manner as he got to his feet and said, “That’s all, Mr. Driscoll. You may leave the stand for the moment and I’ll call Jackson Weyman as my first witness.”

  A slender-built man in the early forties got to his feet and started to leave the room. “That’s Weyman,” Rodney Cuff said. “I want him as a witness.”

  An officer stopped Weyman at the door. Weyman turned and said, “I’m not going to be a witness. I didn’t come here to be called to the witness stand.”

  His left eye was discolored and bloodshot. A piece of gauze, held in place by adhesive tape, covered the top of his forehead, and another smaller bit of tape was on his right cheek.

  “I demand he be called as a witness,” Cuff said.

  “Come forward and be sworn, Mr. Weyman,” the coroner ordered.

  “I’m not going to do any such thing,” Weyman said, his voice surly. “I don’t want to be a witness, and you can’t make me. I’m a hell of a looking specimen to get on the witness stand!”

  The crowd roared with laughter, which Scanlon made no effort to check. When it had subsided, he said, “Come forward and be sworn, anyway, Mr. Weyman.”

  “I’m not going to tell anything,” Weyman said doggedly.

  The good-natured smile didn’t leave the coroner’s lips, but his eyes suddenly became hard. “I think,” he said gently, “you’re in error on that point, Mr. Weyman. Officer, bring him forward.”

  The officer took Weyman’s arm and said, “Come on, buddy. This way.”

  Weyman, his temper flaring up, jumped back and lashed out a blow at the officer. The next instant he found himself grabbed with a strangle hold, spun neatly around, and then rushed down the corridor toward the witness chair, while the spectators set up a delighted tittering.

  Scanlon said, “Hold him there just a minute, Mr. Officer. I want to say something to him. . . . Now, Mr. Weyman, this is an inquest. The coroner has the power to subpoena witnesses and make them testify. If you disobey me you’re going to jail. I don’t want to have any trouble, but if you know anything about this case, we’re going to find it out. . . . Have you been drinking?”

  Weyman said in a surly voice, “I’ve had a drink or two.”

  “Raise your right hand and be sworn,” the coroner ordered sternly.

  The officer released his hold, and Weyman, scowling savagely, raised his right hand and was sworn.

  Scanlon indicated the witness chair, and Rodney Cuff stepped forward. “Mr. Weyman,” he said, “you remember the automobile accident which took place in front of Walter Prescott’s home?”

  “Well, what if I do?”

  “You live next door to Prescott?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you saw that accident?”

  “Yes, I saw it.”

  “Where were you at the time?”

  “I was standing on Fourteenth Street.”

  “You’d been drinking, had picked a fight, and got the worst of the argument, is that right?”

  “That’s none of your damn business.”

  Scanlon banged with his gavel, frowned at the witness, but turned to Rodney Cuff and said, “This man is an unwilling witness. I’m forcing him to testify. I don’t want him unnecessarily annoyed. What has his fighting got to do with it?”

  “Simply this,” Rodney Cuff said. “This witness has a habit of fighting when he’s drunk. It’s been a matter of argument between him and his wife. This time he’d been beaten into unconsciousness, had to go to a doctor to have his face dressed, and didn’t want to go home and face the music. So he was standing rather uncertainly on Fourteenth Street near the comer of Alsace Avenue when the accident occurred. I want to show he was there at the time, and show why he was there.”

  “All right,” Weyman said, in a surly voice, “that’s right. I was there. So what?”

  “You could see into Walter Prescott’s house?”

  “I could see through some of the windows on the Fourteenth Street side of the house.”

  “Could you see the little hallway where the telephone’s located?”

  “Yes, I could see that.”

  “Did you see Mr. Driscoll using the telephone?”

  There was a moment of tense silence, when Weyman said reluctantly, “I seen a man standing there, telephoning. He had his back turned, though.”

  “Now you were standing there when the accident took place?”

  “Yes.”

  “What was Driscoll doing when the accident took place?”

  “The man I saw was still at the telephone.”

  “And how long had he been there?”

  “I don’t know, four or five minutes maybe.”

  “What did you do after the accident occurred?”

  “I started to go over and see what had happened. Then I decided to keep out of it. I went back and sat down on the curb, watched them load the guy that was hurt into the van. This guy in the blue suit ran out and helped. Then he went back in the house, and I saw the van drive away.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then, after a few minutes, I saw this man, Driscoll, come out of the house again. Just then a prowl car swung around the comer and the officers nailed this guy.”

  “How long did you stay there after that?”

  “I didn’t stay. I didn’t want those officers asking me questions, so I beat it. I walked around for a while. I was kinda sleepy and wasn’t feeling very good. After a while I made up my mind I had to face the music, so I turned around and went home.”

  “What time was that?”

  “I don’t know. It was long enough so I’d commenced to feel sick.”

  Rodney Cuff made a little gesture of surrendering the witness, and resumed his seat with a satisfied smile.

  The coroner looked across at Overmeyer, and the deputy district attorney got to his feet, moved over toward the witness and said, “Could you be sure it was Mr. Driscoll you saw at the telephone?”

  Weyman said in his thick, surly voice, “The telephone sets right up against the window. This guy was standing, leaning his shoulder against the side of the window. I could see his back and the back of his head. He had the same kind of black curly hair this Driscoll has. When he came out of the house I could see his face. The man who came out was Driscoll. I know that. I think he was the one who was telephoning.”

  “You’d been drinking at the time?”

  “I’d had a few, yes.”

  “More than you’ve had now?”

  There was a half smile on Weyman’s face as he said, “A lot more.”

  “Are you positive about the time?”

  Weyman shook his head and said, “No, I’m not. They told me the accident took place at noon. If that’s true, then the rest of it’s okay. If it ain’t true, I don’t know what time it was. All I know is I’d been standing around there for about ten minutes before the accident, and I saw this man telephoning.”

  Overmeyer frowned thoughtfully and said, “That’s all. I may want to talk with you again about this, Mr. Weyman.”

  Mason said, “May I ask one question?”

  Scanlon nodded.

  “Whom have you told about what you saw?”

  “I told my wife,” Weyman said.

  “Anyone else?”

  Weyman shook his head.

  “Did you tell her about this as soon as you got home?” Mason asked.

  “No,” Weyman said with a wry grin. “We talked about other things right after I got home.”

  Again a titter swept the room.

  “That’s all,” Mason said.

  Scanlon nodded to Weyman. “You’re excused, Mr. Weyman,” he said.

  Rodney Cuff got to his feet and said, “I wish to point out that in view of the testimony of this witness, and the fact that we can show definitely the automobile accident took place almost exactly at the hour of noon, it was impossible for Jimmy Driscoll to have killed Walter Prescott.

  “I think you can see what this means,” Cuff went on, staring steadily at the deputy district attorney. “It means that sometime after Rosalind Prescott and my client had gone to Reno, and while Rita Swaine was in the house, Walter Prescott arrived. I won’t presume to conjecture what happened, but Rita Swaine killed him. From what my client tells me of Rita Swaine, I presume that the provocation was great. Perhaps it was self-defense, or—”

  “If Counsel is going to make an argument,” Perry Mason said casually, “I want to make one.”

  “He isn’t going to make one,” Scanlon ruled. “Sit down, Mr. Cuff.”

  “I merely wanted to point out that—”

  “You’ve already pointed out plenty. Sit down.”

  Oscar Overmeyer frowned thoughtfully, looked up at the coroner and said, “I had intended to prove by the canary itself that it probably wasn’t Rita Swaine whom Mrs. Anderson had seen in the solarium. The admission of the witness Driscoll makes this unnecessary.”

  Mason said, “In view of what has been said by Counsel, I’d like permission to recall the autopsy surgeon for a few questions.”

  “No objection,” Overmeyer said. “My office wants to get to the bottom of this thing as well as the coroner.”

  “The coroner’s going to get to the bottom of it,” Scanlon said cheerfully. “Dr. Hubert, take the stand again.”

  When the doctor had seated himself, Mason said, “In view of the statements which have been made, Doctor, I think you can well appreciate the importance of being absolutely accurate in your testimony as to the time of death. You have already answered this question in effect, but in view of the importance which now attaches to this phase of the case, I want to ask you again: Is it possible that Walter Prescott could have met his death earlier than within the time limits you have previously mentioned?”

  Dr. Hubert crossed his legs, interlaced his fingers upon a paunchy stomach, cleared his throat and said, “I don’t want to be misunderstood. Medical testimony as to the time of death is never absolutely mathematical. There are certain variable factors the exact nature and extent of which cannot be intelligently correlated. Therefore, an autopsy surgeon fixes a probable time of death. Then, taking into consideration all of the variable factors, he creates a margin of probability on either side of the time chosen. If he is conscientious, he extends this margin of probability so that it covers every possible combination of variable factors. Then he announces the time of death in terms of a time bracket.”

  “You did this?” Mason asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And when you said that the time of death occurred between noon and two-thirty in the afternoon, do I understand that you estimated, purely as a matter of blind reckoning, that the decedent met his death at approximately one-fifteen; that it was possible, however, certain variable factors, as you have termed them, might have caused an error in your deduction; that you, therefore, made a maximum allowance of one hour and fifteen minutes in either direction as the greatest possible margin of error in your time fixing?”

  “That’s approximately correct,” Dr. Hubert said. “Personally, I would say the man was killed between one and one-thirty. Eight or nine times out of ten, I’d be right. But there’s the possibility of a combination of various circumstances which would impair the conclusion in perhaps one out of ten times. So I’ve taken that into consideration, and extended the margins far enough both ways so as to include even that one time in ten.”

  “And can you say that twelve o’clock is the earliest possible time at which the decedent could have met his death?”

  “Yes.”

  “According to your own testimony, Doctor, the man could have died at one minute past twelve, noon.”

  “That’s right.”

  “He could have died at noon?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “But he couldn’t have met his death at eleven fifty-nine?”

  “Oh, I say,” Dr. Hubert said, “that’s rather an unfair way of putting it.”

  “I don’t think so,” Mason said.

  “Well, yes, of course,” Dr. Hubert said, somewhat testily, “if you’re going to split hairs that fine, if the man could have died at twelve o’clock, he could also have died at eleven fifty-nine. I don’t think he did, but he could have.”

  “How about eleven forty-five?”

  “A witness heard him speaking on the telephone at eleven fifty-five,” Dr. Hubert pointed out acidly.

  “Exactly,” Mason said. “Now you have my point exactly, Doctor. When you fix the earliest time at which the man could have met his death as around twelve o’clock, you’re taking into consideration that the man, according to the testimony of one witness, had been alive at eleven fifty-five, isn’t that right?”

  “No.”

  “Yet, when I ask you if it isn’t a medical possibility that the man could have been killed at eleven forty-five, you answer me by pointing out that according to the testimony of a witness, he was alive at eleven fifty-five. Now then, Doctor, are you testifying as to your medical knowledge, or as to an opinion formed by taking into unconscious consideration the testimony of witnesses?”

  “I’m testifying as to a medical opinion formed from a post-mortem examination of the decedent.”

  “Let’s get at it in another way, Doctor. You have mentioned one case in ten in which a combination of variable factors might necessitate moving the time bracket over a wider range. Now, isn’t it possible that there is, perhaps, one case in a thousand, or one case in ten thousand, which would necessitate moving the brackets over a still wider range than would be covered by that one case in ten which you mentioned?”

  “Oh, all right,” Dr. Hubert said, “if you want to put it that way, let’s say that he died between eleven-thirty in the morning and three o’clock in the afternoon, and I’ll stake my professional reputation he died within those times, and couldn’t have died as early as eleven twenty-nine. Does that satisfy you?”

  “It isn’t a question of satisfying me,” Mason pointed out. “It’s a question of getting at the facts.”

  “Well, you’ve got at them now,” Dr. Hubert said.

  Scanlon nodded and said, “I think we, all of us, understand the facts. You’re excused, Doctor.”

  There was a moment of silence. Then the coroner said, “In view of the circumstances, I want to recall Mr. Driscoll for one more question.”

  “Take the stand, Driscoll,” Rodney Cuff said.

  Scanlon stared at the young man with steady, purposeful eyes. “Is it possible that someone else could have been in the Prescott house while you were there, Mr. Driscoll?”