“Well, now wait a minute,” Hamilton Burger sputtered, “I only know what the witness said.”

  “And the witness said that he wasn’t sure. Now are you are going to tell the Court you are sure?”

  “You’re not going to cross-examine me!” Hamilton Burger shouted.

  “If you make statements of fact to the Court, I’m most certainly going to cross-examine you,” Mason said.

  “Come, come, gentlemen,” Judge Hoyt said. “This is rapidly developing into a situation the Court doesn’t like.”

  “Well,” Mason said, “I’m not going to let myself be accused of unprofessional conduct. If I had been preparing this case for the prosecution, if I had been confronted with a taxicab receipt numbered trip nine-eighty-four, I certainly would have checked to see what trip nine-eighty-four was.”

  “Yes,” Judge Hoyt said. “I think the district attorney must admit that this entire situation has been predicated upon lax investigative work somewhere in the case. It is a peculiar situation that this receipt should have been introduced in evidence as the receipt for a particular trip.”

  “Well, it was the same amount and the same date and the same cab, and in possession of the defendant,” Hamilton Burger blurted.

  “Exactly,” Judge Hoyt said. “And the Court feels that under the circumstances, it certainly would have been in order to have checked it to find out what trip it was.”

  Hamilton Burger started to say something, then apparently thought better of it.

  Mason said, “If this witness had been telling the truth, if he could have made an absolute identification of the defendant, nothing that might have happened subsequently on the evening of the third could have confused him. If he permitted himself to become confused, it was because he wasn’t as positive of his identification as the authorities tried to make him think he was when he picked the defendant out of the lineup the next morning.”

  “That, unfortunately, is now an inescapable conclusion,” Judge Hoyt said. “Regardless of how it happened, Mr Prosecutor, you must admit that the testimony of this witness has become hopelessly impaired. You would hardly be in a position to use this witness in front of a jury to make an absolute identification.”

  “I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it,” Hamilton Burger said angrily. “Right now, I’m interested in finding out how it happened that this trap was set. Your Honour must realize that if the defendant hadn’t had a guilty conscience, she wouldn’t have manipulated things so that there would have been this unforeseen development.”

  “I’m not too certain,” Judge Hoyt said. “How do we know that this witness didn’t confuse the faces of two people who got in his cab on the third of the month?”

  “Well, of course,” Hamilton Burger said angrily, “if that’s going to be the Court’s attitude–”

  “The Court’s attitude is determined from the testimony, Mr Prosecutor,” the judge interrupted coldly.

  “Yes, Your Honour.”

  “Now, proceed.”

  Hamilton Burger appeared undecided.

  “Of course,” Judge Hoyt said, “in a preliminary examination you only need to show that a crime has been committed and that there is reasonable cause to believe the defendant has committed that crime. However, in the present state of the proof, the evidence is entirely circumstantial and the evidence which is before the Court is hopelessly contradictory.”

  Hamilton Burger said, “I can dismiss this proceeding without prejudice and I can then file another complaint.”

  “Or you can go before the grand jury and ask for an indictment and avoid a preliminary examination altogether,” Judge Hoyt suggested.

  “Of course,” Hamilton Burger said, “that is exactly what counsel was trying to bring about. The more opportunities he has to cross-examine the prosecution’s witnesses, the more opportunities he has for finding some minor inconsistency which can be distorted and magnified into something that is out of all proportion to its significance.”

  “Is there any proof that the defendant was riding in the automobile with the decedent when it was driven up to that house?” Judge Hoyt asked. “Were there any latent fingerprints of the defendant in the automobile?”

  Hamilton Burger said shamefacedly, “Frankly, Your Honour, we didn’t look. We felt that the positive identification of this cab driver, putting the defendant at the scene of the crime, was all we needed, particularly when we learned the weapon in the case had been sold to her husband. It wasn’t until we started checking that we realized the signature on the firearms registration was that of another person, who had evidently been sent to pick up the gun for Mr Harlan.”

  “Well, what do you want to do with this case?” Judge Hoyt asked.

  “I’d like to have the defendant bound over,” Hamilton Burger said tentatively.

  Judge Hoyt shook his head. “Not unless you have some additional evidence.”

  “Well, I don’t want the Court to turn the defendant loose,” Burger said.

  Judge Hoyt showed his exasperation. “I have been endeavouring to give you every consideration, Mr Prosecutor. I appreciate your position, and the Court feels that there may have been some very ingenious device used here at least to confuse the identification. However, the fact remains that the identification is confused. Now, if you want to dismiss the case before the Court rules on it, go ahead and dismiss it.”

  “I move to dismiss this case,” Hamilton Burger said.

  “Very well, the case is dismissed; the defendant is discharged from custody.”

  “I’m going to ask the Court to order the defendant to remain in custody until I can get other proceedings.”

  Judge Hoyt shook his head. “You can have the defendant arrested on a warrant, if you wish. Or you can have her arrested on suspicion of murder while you are waiting for the grand jury to act. As far as the Court is concerned, once the proceedings are dismissed the defendant is discharged from custody.”

  “Very well, Your Honour,” Hamilton Burger said.

  “Court’s adjourned,” Judge Hoyt snapped.

  As soon as the judge had arisen from the bench, the prosecutor marched out of the courtroom, his face livid with anger.

  Perry Mason grinned at Sybil Harlan. “Well,” he said, “that’s the first round.”

  “What do I do now?” she asked.

  “Wait here,” Mason said. “You’re going to be rearrested.”

  “And I sit here and wait for that?”

  “Sure.”

  “What about that taxi driver?”

  Mason said, “By the time Hamilton Burger gets him in front of a jury, he’ll have changed his story all around. But we’ll have this transcript on which we can impeach him, and that will keep his testimony somewhat in line. After he’s thought it over, he’ll state that, giving the matter second thought, he feels that you probably were one of the two women who got in the taxicab later on in the evening and that you also were the one whom he took to the Union Station.”

  “What will you do if he says that?”

  Mason grinned. “I’ll ask him how it happened that when the matter was fresh in his mind he was so positive that you hadn’t again entered the cab. I’ll give him a bad time. Who signed for the gun that your husband bought?”

  “I think it was his secretary.”

  “Well,” Mason said, “they’ll find out who signed his name. They’ll serve a subpoena on her, put her on the stand, and have her identify her signature. They’ll ask her what she did with the gun she received, and she’ll be forced to say that she gave it to your husband.”

  “Then what?”

  “By that time,” Mason said, “we’ll have tried to find out something else to do. In the meantime, I’m going to–”

  Enright Harlan pushed open the gate that separated the space reserved for lawyers and came striding toward them.

  Sybil Harlan gave him one brief glance and then, as she saw the expression on his face, stiffened as though bracing herself against the physical impact of a blow.

  “I’ve just heard something, Sybil,” he said.

  “Well?”

  “Mrs Doxey, the daughter of George Lutts, told Roxy Claffin that you were the one who furnished Perry Mason with the money to buy a stock interest in the Sylvan Glade Development Company, so you could throw a monkey wrench in the machinery.”

  “Now, just a minute,” Mason said. “Take it easy.”

  Harlan didn’t even look at the lawyer but stood looking straight at his wife. “Is it true, Sybil?”

  “Hold on a minute,” Mason said. “We have a bunch of newspaper reporters back there. This is a hell of a time to start a family row.”

  “Will you deny it?” Enright Harlan asked.

  Sybil met his eyes. “Do we have to discuss it now, Enny?”

  “Yes.”

  “No, I won’t deny it. It’s true. She was trying to steal something very dear to me, and I decided I’d give her something to think of.”

  “You’re doing Roxy a great wrong, Sybil. She can’t control her emotions any more than anyone. Love comes and love goes. It isn’t something you can turn on and off whenever you want to, like a water faucet. You don’t have that much control of your emotions. But Roxy would never have done anything underhanded.”

  “Oh no, oh no, not that little minx! Of course not! Certainly not! All right, I retained Mr Mason. Now what?”

  “I’m sorry,” Enright Harlan said coldly, and turned away.

  “Wait a minute, Harlan,” Mason said, “Come back here.”

  Harlan paused, looked over his shoulder.

  “You don’t want to do a trick like that,” Mason told him. “You can’t add that handicap to the load your wife’s carrying. Newspaper reporters are watching you. If they see you turn away like this, they’ll–”

  “Let the whole world see me turn away,” Harlan said and deliberately turned his back.

  As he walked out of the courtroom, a couple of alert photographers, looking for a dramatic picture, snapped his angry features.

  Mason moved around so that temporarily his body concealed Sybil Harlan’s face. “Don’t cry,” he said. “Remember, we’re playing poker. Chin up. Can you manage a smile?”

  “Hell no,” she said. “I can’t keep from crying for over thirty seconds. Get that matron! Let me get out of here.”

  Mason caught Della Street’s eye. “Go with her, Della. Get her out of here.”

  “What are you going to do?” Della Street asked.

  “Divert the attention of those reporters,” Mason said, striding after Enright Harlan.

  Mason caught up with Harlan as the tight-lipped husband was waiting at the elevators.

  “Harlan!” he called.

  Harlan spun on his heel, looked coldly at Mason. “What is it this time?”

  Mason, conscious of the reporters crowding him from behind, said, “You can’t get away with it that easy.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Mason said, “Your wife asked you a simple question. She’s entitled to an answer. How did that gun get out of your possession and up at the scene of the murder?”

  Enright Harlan, thrown entirely off balance, said, “What the … what the hell are you trying to do?”

  “As your wife’s lawyer, I’m trying to find out who killed George C Lutts.”

  “Then you’d better ask the person who killed him!”

  “This question I’m asking you. You can’t keep walking out on it.”

  The elevator came to a stop. Enright Harlan hesitated for a moment, then shouldered his way into the crowded elevator without a word.

  Mason turned back toward the courtroom. Newspaper reporters blocked his way. “What about the gun, Mr Mason? What were you insinuating? What’s cooking? Are Harlan and his wife at odds?”

  Mason said, “I’m trying to find out about certain evidence, that’s all.”

  “What about the gun? Why did you ask Harlan that question?”

  “Because the district attorney says it’s his gun.”

  “Well,” one of the reporters said, “his wife could have taken it.”

  “And so could Harlan,” Mason said.

  “Good Lord, he’s standing back of his wife. You don’t mean to insinuate that he–”

  “He gave that gun to someone,” Mason said. “I’d like to find out who it was,” and pushed past the reporters. He met Della Street coming out of the courtroom, drew her to one side. “Everything under control?”

  “Yes, she didn’t cry until after she got out of the courtroom.”

  “Say anything?” Mason asked.

  Della Street said, “She looked at me and said, ‘That’s what I get for underestimating an adversary. Let them kill me now.’ She was white and shaking.”

  “All right,” Mason told her, “now we know what the district attorney’s case is and we can go to work.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Perry Mason pushed down on the foot throttle, sending his car whining up the steep grade. He brought it to a stop in front of the big three-storeyed house.

  “You sit here, Della,” he said. “Shut the motor off. I’ll fire two shots. Press the horn button once if you hear one shot, twice if you hear two shots.

  “After that, turn on the radio. I’ll fire two more shots. Give me the same signal.”

  Della Street nodded.

  Mason took a skeleton key from his pocket.

  “Will the police frown on this procedure?” Della Street asked.

  “What procedure?”

  “The breaking and entry part, the skeleton key.”

  Mason grinned. “I’m a stockholder in the company that owns the building. Even Hamilton Burger can’t find a loophole in that.”

  “The police have finished searching the place?”

  “Yes. They’ve been over it with a fine-toothed comb. They found one other bullet.”

  “They did? When?”

  “Late last night. It was embedded in the wall on the south side and had been fired from the fatal gun.”

  “You didn’t tell me.”

  “I didn’t know it myself until this morning.”

  “Then there’s only one other bullet to be accounted for?”

  “Yes. The two bullets from the Peters’ shells have now been found. The UMC bullet is missing.”

  “Those are blank cartridges you’re using?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Do they make the same amount of noise as the ones with bullets?”

  “I hope so,” Mason said. “I don’t dare to shoot any bullets to find out. We’ll make a reasonable test.”

  “What do you want to prove?”

  “Whether my client is lying.”

  “If she isn’t?”

  “So much the better.”

  “And if she is?”

  “She’s still my client,” Mason said, and fitted his skeleton key to the lock in the door.

  Mason climbed the first flight of stairs, looked around at the gloomy rooms, inhaled the musty air, then started up the second flight, paused midway up the flight to inspect the reddish-brown stain which had soaked into the wood, marking the place where the body of George C Lutts had been resting when discovered by his startled son-in-law.

  He climbed to the third floor, looked out of the window down the steep slope to the place where Roxy Claffin’s house gleamed in the sunlight, a vision of white stucco, red-tiled roof, blue-tiled swimming pool, walled patio, green shrubbery and velvet lawns, the well-kept luxury of the place standing in sharp contrast to the contractor’s unpainted board shack at the foot of the grade where the raw earth had been ripped away.

  Mason stood with his back to the window. He raised a thirty-eight calibre revolver and pulled the trigger twice. The echoes of the explosion died away. From down below came the blast of an automobile horn. A second later there was another blast.

  Mason waited for a full minute, then raised the gun and fired two more shots. This time there was no sound of the automobile horn.

  Mason pushed the gun back in his pocket and descended the stairs.

  “Okay?” Della Street asked.

  “Okay,” he said. “How plainly did you hear them?”

  “I heard the two plainly. After that, nothing.”

  “Were you trying to listen for the second two?”

  “When the radio was on, I tried to sit back, listening to the radio the way a person would.”

  “How loud did you have it on?”

  “Pretty loud. Not blasting my eardrums out, but good and loud just the same.”

  “In other words, you were trying to give our client a break?”

  “Well … I suppose I was.”

  “We can’t do it that way,” Mason said. “We have to know the real facts.”

  He got in beside Della Street, turned the radio on, adjusted the volume. “Leave it just like that, Della.”

  Again Mason climbed the stairs, waited a minute and fired two shots. This time there were two blasts from the horn below. They were short, as though Della Street had been reluctant to press the horn button.

  Mason sighed, put the gun in his pocket and descended the stairs. He found Della Street sitting in the automobile, tears in her eyes.

  Mason patted her shoulder. “Don’t take it too hard, Della. I had to know … that’s all.”

  “I like her, Chief.”

  “So do I, but we can’t control the facts.”

  “Will the police make this experiment?”

  “After she tells her story. You couldn’t hear the shots when the radio was loud?”

  “No.”

  “Would you have heard these last two if you hadn’t been listening for them?”

  She wiped her eyes. “I’d like to say no, Chief, but that won’t help her. Yes, they came in very clearly.

  “Of course,” Della Street pointed out, “she may say she was listening to some programme that was real noisy.”

  Mason nodded without enthusiasm. “I’m not going to put any words in her mouth, Della. I’m just going to ask her.”

  “The radio wasn’t left turned on when you and Doxey drove up?”

  “No. She says she shut it off when she went in the house.”