Della Street and Paul Drake were waiting for Mason at the airport. “Hello, gang,” Mason said. “How about eats?”

  “Swell,” Della Street said. “There’s a fine restaurant right here in the main administration building.”

  Mason said, “And we won’t discuss any business until after we’ve finished with the food.”

  On the way to the restaurant, Drake said, “Seen the papers about Leeds, Perry?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Where,” Drake asked, “did you get that dope about the frostbitten foot?”

  Mason said firmly, “We eat now and talk later.”

  Drake said, “I always like to eat with a client who’s on an expense account.”

  Mason grinned. “Go as far as you like.”

  “I take it then,” Drake said, “Leeds was appreciative—and generous.”

  “And I’ll discuss that over the coffee and cigarettes,” Mason said.

  When they had finished the meal and were huddled over cups of black coffee, Mason lit a cigarette and said to Paul Drake, “Okay, Paul, let’s have it.”

  Drake said, “Following your tip-off, Della had me check on the tenants above the sixth floor in that apartment house. We drew blanks until we looked up the occupant of 881. She’s Inez Colton—has a secretarial job in a hardware store. She’s been seen two or three times with a young man who drove a red convertible. Jason Carrel has a red convertible. Descriptions on the cars check absolutely. What’s more, Inez Colton took a powder right after the murder. We can’t locate her anywhere. She simply walked out and disappeared. She told a friend she was going on a week-end trip.”

  Mason said, “Jason Carrel, eh? It sounds as though we’ve struck pay dirt, Paul.”

  “Struck it,” Drake said, “but can’t do anything with it. We’ve got men covering Jason Carrel. He may lead us to her, but I think he’s too wise.

  “The officers slapped a subpoena duces tecum on your handwriting expert. That meant either that Della had been shadowed when she went to him, or that the telephone line was tapped. I did a little investigating and found out your telephone line to the office and hers at her apartment were tapped.”

  “How about this waitress at the Home Kitchen Cafe?” Mason asked.

  “I don’t think there’s anything to that,” Drake said. “She left before the murder was committed. Evidently, it’s just a coincidence.”

  “What time did she leave?”

  “Around nine o’clock. Someone saw her leaving her room. She was carrying two heavy suitcases. I tried to cover taxicabs, but can’t find anything as yet. Her room rent was paid up. She had wages coming. Oscar Baker is the waiter at the Blue and White Restaurant who took the dinner up. He’s positive on the time element. He doesn’t know Hazel Stickland, the waitress at the Home Kitchen Cafe—says he doesn’t, and I’m inclined to believe him, but I’m checking back on him. He’s just a punk kid who’s drifted around, flunky in a lumber camp, waiter, dishwasher—plays what money he can get on the horses—a colorless chap who’s never found himself because there isn’t anything to find. I’ve planted an operative who’s become friendly with him, posing as a waiter out of a job. Baker says he’ll try and get him on at the Blue and White as soon as there’s a vacancy.”

  Mason said, “You can’t tell about kids these days, Paul. A lot of the most puzzling crimes and the most vicious crimes are committed by persons under twenty-five.”

  “I know,” Drake said, “and, of course, there’s a possible motivation. John Milicant was quite a ladies’ man. He played the races. Hazel played the races, and Oscar Baker played them. But that doesn’t mean anything. A lot of people play the ponies these days.

  “I find that Oscar Baker has been winning money crap shooting lately and losing it on ponies. From the way he’s been winning with craps, I wouldn’t doubt that he had some of the merchandise of the Conway Appliance Company.”

  “Check on that?” Mason asked.

  “Hell,” Drake said, “he’s too wise. My operative got in a crap game with him, and won three dollars. If Baker had any crooked dice from Conway, he was wise enough to ditch them as soon as he read about the murder.

  “Serle has sold us out right. Naturally, you’d have to expect that. I think that he talked with Conway at ten-thirty, but he’s fixed the time at ten o’clock now. Of course, there wasn’t any bribery or anything like that, but, as one of the main witnesses for the prosecution, the D.A. wouldn’t want him to come into court as a crook. So they’re covering him with a thick coat of whitewash; and, of course, Serle was smart enough to figure that all out. He didn’t have to be awfully smart to do that.

  “Incidentally, while we’re checking up on things, don’t overlook this prospector friend of Leeds—Ned Barkler.”

  “What about him?” Mason asked.

  “He’s a card,” Drake said, “talks occasionally about the old days in the Yukon country, never mentions any of his own adventures, becomes interested in stories of frontier brawls, and shooting scrapes. For the most part, he wears disreputable clothes, but occasionally he spruces himself up and steps out. He looks the girls over with an appraising eye, and makes passes at the pretty ones when he thinks he can get away with it—cashiers in restaurants, girls at cigar counters, manicurists, and janes like that.”

  “Successful?” Mason asked.

  “Hell, Perry,” the detective protested. “Give me a chance. I haven’t even located him yet. He’s a colorful profane old coot who’s as salty as a piece of smoked salmon. But where the devil he came from before he contacted Leeds, is more than I can find out. He appeared a couple of years ago, right in the middle of the picture. And now that he’s left, he’s walked right out of the middle of the picture. Somehow, Perry, I have an idea there’s one man we’ll never find until he wants us to find him.”

  Mason said, “I want Inez Colton, Paul, and I want her badly.”

  “How much time can I have?” Drake asked.

  “None at all,” Mason said. “I’m going to rush that preliminary hearing through just as fast as I can.”

  “Why not stall along until I can turn up something on the Colton woman?”

  Mason shook his head. “Don’t forget the D.A. has served a subpoena duces tecum on my handwriting expert. I want to mix this case up so much and rush it through so fast that he’ll be one jump behind us all the way along the line. When he sees those papers, I don’t want him to have time enough to figure out what they mean.”

  “It’ll take work and luck,” Drake said. “I’ll furnish the work. You’ll have to pray for luck. What’s all this about Milicant being Hogarty, Perry, and how did you find out about that frostbitten foot?”

  Mason smiled at Della Street. “A little bird told me,” he said.

  11

  JUDGE KNOX, who had acquired a great respect for Perry Mason’s courtroom technique, by presiding over the preliminary hearing in what the press had subsequently referred to as “The Case of the Stuttering Bishop,” gazed down on the crowded courtroom, and said, “Gentlemen, in the Case of the People of the State of California versus Alden Leeds, accused of the murder of John Milicant sometimes known as Bill Hogarty, also referred to as L. C. Conway, the defendant has previously been advised of his constitutional rights. This is the time heretofore fixed pursuant to stipulation for the preliminary hearing. Are you ready?”

  Bob Kittering, of the district attorney’s office, a thin, nervous individual with restless eyes, answered, “Ready on behalf of the People, Your Honor.”

  “Ready for the defendant,” Mason said.

  “Proceed,” Judge Knox instructed.

  The deputy coroner was the first witness. He testified at length concerning the finding of the body, introduced photographs showing its position on the floor of the bathroom, showing the fatal knife which protruded from the back, just above the left shoulder blade. He also produced photographs showing the state of the apartment with the evidences of hasty search. Under further questioning by Kittering, he produced an envelope which contained the personal possessions of the decedent which had been taken from the pockets of his clothes.

  Kittering said, “I observe that there is a fountain pen, a handkerchief, a jackknife, six dollars and twelve cents in loose change found in the trousers pocket of the deceased, an envelope with no return address, addressed to L. C. Conway, and containing scribbled memoranda. There is a pigskin key container, a watch, a cigarette case, and a pocket lighter. I call your attention to the fact that there is no wallet, no driving license, no business cards, and no currency, and ask you if you are absolutely certain that these items and these items alone were all that you found in the clothes of the deceased.”

  “That is correct,” the deputy coroner said.

  “No wallet was found in the clothing, and none was subsequently found in the apartment?”

  “So far as I know, that is correct. No wallet was ever discovered.”

  “Take the witness,” Kittering said.

  “No cross-examination,” Mason announced urbanely.

  The autopsy surgeon was called and testified at some length. He commented on the fact that from the state of the body, as he had discovered it, death had been caused by a downward thrust of a long-handled carving knife which was still embedded in the wound. This instrument had been inserted on a downward slope, clearing the left shoulder blade and penetrating the heart. Death, in his opinion, had been instantaneous. The time of death he fixed as approximately from eight to fourteen hours prior to the time he had made his examination.

  Kittering produced a bloodstained carving knife. “I call your attention to this knife, Doctor, and ask you if this is the knife which you found embedded in the body of the decedent?”

  “It is,” the doctor said.

  Kittering asked that the knife be marked for identification as People’s Exhibit A.

  “No objection,” Mason drawled.

  “Can you,” Kittering asked, “fix the time of death any more definitely than that, Doctor?”

  “Not in relation to the time when I examined the body, but I can fix it very definitely in regard to the contents of the stomach.”

  “What do you mean, Doctor?”

  “I mean that in examining the contents of the stomach, and submitting them to an examination for the purposes of detecting the possible presence of poison, we found that the person in question had died approximately two hours after a meal consisting primarily of mutton, probably in the form of chops, green peas, and potatoes, had been consumed. . . . In order to explain my answer, I may state that while the time of death as fixed in a post-mortem depends upon various elastic factors such as rigor mortis, the cooling of the body, etc., and is, therefore, subject to a certain amount of individual variation, the processes of digestion are more uniform; and by examining the state to which those digestive processes have progressed prior to death, we can, when there is food in the stomach, fix the time of death with much greater nicety.”

  “Can you,” Kittering asked, “fix the exact time of death?”

  “In view of the evidence,” the doctor said positively, “I fix the time of death definitely as not before ten o’clock in the evening preceding that of the day in which the body was discovered and not later than ten-forty-five on the evening of said day.”

  “How do you fix that time?” Kittering asked.

  “By an examination of the extent to which the digestive processes had functioned, in connection with the time at which the last meal had been consumed.”

  Kittering said triumphantly, “You may inquire.”

  Mason said to the court, “Of course, Your Honor, I could move to strike out this entire testimony on the theory that it is predicated upon facts which are beyond the doctor’s knowledge.”

  “This testimony will be connected up,” Kittering said.

  “Well,” Mason observed, “to save time, I won’t make the motion, but to get the record clear, I’ll ask a few questions. . . . How do you determine the time of death when you are performing a post-mortem, Doctor?”

  “Under circumstances such as this,” the doctor said, with acid hostility, “there are various methods. An examination of the stomach content where there is food in the stomach and data available as to the time of ingestion is by far the best method.”

  “Acting,” Mason said, “on the assumption that dinner was served and eaten at eight-ten?”

  “Acting on the assumption that dinner was served at eight-ten. Yes, sir.”

  “But,” Mason pointed out, “your only knowledge of when dinner was eaten is predicated entirely upon what has been told you. Isn’t that right?”

  “Well, I know the dinner was served at eight-ten.”

  “How do you know it?”

  The doctor raised his voice. “There are witnesses to prove it.”

  “If it should turn out the witnesses are mistaken in their time, then you are mistaken in your time. Is that right?”

  “The witness isn’t mistaken,” the doctor said. “I’ve talked with him personally.”

  “But all you know of your own knowledge, Doctor, is that you performed an autopsy on a body, that death had occurred from eight to fourteen hours prior to the time you made your examination and within approximately two hours of the time the deceased partook of a meal consisting of certain specified articles of food?”

  “You can put it that way if you want to,” the doctor snapped.

  “Thank you, Doctor,” Mason said with a smile. “I want to. That’s all. You’re excused.”

  “Jason Carrel will be the next witness,” Kittering announced.

  Carrel, poker-faced, steady-eyed, came forward, raised his right hand, and was sworn. He gave his name and residence. “Did you,” Kittering asked, “see a body at the funeral parlors of Breckenbridge & Manifred?”

  “I did.”

  “When was that?”

  “On the morning of Saturday, the seventh.”

  “And did you identify that body?”

  “I did.”

  “Had you been acquainted with that man during his lifetime?”

  “Yes.”

  “Under what name did you know him?”

  “Under the name of John Milicant, a brother of Emily Milicant.”

  “And do you know whether this defendant, Alden Leeds, your uncle, also knew the deceased?”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “Under what name?”

  “Objected to as calling for a conclusion of the witness,” Mason said. “He can’t testify as to what his uncle knows.”

  “Sustained.”

  “Did you ever hear your uncle call him by name?”

  “I did.”

  “Under what name did your uncle address him?” Kittering asked triumphantly.

  “As John Milicant.”

  “You may inquire,” Kittering said.

  “You have no particular affection for your uncle, the defendant in this case?” Mason inquired conversationally.

  “On the contrary, I really care for him,” Carrel retorted. “I care enough for him so that I realized he was in danger of being victimized by an unscrupulous adventuress, and took steps to prevent him being stripped of his property.”

  “And by the unscrupulous adventuress, you refer to Emily Milicant, the sister of the deceased?”

  “I do.”

  “Now then,” Mason said conversationally, “suppose that it should appear that the defendant in this case was not your uncle. Would that make any difference in connection with your testimony?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Simply this. Suppose that in the event of his death—either by natural causes or in the gas chamber at San Quentin—you stood no chance of profiting, in other words, that you were not a natural heir of his and, therefore, not in a position to share in his estate or contest his will, would you continue your efforts to prevent his marriage or regard the possibility that he might be convicted of murder with equal satisfaction?”

  Kittering jumped to his feet. “Your Honor,” he shouted. “Your Honor, this is outrageous! This is uncalled for. This is unethical and unprofessional. It is quite on a par with the tactics that counsel has used in . . . ”

  Judge Knox interrupted calmly to say, “The question is not temperate. It may not be considerate. Doubtless, it is not courteous, but it is legal. I know of no law which requires counsel to be courteous, temperate, or considerate with witnesses who testify adversely. The question goes to show motivation, bias, and a possible reason. Therefore, it will be allowed.”

  “Answer the question,” Mason said.

  “I care nothing whatever about my uncle’s money,” Carrel said in a low voice.

  “But you did have him strong-armed out of an automobile in order to place him in an institution when you thought he was about to marry Emily Milicant.”

  “I did that for his own good.”

  “And your own good, your own advantage, didn’t enter into the matter at all?” Mason asked suavely.

  Carrel hesitated a minute, fidgeted uneasily, then raised sullen eyes, and said, “No.”

  “And you didn’t discuss with the other two relatives who co-operated with you in that action, the advisability of having your uncle committed to an institution so that you could prevent his marriage, prevent him making a valid will, and thereby insure your participation in the fruits of his lifelong savings?”

  Carrel again fidgeted, and then said without looking up, “No.”

  “There was no conversation to that effect?”

  “No.”

  “The matter wasn’t mentioned in your presence by any of the others?”

  Again there was a long silence. Again Carrel answered without looking up, “No.”

  “Your action in kidnaping your uncle was actuated by the loftiest motives and without any thought whatever for your own financial interest?”

  “Objected to,” Kittering snapped. “Assuming facts not in evidence. I object particularly to the use of the word ‘kidnaping.’ ”