Judge Markham, beneath the cloak of his austere ju­dicial dignity, held himself with wary watchfulness. Perry Mason had the reputation of being able to “stampede,” every case he tried, and Judge Markham was determined, that while the trial would be conducted with impartiality, it would be conducted with a proper regard for the dignity of law and order; that there would be no errors in the record, no opportunities for the dramatic manipulation of emotions which so frequently turned trials in which Perry Mason participated into spectacular debacles for the prosecution, crashing across the front pages of newspapers in glaring headlines.

  “The peremptory,” said Judge Markham sternly, “is with the people.”

  Claude Drumm dropped back to his chair and engaged in a whispered consultation with his assistant. He interrupted, to glance up at the court.

  “If I may have a moment’s indulgence, Your Honor.”

  “Very well,” said the judge.

  Everly looked at Perry Mason inquiringly, and caught a glint in the lawyer’s eyes.

  Mason leaned forward and whispered:

  “Drumm wants to get number three off of the jury, but he thinks we have got to get off jurors nine and eleven. We’ve got twice as many peremptory challenges as he has, so he’s wondering if he dares to pass his peremptory and hold it in reserve until he sees what the jury looks like later on.”

  “Does he dare to do it?” asked Everly.

  “That,” said Perry Mason, “remains to be seen.”

  There was a moment of tense silence, then Drumm got to his feet and bowed to the court.

  “The people,” he said, “pass their peremptory.”

  Judge Markham looked down at Perry Mason, and his lips moved to form the words: “The peremptory is with the defendants.”

  But the words were never uttered, for Perry Mason, turning toward the jury with a casual glance of appraisal, as though the entire matter had just claimed his attention, said, in a clear voice: “Your Honor, this jury seems entirely satisfactory to the defendants. We waive our peremptory challenge.”

  Claude Drumm was caught by surprise. Eyes of those who were wise in courtroom technique, saw the quick intake of his breath as he started unconsciously to register a protest which his consciousness knew would be futile.

  Judge Markham’s voice rang out through the crowded courtroom:

  “Let the jurors stand and be sworn to try the case.”

  Claude Drumm made an opening statement to the jury which was remarkable for its brevity.

  “Gentlemen,” he said, “we expect to show that, at the exact minute of eleven thirty-two on the twenty-third day of October of this year, Edward Norton met his death; that he was murdered by a blow on the head, struck with a club held in the hand of the defendant, Robert Gleason; that at the time of the murder, there was present as an active accomplice, the defendant, Frances Celane; that at the time of the murder, Edward Norton had a large sum of money on his person in the form of one thousand dollar bills.

  “We expect to show that at the hour of eleven fourteen on that date, Edward Norton telephoned to the police station, reporting the theft of one of his automobiles, a Buick sedan; that Frances Celane was, in fact, presently in the study of Edward Norton at the hour of eleven thirty-two P.M., on the date of the murder, but that, for the purpose of trying to establish an alibi, and knowing that Edward Norton had reported this Buick sedan as having been stolen at the hour of eleven fourteen, the said defendant, Frances Celane, then and there stated falsely and wilfully that she had been distant from the scene of the crime, in the said Buick automobile, from the hour of approximately ten forty-five until approximately twelve fifteen.

  “We expect to show that immediately following the commission of the crime, the defendants left the bloody club with which the crime had been committed, and two of the one thousand dollar bills which had been stolen from the body of the deceased, in the bedroom of one Pete Devoe, who was then and there asleep and in an intoxicated condition; that this was done for the purpose of directing suspicion to the said Pete Devoe.

  “We will also show that the defendants forced open a window and made footprints in the soil beneath the window, in an attempt to lead the police to believe burglars had entered the house.

  “We also expect to show that immediately thereafter the defendant Robert Gleason fled from the scene of the crime; that both defendants gave false and contradictory accounts as to their whereabouts; that the club with which Edward Norton was struck down was a walking stick belonging to the defendant, Robert Gleason.

  “We expect to show that an eye-witness actually saw the murder committed, and will identify Robert Gleason as the man who struck the blow, and will identify Frances Celane as the young woman who, attired in a pink dress or negligee, aided and abetted the commission of the crime.”

  Claude Drumm stood staring at the jurors for a moment, then sat down. Judge Markham looked inquiringly at Perry Mason.

  “If the court please, ” said Perry Mason, “we will withold our opening statement until the time we start to present our case.”

  “Very well,” said Judge Markham. “You may proceed, Mr. Drumm.”

  Claude Drumm started building up the case with that calm, deadly efficiency for which he was noted. No detail was too small to claim his attention; no link in the chain of evidence was to be overlooked.

  The first witness was a surveyor who had mapped and photographed the premises. He introduced diagrams drawn to scale, showing the room in which the body had been found, the furniture in the room, the location of the windows. Then he produced a photograph of the room, other photographs of various corners of the room. Each of these photographs was identified by locating it on the diagram of the room. Then followed photographs of the house, and finally, a map showing the house with reference to the winding road which climbed up to the boulevard. Following that came a contour map showing the various elevations of the windows in the house, with reference to the road along which the automobile had traveled.

  “So that,” said Drumm, suavely, indicating a place on the diagram where a curve in the road was shown, “it would be perfectly possible for a person traveling along this section of the road which I am indicating, in an automobile, to glance back and see into the room marked number one on the map, People’s Exhibit A?”

  Before the surveyor could answer the question, Perry Mason got to his feet and raised his voice in protest:

  “Just a moment, Your Honor,” he said. “That question is leading. It also calls for a conclusion of the witness. It calls for a conclusion which the jury is to draw in this case. It is one of the points upon which we intend to convince this jury of the improbability of the People’s case. Whether or not . . .”

  The gavel of the judge banged down upon his desk.

  “The objection,” he said, “is sustained. The argument, Mr. Mason, is unnecessary.”

  Mason dropped back to his chair.

  With the manner of one who has scored a victory even in defeat, Drumm bowed smilingly to Mason.

  “Counsellor,” he said, “you may inquire on cross-examination.”

  With the eyes of everyone in the courtroom riveted upon him, Perry Mason, fully aware of the dramatic advantage of the moment, and the interest which would attend upon his first question, strode to the map which had been fastened to the blackboard with thumb tacks, placed the index finger of his right hand upon the curve in the line which indicated the roadway from the house to the boulevard, placed the index finger of his left hand upon the location of the study in the house, and said, in a voice which rang with challenge: “Exactly how far is it from the point which I am indicating with my right forefinger, and which is the curve in this roadway, to the point which I am indicating with my left finger, and which is the point where the body was found?”

  “If,” said the witness in level tones, “your right forefinger is exactly at the point where the curve swings farthest south, and your left forefinger is at a point representing the exact point where the body was found, the distance is exactly two hundred and seventy-two feet, three and one-half inches.”

  Perry Mason turned, his face showing surprise.

  “Two hundred and seventy-two feet, three and one-half inches?” he exclaimed incredulously.

  “Yes,” said the witness.

  Mason dropped his hands to his sides with a gesture of finality.

  “That,” he said, “is all. I have no further questions to ask of this witness.”

  Judge Markham looked at the clock, and an anticipatory rustle of motion stirred the courtroom, as dead leaves on a tree are stirred by the first current of an advancing breeze.

  “It has,” said the judge, “approached the hour of adjournment. The court will adjourn until ten o’clock tomorrow morning, and during that time, the jury will remember the admonition of the court not to converse amongst themselves about this case, nor permit others to converse with them or in their presence about it.”

  The gavel banged on the desk.

  Perry Mason smiled craftily, and remarked to his assistant: “Drumm should have carried on the examination until the hour for adjournment. Giving me the opportunity to ask that one question, will make the newspapers feature it tomorrow morning.”

  Everly had his eyes puckered in concentration.

  “Two hundred and seventy-two feet is a long distance,” he said.

  “It won’t,” Mason assured him grimly, “get any shorter as the case goes on.”

  Chapter 20

  The newspapers predicted that the first major witness for the prosecution would be either Arthur Crinston, the business partner of the murdered man, or Don Graves, who had been the only eye-witness of the murder.

  In this, the newspapers showed that they underestimated the dramatic trial tactics of the chief trial deputy. Drumm would no more have plunged into the drama of that murder without preparing the minds of the jurors for the gruesome tidbit, than would a playwright have opened his presentation with a crisis lifted from the third act.

  He called to the stand, instead, Judge B. C. Purley.

  Necks craned as the Municipal Judge, coming in from the back of the courtroom, strode down the aisle with the stately bearing of one who realizes to the full the dignity of his appearance, and the importance of his position.

  White-haired, ponderous, deep-chested and heavy-waisted, he held up his right hand while the oath was administered to him, and then took the witness chair, his manner indicating a respect for the tribunal and what it stood for, a dignified tolerance of the attorneys and jurors, a calm disregard of the restless spectators.

  “Your name is B. C. Purley?” asked Claude Drumm.

  “Yes sir.”

  “You are now a duly elected, qualified and acting Judge of the Municipal Court of this city?”

  “I am.”

  “And, on the night of October twenty-third of this year you had occasion to be in the vicinity of the residence of Edward Norton?”

  “I did.”

  “At what time did you arrive at the residence of Edward Norton, Judge Purley?”

  “At precisely six minutes after eleven.”

  “And what time did you leave that vicinity?”

  “At precisely thirty minutes past eleven.”

  “Will you explain to the jury, Judge Purley, why it is that you are able to testify with such exactness as to the time of arrival and departure?”

  Perry Mason recognized the trap, yet had no alternative but to walk into it.

  “Objected to, Your Honor,” he said. “The witness has given his testimony. The mental processes which led up to it are incompetent, irrelevant, immaterial, and, at best, matter only for cross-examination.”

  “Sustained,” said Judge Markham.

  Claude Drumm’s smile was ironically sarcastic.

  “I will withdraw the question, Your Honor,” he said. “It was an error upon my part. After all, if Counsellor Mason desires to go into the matter, he is at liberty to do so upon cross-examination.”

  “Proceed,” said Judge Markham, pounding his desk with the gavel.

  “Who was with you on the occasion of your visit? ” asked the deputy district attorney.

  “Mr. Arthur Crinston was with me when I went to the vicinity of the house, and both Mr. Arthur Crinston, and Mr. Don Graves were with me at the time I departed.”

  “What happened while you were there, Judge Purley?”

  “I arrived at the grounds in the vicinity of the house, stopped my car to allow Mr. Crinston to get out, turned my car, shut off the motor, and waited.”

  “During the time that you were waiting what did you do?”

  “Sat and smoked for the first ten or fifteen minutes, and looked at my watch rather impatiently several times during the last part of the period I was waiting,” said Judge Purley.

  And he glanced, with just a trace of subdued triumph, at Perry Mason, his manner indicating that, being fully familiar with court procedure, he was going to get the damaging parts of his testimony in, whether the defense wanted them in or not. The inference to be drawn from the fact that he had glanced several times at his watch was that he was aware of the exact minute of his departure, and he was sufficiently adroit to get that inference across to the jury without violating the ruling of the court.

  Perry Mason eyed the witness with placid indifference.

  “Then what happened?” asked Claude Drumm.

  “Then Mr. Crinston came out of the house to join me. I started the motor of my car, and at that moment the window of the house in the southeast corner of the building was opened, and Mr. Norton thrust his head out of the study window.”

  “Just a moment,” said Claude Drumm. “Do you know of your own knowledge that that was Mr. Norton’s study?”

  “No sir,” said Judge Purley. “I only know it from the fact that it was the room in the southeast corner on the second story of the house, and is the room marked on the map and diagram as room number one, Mr. Norton’s study.”

  “Oh,” said Drumm, “then the room is that which is indicated on Plaintiff’s Exhibit A by the figure one marked in a circle?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Very well,” said Drumm, “what did Mr. Norton say?”

  “Mr. Norton called down to Mr. Crinston, and said, as nearly as I can remember: ‘Arthur, would it be all right for you to take Don Graves in to your house in your car and let him get the documents? Then I will send the chauffeur to pick him up.’ ”

  “And,” said Drumm, “what happened next?”

  “Mr. Crinston said, as nearly as I can remember: ‘I am not in my own car, but with a friend. I will have to ask my friend if it will be all right.’ ”

  “Then what happened?”

  “Mr. Norton said: ‘Very well, do so, and let me know,’ and withdrew his head from the window.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “Then Mr. Crinston came to me and said that Mr. Graves was to get some documents . . .”

  “Objected to,” said Perry Mason in a casual tone of voice. “Anything which took place without the hearing of this defendant is admissible only as a part of the res gestae. By no stretch of the imagination can this be considered as a part of the res gestae.”

  “The objection is sustained,” said Judge Markham.

  “Very well. Then what happened?” asked Drumm suavely, smiling over at the jury as much to say: “You see how technical the defense is in this case, ladies and gentlemen?”

  “Then,” said Judge Purley, “Mr. Crinston went back to a position under the study window, and called up, as nearly as I can remember his words: ‘It’s all right, Edward. He can go with us.’ And at about that moment, the front door opened and the figure of Mr. Graves ran down the steps, Mr. Graves saying ‘I am ready,’ or words to that effect.”

  “And then what happened?”

  “Then the three of us got in my automobile, Mr. Crinston sitting in the front seat with me, Mr. Graves sitting in the rear seat. I started the machine and started to drive up along the road, lettered on the map ‘People’s Exhibit B’ as ‘Winding Roadway.’ We traveled up that road until we were in a position on the curve . . .”

  “Just a moment,” said Claude Drumm. “Can you take a pencil and indicate the exact point on the curve which you had approached when the event took place, concerning which you were about to testify?”

  Judge Purley nodded, got to his feet, and walked with ponderous dignity to the blackboard, turned up the map and marked a small oblong on the curve in the roadway.

  “This represents the approximate position of the car.”

  “And what happened when the car was in that position?” asked Claude Drumm.

  “Mr. Graves looked back through the back window and exclaimed . . .”

  “Objected to,” snapped Perry Mason. “Hearsay, incompetent, irrelevant, and immaterial, not part of the res gestae, not binding upon the defendant.”

  “Sustained,” said Judge Markham.

  Claude Drumm made a helpless gesture.

  “But surely, Your Honor, in view of what is to take place . . .”

  “The objection,” said Judge Markham coldly, “is sustained. You may call Mr. Don Graves at the proper moment, counsellor, and let him testify as to anything he saw. As to anything which was said or done outside of the presence of this defendant, and which is not a part of the res gestae, the objection is well taken.”

  “Very well,” said Drumm, turning to the jury, and all but bowing, “at the proper time I will call Mr. Don Graves, and Mr, Don Graves will testify as to exactly what he saw at that place.

  “Go on, Judge Purley, and tell the jury exactly what was done at that time and place, with reference to what you, yourself, did in relation to the operation of the automobile.”

  “I did nothing at exactly that place, but proceeded along the winding road, as indicated there on the map, for a distance of several rods, until I came to a place in the road which was wide enough to turn. There I turned the car by backing and twisting, and went back down the winding roadway, stopping once more in front of the house of Edward Norton.”