“But why change the position of the body?” Drake asked. “Why juggle guns?”

  “That,” Mason said, “is something we’re going to have to find out. Beginning tomorrow, I’m going to start getting some of this stuff in front of the jury, and then I’m going to needle the prosecution by asking it these questions. I’m going to start punching holes in the prosecution’s theory of the case.”

  “Enough to get an acquittal for Conway?”

  “I think so,” Mason said. “I’m not worried so much about that as I am that the public may take it as a Scotch verdict: guilty but not proven, and Conway will never be able to live it down.”

  “He’s not the kind who would try very hard,” Drake said.

  “In some ways he’s not a fighter,” Mason admitted. “He gets discouraged and throws in the sponge. He’ll fight like the devil on a business deal, but in a matter of this sort which affects his personal integrity, he feels completely crushed.

  “You keep in touch with your elevator operator—what the devil’s her name?”

  “Myrtle Lamar,” Drake said.

  “She isn’t taking you seriously, is she?” Della Street asked. “You aren’t going to wind up breaking her heart, are you, Paul?”

  “Not Myrtle!” Drake said, grinning. “Her heart is made of India rubber.”

  “Those are the kinds that fool you,” Della Street said. “Probably beneath that cynical exterior, she’s extremely sensitive and—Don’t you go destroying her illusions, Paul Drake!”

  “You can’t destroy them,” Drake said, “because she hasn’t got ‘em. As a matter of fact, I get a kick out of being with her. She knows that I’m trying to pick her brains to find out something about the case that has eluded us so far, and she’s doing everything she can to help. She’s telling me every little thing she can think of about the operation of the hotel, about what happened that night and all that.

  “My gosh! The gossip I can tell you about the things that go on in that hotel! And what a miserable little stooge this Bob King is! He’d do absolutely anything just to curry favor with the authorities.”

  Again Mason started pacing the floor. “The trouble is we’re one woman short in this matter. That woman couldn’t have disappeared into thin air. She couldn’t have disappeared from Gifford Farrell’s life. He wouldn’t have let her.

  “Tomorrow I’m going to start asking embarrassing questions. The prosecution isn’t accustomed to trying cases against lawyers who know anything about forensic medicine. The average lawyer considers it out of his line, and doesn’t bother to study up on it. In this case the medical testimony is of the greatest importance and has some peculiar angles.

  “Moreover, we’re missing that woman and—”

  Suddenly Mason stopped stock-still in his pacing, paused in the middle of a sentence.

  Della Street looked up quickly. “What is it, Chief?”

  Mason didn’t answer her question for a matter of two or three seconds, then he said slowly, “You know, Paul, in investigative work the worst thing you can do is to get a theory and then start trying to fit the facts to it. You should keep an open mind and reach your conclusion after the facts are all in.”

  “Well,” Drake said, “what’s wrong?”

  “Throughout this entire case,” Mason said, “I’ve let my thinking be influenced by Jerry Conway. He’s told me that this was a frame-up which was engineered by Gifford Farrell, that the line to his office had been tapped, and that he was suckered into this thing by Farrell.”

  “Well, it stands to reason,” Drake said. “We know that someone cut in on the program Evangeline Farrell had mapped out for Conway. Mrs. Farrell was going to make certain that he wasn’t followed and then she was going to have him meet her where she could give him those papers.

  “She was to call him at six-fifteen, but somebody beat her to the punch by a couple of minutes and—”

  “And we’ve jumped to the conclusion that it was some accomplice of Giff Farrell!” Mason said.

  “Well, why not? The whole setup, the substitution of guns, the burying of the fatal weapon—all that shows a diabolical ingenuity and—”

  Mason said, “Paul, I’ve got an idea. Get your friend Myrtle Lamar and have her in court tomorrow. Sit there in court and have her listen. I want to have her beside you.”

  “She has to work, Perry … .”

  “I’ll serve a subpoena on her as a witness for the defense,” Mason said. ‘‘Then she’ll have to be there. I’m beginning to get the nucleus of an idea, Paul.

  “You say you’ve had trouble holding your man Inskip in line?”

  “I told you we’d have trouble,” Drake said. “He keeps feeling that he’s withholding evidence that the police should have, and it bothers him. When you finally spring your idea and he’s called as a witness, the police will want to know why he didn’t give them the tip, and—”

  “Let him give them the tip,” Mason said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Get hold of Inskip,” Mason said. “Tell him to go to the police. Let him tell the police that his conscience is bothering him and he can’t hold out any longer, that he knows I have an ace in the hole, that we discovered this hole in the mattress in Room 728. Let him give them the bullet that we took from the mattress and let Redfield check that bullet with the Smith & Wesson gun Conway turned over to the police. The bullets will check.”

  Drake said, “That would be awfully nice from Inskip’s viewpoint but it would leave you right out in the open, Perry. They would know exactly what you were trying to do.”

  “That’s okay,” Mason said. “That suits my plans fine!”

  “And then what’ll happen?”

  “Then tomorrow,” Mason said, “the prosecution will feel they know what I’m leading up to and they’ll want time to combat it. I think this Dr. Garfield is a pretty fair sort of individual. I’ll start laying the foundation, and Hamilton Burger will go into a panic. He’ll start stalling for time.”

  “But you’ve been the one who wanted to rush things along so you could have the case over before the stockholders’”

  “I know, I know,” Mason interrupted. “There’s still time. Go ring up Inskip. Tell him to go tell the police the whole story!”

  “The whole story?” Drake said.

  “Everything!” Mason said. “Then get your girl, Myrtle Lamar, and be in court tomorrow morning. I’m beginning to get the damnedest idea and I think it’s predicated on sound logic.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Judge DeWitt said, “The jurors are all present. The defendant is in court. At the conclusion of yesterday’s testimony Dr. Reeves Garfield was on the stand. Will you please resume your place on the stand, Dr. Garfield?”

  Dr. Garfield took his place in the witness chair.

  “Directing your attention to this discoloration which you noticed on the left side of the body,” Mason asked, “can you tell us more about the nature of that discoloration?”

  “It was barely noticeable; only in certain lights could you see it. It was simply a very, very faint change in the complexion of the skin.”

  “Would you say that it had no medical significance, Doctor?”

  “I would never state that any phenomenon one may find in a cadaver in a murder case had no medical significance.”

  “Was there a dispute as to whether this color had any real significance or not?”

  Hamilton Burger was on his feet. “Your Honor, we object to that as being improper cross-examination. It calls for something which is incompetent, irrelevant, and immaterial. It makes no difference whether there was a dispute or not. This Court is trying this defendant not for the purpose of determining what argument someone may have had, but for the purpose of getting the ultimate facts.”

  “I will sustain the objection,” Judge DeWitt said.

  “Was there a dispute between you and Dr. Malone as to the significance of this slight discoloration?”

  “Same objection,” Hamilton Burger said.

  Judge DeWitt hesitated for a long, thoughtful moment, then said, “The same ruling. I will sustain the objection.”

  “Isn’t it a fact,” Mason said, “that this slight discoloration may have been due to the fact that the body lay for some appreciable interval after death on its left side, and that the I slight discoloration marked the beginnings of a post-mortem lividity, which remained after the body had again been moved?”

  “That is, of course, a possibility.”

  “A distinct possibility?”

  “Well, it is a possibility. I will concede that.”

  “Now, did you ever know of a case where there had been a pronounced development of rigor mortis in the right arm and shoulder with no rigor mortis in the left shoulder, unless someone had broken the rigor?”

  “I know of no such case.”

  “Is it your opinion that the rigor in the left shoulder had been broken?”

  The witness shifted his position on the witness stand, looked somewhat hopelessly at Hamilton Burger.

  “That’s objected to,” Hamilton Burger said, “on the ground that the question is argumentative, that it calls for a conclusion of the witness.”

  “The objection is overruled,” Judge DeWitt said. “The witness is an expert, and is testifying as to his opinion. Answer the question.”

  Dr. Garfield said slowly, “It is my opinion that the rigor had been broken.”

  “And it is your opinion that the position of the body had been changed after death, and prior to the time you saw it there in Room 729 at the Redfern Hotel?”

  There was a long period of hesitation, then Dr. Garfield said reluctantly, “That is my opinion.”

  “Thank you,” Mason said. “That is all.”

  “No further questions,” Elliott announced.

  Hamilton Burger seemed preoccupied and worried. He bent over and whispered something to his trial deputy, and then ponderously tiptoed from the courtroom.

  Elliott said, “My next witness will be Lt. Tragg.”

  Tragg came forward and was sworn. He testified in a leisurely manner that was hardly in keeping with Tragg’s usually crisp, incisive manner on the stand.

  He had, he said, attended a conference of officers on October seventeenth. The defendant had appeared. With him had appeared his attorney, Perry Mason.

  “Did the defendant make a statement?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was the statement free arid voluntary?”

  “It was.”

  Elliott asked him to describe what was said.

  Slowly, almost tediously, Tragg repeated the conversation in detail, with Elliott glancing at his watch from time to time.

  The morning recess was taken and Court reconvened. Tragg’s testimony was still dragging on until at eleven- thirty he was finished.

  “You may cross-examine,” Elliott said.

  “No questions,” Mason said.

  Elliott bit his lip.

  His next witness was the uniformed officer who had sat in on the conference in the district attorney’s office. The uniformed officer was still giving his testimony about what had happened when Court took its noon adjournment.

  “What’s happening?” Conway whispered. “They seem to be bogging down.”

  “They’re worried,” Mason whispered back. “Just keep a stiff upper lip.”

  The jurors filed out of the courtroom. Mason walked over to where Paul Drake, Della Street, and Myrtle Lamar, the elevator operator, were standing talking.

  Myrtle Lamar shifted her wad of gum, grinned at Mason.

  “Hello, big boy,” she said.

  “How’s everything?” Mason asked.

  “Sort of tedious this morning,” she said. “Why the subpoena? I’m supposed to be on duty tonight and I should be getting my beauty sleep.”

  “You don’t need it,” Mason told her.

  “I will before I get done.”

  Drake put his hand on her arm. “We’ll take care of you all right. Don’t worry!”

  “You don’t know the manager up there at the Redfern Hotel. Women must have made a habit of turning him down. He loves to kick them around. He’d throw me out on my ear as easy as he’d snap a bread crumb off the table.”

  “You don’t snap bread crumbs. You remove them with a little silver scoop,” Drake said.

  “You and your damned culture,” she said.

  “Come on,” Mason told her. “We’re going out.”

  “Where?”

  “We’re going visiting.”

  “My face,” she said, “has bad habits. It needs to be fed.”

  “We’ll get it fed,” Mason said.

  “Okay, that’s a promise!”

  Mason shepherded them down in the elevator into his car, drove carefully but skillfully.

  “Where?” Drake asked.

  Mason looked at his watch. “Not far.”

  Mason stopped the car in front of an apartment house, went to the room telephones, called Evangeline Farrell.

  When her voice came on the line, the lawyer said, “Mrs. Farrell, I want to see you at once on a matter of considerable importance.”

  “I’m not dressed for company,” she said.

  “Put on something,” Mason told her. “I have to be back in court and I’m coming up.”

  “Is it important?”

  “Very!”

  “It concerns the case?”

  “Yes.”

  “Come on up,” she told him.

  Mason nodded to the others. They took the elevator.

  Mrs. Farrell opened the apartment door, then fell back in surprise, clutching at the sheer negligee.

  “You didn’t tell me anyone was with you,” she said.

  “I’m sorry,” Mason told her. “I overlooked it, perhaps. I’m in a terrible hurry. I have to be back in court at two o’clock.”

  “But what in the world—?”

  Mason said, “You could buy us a drink. This is important.”

  She hesitated for a long moment, then said, “Very well.”

  “May I help you?” Della Street asked.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Mason said. “I haven’t introduced these people to you.”

  Mason performed introductions, mentioning only names except for Della Street. “My confidential secretary,” he explained.

  “Come on,” Della Street said, “I’ll help you.”

  Somewhat hesitantly Mrs. Farrell moved toward the kitchenette. When she had gone, Mason said to the elevator operator, “Have you ever seen her before?”

  “I think I have. If I could get a better look at her feet, I’d be sure. I’d like to see her shoes.”

  “Let’s look,” Mason said. He walked boldly to the bedroom door, opened it, beckoned to Paul Drake who took Myrtle’s arm, led her along into the bedroom.

  The elevator operator tried to hang back, but Drake shifted his arm around her waist.

  “Know what you’re, doing, Perry?” Drake asked, as Mason crossed the bedroom.

  “No,” Mason said, “but I have a hunch.” He opened a closet door.

  “Take a look at the shoes, Myrtle,” Mason said. “Do they mean anything to you? Wait a moment! I guess we don’t need those. Take a look at this.” The lawyer reached back into the closet, pulled out a Suitcase. It had the initials “R. C.”

  “Just what do you think you’re doing?” an angry, icy voice demanded.

  Mason turned, said, “Right at the moment, I’m checking the baggage that you removed from the Redfern Hotel, Mrs. Farrell, and this young woman who is the elevator operator who was on duty the day of the murder is looking at your shoes to see if she recognizes the pair you wore. She has the peculiar habit of noticing people’s feet.”

  Mrs. Farrell started indignantly toward them, then suddenly stopped in her tracks.

  Mason said, “Let’s take a look inside that suitcase, Paul.”

  “You can’t do that,” she said. “You have no right.”

  “Okay,” Mason said, “if you want it the hard way, we’ll do it the hard way. Go to the phone, Paul. Call Homicide and ask them to send up some officers with a warrant. We’ll stay here until they arrive.”

  Evangeline Farrell stood looking at them with eyes that held an expression of sickened dismay.

  “Or perhaps,” Mason said, “you’d like to tell us about it. We haven’t very much time, Mrs. Farrell.”

  “Tell you about what?” she asked, trying to get hold of herself.

  “About renting Room 729 and saying you were the secretary of Gerald Boswell, and that he was to occupy the room for the night.

  “Tell us about shooting Rose Calvert, who was in 728; about sitting there waiting, trying to figure out what you’d do, then taking the body across the hall … . Did you manage that alone? Or did someone help you?”

  She said, “You can’t do that to me. You—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Mason walked over to the telephone, picked up the receiver, said to the operator, “I want Lt. Tragg at—”

  “Wait!” Mrs. Farrell screamed at him. “Wait! You’ve got to help me.”

  Mason said into the mouthpiece of the telephone, “Never mind.” He dropped the phone into its cradle.

  “All right,” she said. “All right! I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you the whole story. I’ve been frightened stiff ever since it happened. But I didn’t kill her. I didn’t! Please, please believe that I didn’t kill her.”

  “Who did?” Mason asked.

  “Gifford,” she said.

  “How do you know?”

  “He must have. He’s the only one. He thought she was selling out. I guess he must have followed me to the hotel. He knew I was there.”

  “Go on,” Mason said. “You only have a minute or two. Get it off your chest. What happened?”

  She said, “I wanted to give Mr. Conway the lists of stockholders who had sent in proxies. I wanted to do it under such circumstances that Gifford would think his little mistress had sold him out. She was at the Redfern Hotel. She had this room in 728. She was typing. You could hear her through the transom banging away on a portable typewriter like mad. I told you the truth about getting the used carbon paper.”

  “Why did you do all this?” Mason asked. “Why did you rent that suite?”