Drake put through a long distance call to his San Francisco office, talked for several minutes, then drew Perry Mason aside.

  “Perry,” he said, “this doesn’t look so good.”

  “Do you have some news of Della?”

  “Yes.”

  “Go ahead,” Mason told him, “spill it.”

  Drake said, “After all, Perry, we don’t know that she was working on this evening gown business. She may have had reasons of her own—”

  “Never mind the preliminaries,” Mason said. “What are you getting at?”

  “Look here, Perry,” Drake blurted, “has it ever occurred to you that Della might … well, might walk out on you some day?”

  Mason’s face darkened. “Damn you, Paul,” he said, “if you—”

  “Now, take it easy, Perry,” Drake said, backing away. “After all, she may have met someone on the ship, or—”

  Mason moved toward him belligerently. “Spill it,” he said. “Come on, Paul, out with it.”

  Drake said, “My men have been busy, Perry. They’ve uncovered a drive-yourself agency which rented a car to Della shortly before noon. She put up a fifty-dollar deposit and paid a week’s rent in advance. She used the name of D. M. Crenshaw.”

  Mason said, “If your men have pulled a boner on this, Paul, I’ll—”

  “They haven’t, Parry. They have a photograph of Della. The man who rented her the car identified it absolutely.”

  “She was alone?” Mason asked.

  “She was alone,” Drake said. “Come on, Perry, let’s go back to the hotel and get a night’s sleep. After all, you’ll have to be in court tomorrow, and by tomorrow you may know what it’s all about.”

  Mason stared steadily at the detective for a moment, then turned on his heel. “All right, Paul,” he said, “let’s go.”

  Chapter 14

  Outside the courtroom windows, the sun was sparkling San Francisco’s buildings into clean brilliance. Within the courtroom, daylight waged a losing fight against the gloomy dignity of somber walls of dark mahogany. Electric lights flooded the room with subdued illumination. Not all of the chairs were filled. The thrill-hungry spectators who haunt courtrooms with eager ears, listening for salacious details, could hardly be bothered with a commonplace husband murder.

  Perry Mason, lines etched deeply into his countenance, his slightly reddened eyes showing the effects of a sleepless night, said to Judge Sturtevant Romley, “We are ready on behalf of the defendant.”

  “Very well,” Judge Romley announced. “Testimony in the preliminary hearing of The People of the State of California versus Anna Moar, also known as Ann Newberry, will be taken at this time pursuant to stipulation of Counsel. Call your first witness, Mr. Prosecutor.”

  Donaldson P. Scudder, a slender, anemic individual, with skin which seemed almost transparent, and the precise, academic manner of one who is completely removed from human emotions, said, “Our first witness, if the Court please, will be Frank Remington.”

  Judge Romley, recognizing from the Prosecutor’s voice that there was to be nothing spectacular, a mere matter of assembling the legal red tape with which a murder case must be duly tied, sat back in his cushioned chair and glanced appraisingly at the defendant.

  Anna Moar, seated behind Perry Mason, her chin held high, her eyes slightly defiant, as though daring the machinery of Justice to do its worst, sat virtually without emotion.

  Remington testified that he was manager of the Products Refining Company of Los Angeles; that the corporation had employed a Carl Waker Moar; that Moar was no longer in their employ; that he had failed to report for duty two months ago and the witness had not seen him since.

  Scudder, opening his briefcase, said, “I will show you a photograph, Mr. Remington, and ask you if you can identify it.”

  “Yes,” the witness said, “this is a photograph of the party to whom I have referred in my testimony—Carl Waker Moar.”

  “The person who was employed by the Products Refining Company?”

  “Yes.”

  “In what capacity?”

  “As bookkeeper.”

  “We will ask that the photograph be marked for identification,” Scudder said.

  “No objection,” Mason said.

  “Cross-examine the witness,” the Prosecutor invited.

  Mason made a gesture of dismissal. “No questions.”

  “The next witness will be Miss Aileen Fell,” the Prosecutor announced.

  Aileen fell, in her early thirties, trying to conceal her nervousness beneath a cloak of calm dignity, was sworn and took the witness stand.

  “Your name?” Scudder asked.

  “Aileen Lenore Fell.”

  “Occupation?”

  “I’m a schoolteacher.”

  “Where were you on Sunday night, the sixth of this month?”

  “I was on a ship, traveling from Honolulu to San Francisco.”

  “There were other passengers aboard that ship?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “I call your attention to the defendant, Mrs. Anna Newberry Moar, and will ask you if she was aboard that ship as a passenger.”

  “Yes, sir, she was, but not under the name of Moar—she was traveling under the name of Newberry.”

  “And she was accompanied by whom?”

  “By a Carl Newberry, her husband, and Belle Newberry, her daughter.”

  “Belle Newberry is the young woman sitting on the aisle of the first row of spectators on the left?”

  “Yes.”

  “And would you know Carl Newberry if you should see him again?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Would you recognize his photograph?”

  “I believe so, yes.”

  “I hand you a photograph which has been marked for identification as People’s Exhibit A, and ask you if that photograph is of anyone you know.”

  She studied the photograph and said with quiet dignity, “It is. That is a photograph of Carl Newberry, who shared the defendant’s stateroom as her husband.”

  “Now, what was the state of the weather on the evening of the sixth on that portion of the ocean which was then being traversed by the ship on which you and the gentleman whose photograph you have identified were passengers?”

  “The weather,” she said, “was very rough. It was stormy.”

  “Can you describe the storm?”

  “There was a wind which came, I think, from the southwest. It was blowing very, very hard. Rain was falling in torrents. It was absolutely impossible to stand on the right-hand side of the ship without being soaked by both rain and spray. On the left-hand side of the ship, it was possible to stand in the shelter of the decks, and away from the wind, without getting drenched, although water would run along the decks every time the ship rolled.”

  “And the ship was rolling?”

  “Yes, quite heavily.”

  The deputy district attorney said to the Court, “We will go into greater detail about the weather with the captain of the ship.” Then, turning back to the witness, “Now, Miss Fell, when did you last see the gentleman, Carl Moar, or Carl Newberry, as you knew him?”

  “On the evening of the sixth.”

  “Can you tell us about what time it was?”

  “It was shortly before nine o’clock.”

  “Where were you standing?”

  “I was standing on the deck below the boat deck, near the stairs.”

  “And where did you see Mr. Newberry?”

  “Mr. Newberry and his wife …”

  “Now, you are referring to the defendant here, when you say ‘his wife’?”

  “Yes.”

  “Go on.”

  “Mr. Newberry, or Mr. Moar, to use his right name, and Mrs. Newberry stepped out on the deck. They stood there for a moment, looking around them. Then they started toward the stairway which led to the boat deck.”

  “That was the deck immediately above the one on which you were standing?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did Mr. and Mrs. Newberry walk past you?”

  “Yes.”

  “How close were they to you?”

  “Not more than a few feet.”

  “How were you dressed?”

  “I had on a dark beret and a dark rain coat. I was in a sheltered part of the deck directly under the stairs. I was standing in the shadow where they couldn’t see me.”

  “Did you hear them say anything?”

  “Yes, I heard Mrs. Newberry—that is, the defendant—say something and I heard Mr. Newberry reply in an angry voice. I gathered that Mrs. Newberry wanted him …”

  “Never mind what you gathered,” Judge Romley said. “Just give us your best recollection of what was said and who said it.”

  “Well, Mr. Newberry, or Mr. Moar, said, ‘I tell you, it has to be handled my way. I’ve already discounted that. You keep your fingers out of it.’ ”

  “And then what happened?” Scudder asked.

  “Mr. Newberry walked rapidly toward the open stairway which led to the boat deck and started up.”

  “How was he dressed?”

  “He was wearing a tuxedo.”

  “Was he wearing any overcoat or rain coat?”

  “No.”

  “And was this staircase exposed to the rain?”

  Mason said casually, “If Counsel is going to lead the witness throughout her entire testimony, I suggest Counsel should be sworn.”

  The judge said, “You will avoid leading questions as much as possible, Counselor.”

  “All this is merely preliminary,” Scudder retorted. “There can be no question about it.”

  “We’re coming to the point in this young woman’s testimony where there’s going to be lots of question about it,” Mason said. “I don’t want Counsel to elicit that testimony by leading questions.”

  “Counsel won’t,” Scudder snapped.

  “Proceed,” Judge Romley ordered.

  Aileen Fell said, “Rain was falling in torrents. That staircase was entirely open and unprotected. I could see rain beating down on the shoulders of Mr. Moar’s coat as he started up the stairs.”

  “And what did the defendant do?”

  “She ran after him and started up the stairs. Mr. Moar turned and protested. He told Mrs. Moar to go back to her cabin.”

  “And what did Mrs. Moar do?”

  “Waited until he had ascended the stairs, and then she ran up the stairs.”

  “And how was she dressed?”

  “She had on a dark dinner dress.”

  “Any wrap of any sort?”

  “No, it was a backless gown. The rain was simply pouring down on her bare skin.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “They went up on the boat deck. I heard the sound of their feet on the deck above me. Then, after a while, I heard a scuffle, the sounds of a struggle …”

  “I move to strike the words ‘scuffle’ and ‘struggle’ as conclusions of the witness,” Mason said.

  “Motion’s granted.”

  “Just what did you hear?” Scudder asked.

  “Well, I heard just what I told you. I don’t know how to express it otherwise.”

  “You heard the sound of feet on the deck above you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what was the nature of that sound?”

  “It was a series of rapid scuffs, with dragging sounds in between, just the sort of noises which would be made by two people …”

  “Never mind that,” Scudder said. “I think the Court understands what you heard. Now tell what you did.”

  “Well,” she said, “after a few minutes of that, I started to go up the stairs to the boat deck to see what was happening. I was half way up the stairs when I heard the sound of a shot. When I got to the top of the stairs I …”

  “Now, just a minute,” Scudder said. “Let’s get this all in order. You went up the stairs to the boat deck. Now, by those stairs, are you referring to the same stairs up which Mr. Moar and Mrs. Moar, the defendant in this action, gained the deck?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And were there lights on the boat deck?”

  “No, sir. The boat deck wasn’t illuminated, but there were lights in the hospital section.”

  “Where is that?”

  “It’s just forward of the gymnasium. The stairs are at the after part of the ship. There are two stairways, one on the left side and one on the right side. I went up the stairs on the left side. The gymnasium is right at the head of those stairs. Then there is a court for playing deck tennis, and beyond that is a section of the ship set aside for hospital rooms.”

  “There was a light in this hospital section?”

  “Yes.”

  “Could you see that light through a door or through a window?”

  “Through both. A window was open—that is, I mean there was no shade across it—and the door was standing open.”

  “How far were you from that open door?”

  “Oh, perhaps fifty feet.”

  “Very well. Now tell the Court what you saw.”

  “I saw Mrs. Newberry—that is, Mrs. Moar, the defendant in this action, the woman sitting over there—standing over her husband’s body. Her husband was stretched out on the deck, motionless.”

  “And what did the defendant do?”

  “She reached down and picked the body …”

  “Now, when you say ‘body,’ “ Scudder interrupted, “you mean the same thing which you have previously referred to in your testimony as the motionless form of Mr. Moar lying there on the deck?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What did she do?”

  “She put her hands under his armpits, half lifted him, and started to drag him toward the rail.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “When the boat rolled over to the right, she couldn’t make any headway. But when the boat rolled to the left, she moved very rapidly. Just then the boat gave a sudden lurch. The defendant ran the body down to the rail, then lifted it, raised the revolver and shot him again. Then she pushed him into the ocean.”

  “Then what did she do?”

  “She ran forward along the boat deck, and I lost sight of her when she ran around behind the hospital.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I screamed.”

  “Now, do you know what time this was?” Scudder asked.

  “I do. I know exactly what time it was.”

  “What time was it?”

  “It was a few moments after nine. Just before I heard the first shot, I had heard the ship’s bell ring twice. That’s nine o’clock, according to ship time—two bells in the evening.”

  “You may cross-examine,” Scudder said.

  Mason got slowly to his feet. “How was Mrs. Moar, the defendant in this case, dressed?” he asked.

  “Just as I told you,” Aileen Fell snapped back at him, with the quick enunciation of one who fancies herself rather good at repartee and is determined not to be worsted in a verbal exchange. “In a dark, backless formal gown.”

  “It was the night of the captain’s dinner on shipboard?” Mason asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And how were you dressed?”

  “In my rain coat, just as I’ve told you. Standing in the shadow, as I was, it was virtually impossible to see me …”

  “I’m not asking you now about your rain coat,” Mason said. “I want to know what you had on underneath your rain coat.”

  “What I … What I had on underneath my rain coat?”

  “Exactly,” Mason said.

  “Why … I don’t see what different that makes.”

  “What I’m getting at,” Mason said, “is that you also were wearing an evening gown on that occasion, were you not?”

  “Yes.”

  “A light blue silk print?”

  “Yes. That’s right.”

  “You were dressed for the captain’s dinner?”

  “Yes.”

  “And after the captain’s dinner, you decided to go on deck?”

  “Yes.”

  “You went to your stateroom and put on your rain coat and beret? Did you put on anything else?”

  “No.”

  “You’re absolutely certain?”

  “Yes.”

  “You didn’t pick up anything in your stateroom, other than the rain coat and the beret?”

  “Mr. Mason, I fail to see what that has to do …”

  “Did you pick up anything else in your stateroom?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  Judge Romley swung around in his chair to frown down at the witness and said austerely, “The witness will confine herself to respectful answers to Counsel’s questions. The question was whether you picked up anything else in your stateroom. Did you or didn’t you?”

  “No,” Aileen Fell snapped.

  “Now,” Mason said, “going back to what you saw when you were on deck: You have stated, I believe, that Mr. Moar climbed up the open stairway to the boat deck.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you say he protested when Mrs. Moar started to follow him?”

  “He did.”

  Mason said drily, “His protest was a gesture made with his right foot, wasn’t it?”

  “Well … yes.”

  Someone in the courtroom tittered. The bailiff pounded for order.

  “In other words,” Mason said, “he kicked at her, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, I suppose so.”

  “Why didn’t you say so in your direct examination?” Mason asked. “Is it because you are biased in favor of the Prosecution and didn’t want this Court to feel Mrs. Moar might have been acting in self-defense?”

  “I have no prejudice whatever against Mrs. Moar, other than the normal prejudice a woman has for a wife who will deliberately murder her husband,” Aileen snapped, and then settled back in her chair with the triumphant expression of one who has bested a cross-examiner.

  Mason was completely unruffled. “Now, Mrs. Moar,” he said, “had on a backless evening gown. This gown was rather tight fitting, was it not?”

  “Yes.”

  “And there was no back?”

  “No.”

  “It was rather skimpy in front?”

  “Too skimpy, if you ask me,” the witness said.