Lieutenant Tragg gleefully described the manner in which the malingering of the defendant had been exposed by her own attorney, who was putting her in what she thought was a tub of lukewarm water but was actually ice cold.

  Tragg was temporarily withdrawn. A clerk in a drugstore near the Northern Lights Motel identified the glass toothbrush container as being similar to the container in which a toothbrush of a certain standard brand was marketed. He identified the defendant as having stopped in his store earlier that day and purchasing a toothbrush and toothpaste, a hairbrush and comb, a safety razor and shaving cream, and a small plastic bag in which they could be carried. She had explained that her uncle had lost all of his baggage and needed these articles immediately.

  The waitress at the Chinese restaurant identified Daphne as being the person who had purchased Chinese food in containers to take out, explaining that she was getting the food for her uncle who was very fond of Chinese food.

  The waitress described the manner in which Daphne had waited while the food was being prepared. She was, the waitress said, exceedingly nervous.

  Mason listened to these witnesses with a detached air of idle curiosity, as though their testimony not only related to some matter in which he had no interest, but that the testimony itself was immaterial. He didn’t bother to cross-examine any of the witnesses until Lieutenant Tragg had returned to the stand and finished his testimony. Then Mason arose and smiled affably at the police officer.

  “You say the pipe which connected the gas heater to the gas supply had been unscrewed, Lieutenant?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you gave it as your conclusion that this had been done after the decedent had become unconscious from the barbiturates?”

  “As an investigating officer, I felt that was a reasonable interpretation,” Lieutenant Tragg said. “The autopsy bears this out with indisputable proof.

  “I took into consideration that the unscrewing of such a pipe would be accompanied by considerable noise, and Exeter could hardly have been expected to sit idly by while the preparations for his death were being carried out.”

  “Unless, of course, he had committed suicide,” Mason said.

  Lieutenant Tragg smiled a triumphant smile. “If he committed suicide, Mr. Mason, he disposed of the weapon, and when we find a missing weapon we usually discount the theory of suicide.”

  “Weapon?” Mason asked.

  “A small pipe wrench,” Lieutenant Tragg said. “The gas pipe had been joined to the heater so that there would be no leak, and it took a pipe wrench to loosen a three-inch section of the connecting pipe. There was no wrench in the room.”

  “Ah, yes,” Mason said, affably, “I was coming to that, Lieutenant. You’ve anticipated the point I was going to make. It took a pipe wrench to loosen the gas feed line?”

  “Yes, indeed.”

  “In order to prevent leaks, these lines are customarily screwed up very tight?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Sometimes with a compound which furnishes a seal and prevents leakage?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And in order to loosen this pipeline, it took considerable force, did it not?”

  Tragg avoided the trap. “Quite a bit of force,” he admitted, “but nothing that a reasonably strong young woman in good health couldn’t have done, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

  “That’s not what I’m getting at, Lieutenant,” Mason said. “The point is that a pipe wrench has to bite into the pipe in order to get a firm enough hold in order to unscrew the pipe.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Now, these pipe wrenches have jaws with sharp ridges on them so that when pressure is applied to the handle the jaws tighten and the corrugations or ridges on the jaw bite into the pipe enough to keep the pipe from slipping. Is that right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And it is because you found indentations in this pipe that you knew it had been loosened with a pipe wrench?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now then, did you photograph these marks on the pipe, Lieutenant?”

  “Photograph them?”

  “That’s right.”

  “No, sir, why should I have photographed them?”

  “Did you then disconnect the pipe so that it could be used as evidence?”

  “Certainly not. Gas was escaping. We reconnected the pipe just as promptly as possible.”

  “But you did notice these marks on the pipe?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Didn’t it occur to you, Lieutenant, that those marks which were on the pipe might be very significant?”

  “Certainly, it did. They were significant in that they showed a pipe wrench had been used, and that’s the extent of their significance.”

  “Did you,” Mason asked, “examine those marks under a microscope?”

  “I did not.”

  “Under a magnifying glass?”

  “No, sir.”

  “You knew, did you not, Lieutenant, that in the case of chisels or knives being used on wood it quite frequently happens that some blemish in the blade leaves an imprint in the wood so that the instrument used can be identified?”

  “Certainly, anyone knows that.”

  “But did you also realize, Lieutenant, that on some of these pipe wrenches one of the ridges on the jaws becomes damaged or nicked so that that wrench leaves an indelible identifying mark upon any pipe on which it may be used?”

  Lieutenant Tragg’s face showed that he suddenly realized the point that Mason was making and its significance.

  “We didn’t remove the pipe,” he admitted. “It’s still there in its original condition.”

  “It has, however, been screwed back into the appliance?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And as of this date, Lieutenant, you don’t know whether there were any distinctive markings in the indentations on that pipe which would give an indication of the wrench that had been used in unscrewing it?”

  Lieutenant Tragg shifted his position, then finally said, “I will admit, Mr. Mason, that you have a point there. I don’t know. I will also admit that perhaps the better practice would have been to have examined those markings carefully under a microscope. I have always tried to be fair. The investigation of a crime is frequently a scientific matter. I will admit in this case it would have been better practice to have examined those indentations with a magnifying glass, and in the event any distinctive marks had been found, to have photographed them.”

  “Thank you very much for a very impartial statement, Lieutenant Tragg. I have always appreciated your integrity, and I now appreciate your fairness. I have no further questions.”

  Judge Kyle said, “Well, gentlemen, it seems we have covered a lot of ground today. I assume that the case can be finished in a few hours tomorrow?”

  “I would think so,” the deputy district attorney said.

  “Very well,” Judge Kyle said, “it’s the hour of the evening adjournment and Court will adjourn until tomorrow morning at nine-thirty. The defendant is-remanded. Court’s adjourned.”

  Chapter 17

  Back in his office, Mason found Paul Drake with a supplemental report on Horace Shelby.

  “The guy’s doing pretty good,” Drake said. “He’s down there in Ensenada soaking up sunlight, walking around with a lot more assurance than when he first arrived, and he seems to be enjoying himself.”

  “Anybody talk with him yet?” Mason asked.

  “Not as an interview. But one of my men managed to engage him in conversation when Shelby was taking a stroll down on the wharf, and he reports the man is bright as a dollar.”

  Mason sighed. “All right, I guess he can stand another shock by this nine.”

  “You going down?”

  “I’m going down,” Mason said. “I’ll have “Pinky” fly me by fast twin-motored plane to San Diego, then pick up Francisco Munoz at Tijuana and—Instruct your man to be looking for me. I’ll meet him in front of the motel.”

  “Will do,” Drake said.

  “Now then,” Mason said, “I want to be sure that you don’t lose either Borden Finchley or his wife tonight. I want a shadow on them every minute of the time. Put on two or three operatives with cars if you have to.”

  “I’ve already got them,” Drake said.

  “What are the Finchleys doing?”

  “Living normally. They went up to court to hear the evidence and then they went back home.”

  “Watch them carefully,” Mason said. “Della and I are going to Ensenada. Come on, Della.”

  “No dinner?” Della asked.

  Mason said, “A wonderful dinner. Genuine turtle soup, fried quail, a little venison steak on the side, if you’d care for it, some Santo Tomas wine and—”

  “You mean we’re eating in Mexico?”

  “I mean we’re eating in Mexico,” Mason said. “Ring up “Pinky” and Francisco Murioz and let’s go. The sooner we get started, the sooner we eat.”

  Della Street sighed. “A girl can’t keep on a diet in Ensenada. It would be a crime to order a cottage cheese salad under such circumstances.”

  Her fingers started flying over the telephone dial.

  Mason turned back to Paul Drake.

  “Now then, Paul,” he said, “do you know anything about the technique of taking a pipe wrench, putting a piece of chamois skin around the jaws so that you can get a tight enough grip on a bit of metal so you can unscrew it but so the jaws don’t leave any mark in the metal?”

  “I’ve seen it done,” Drake said.

  Mason handed Paul Drake a section of pipe.

  “Have your man at the Northern Lights get the section of pipe which connects the gas feed to that heating stove out of there and replace it with this pipe.”

  Paul Drake took the piece of pipe which Mason handed him.

  “Will this fit?” he asked.

  “This will fit,” Mason said. “Very careful measurements have been taken.”

  Drake turned the piece of pipe over slowly in his hands.. “This has deep marks on it,” he said, “the marks of a pipe wrench and—there’s a nick in one of jaws?”

  “Exactly,” Mason said.

  “Now, look here,” Drake said, “this is substituting evidence.”

  “Evidence of what?”

  “You know what I mean. Evidence of murder. At least, evidence in a homicide case.”

  Mason said, “Carefully remove the piece of pipe that’s now in there and be careful you don’t leave any marks on it. Use chamois skin to enable you to get a grip on the pipe without leaving any marks from your pipe wrench or obliterating any marks now on it. Take that piece of pipe into custody and hold it until Tragg asks you for it.”

  “It’s still concealing evidence.”

  “Concealing evidence, my eye,” Mason said. “You’re taking the evidence into your custody. It’s evidence that Tragg didn’t want. Now, get busy and get this thing done fast before somebody raises a question about it.”

  Drake sighed. “You can skate faster and on thinner ice than anybody I ever worked with.”

  “You’ll get a man on the job right away?”

  Drake nodded.

  “It has to be right away,” Mason said. “A lot may depend on it. I want it done within an hour, while Tragg is reporting what happened in court.”

  Della said, “Pinky will have the plane waiting for us, all gassed up and ready to go.”

  “Let’s go,” Mason said.

  “We’ll be back tonight?” Della Street asked.

  “We’ll be back tonight,” Mason said, “and in court in the morning.”

  Chapter 18

  The taxicab came to a stop at Casa de Mañana Motel.

  Mason assisted Della Street from the cab, paid off the driver.

  “No wait?” the driver asked.

  “No wait,” Mason said, smiling. “Thank you very much. Gracias!”

  The driver thanked Mason for the tip, started the car and drove on.

  Mason and Della Street stood where he had left them.

  Inskip, Paul’s detective, gave a low whistle from a parked car, and Mason and Della Street crossed over to the car.

  “Unit five,” Inskip said. “He’s in there.”

  The lawyer said, “Wait here, Inskip, you’ll be taking us to the airport and then your job will be over.”

  The lawyer and Della Street walked under some banana trees, past the office down a wide corridor, and Mason knocked on the door of Number 5.

  There was no answer no sound of stirring within.

  Mason knocked again.

  The door opened a tentative crack.

  Mason surveyed the anxious face, smiled reassuringly and said, “I’m Perry Mason, Mr. Shelby, and this is my secretary, Della Street. We thought it was time to have a talk with you.”

  “You … you’re … Perry Mason?”

  “That’s right.”

  “How did you—Oh, well, never mind, come in.”

  Shelby opened the door.

  “I was getting ready to retire for the night,” he explained apologetically, putting on his coat.

  Mason patted him reassuringly on the shoulder, walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed. Della Street seated herself in one of the heavy leather chairs, and Horace Shelby took the other chair.

  “It’s been a long, hard battle for you,” Mason said.

  Shelby nodded. “You’re the attorney representing Daphne.”

  “Yes.”

  “That poor kid.”

  “She’s having troubles,” Mason said.

  Shelby looked up. “She’s having troubles?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Why? She shouldn’t be having any trouble!”

  “I know she shouldn’t.”

  “What sorts of troubles?” Shelby asked.

  “She’s being tried for the murder of Ralph Exeter,” Mason said, and stopped talking.

  Shelby’s face showed a succession of expression—surprise, consternation, anger.

  “You said murder?”

  “I said murder.”

  “Ralph Exeter,” Shelby said, spitting out the words. “A cheap, blackmailing, gambling fourflusher—so he’s dead!”

  “He’s dead.”

  “You say it’s murder?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who killed him?”

  “The police say Daphne did.”

  “She couldn’t have.”

  “The police think she did.”

  “Where was he killed?”

  “In Unit 21 at the Northern Lights Motel.”

  Shelby was silent for a long thoughtful period.

  Della Street surreptitiously extracted her shorthand notebook from her purse and started taking notes.

  Shelby said, at length, “Well, I guess I’d better face the music.”

  “The music?” Mason asked.

  “If he was found dead in the room I occupied at the Northern Lights Motel. I killed him.”

  “How?” Mason asked.

  “I gave him an overdose of sleeping pills,” Shelby readily admitted.

  “Suppose you tell me about it?” Mason asked.

  “There’s not much to tell. I have been through hell, Mr. Mason, absolute hell. I don’t even want to think about it, much less to describe it.”

  “I know something of what you went through,” Mason said.

  “No, you don’t. You see my experience from the light of a robust man in full possession of his faculties.

  “I’m not a young man any more. I know that my mind wanders at times. There are times when I’m all right, and there are times when I feel—well, I feel sort of half asleep. I don’t coordinate the way I should. I go to sleep when people are talking. I am not young.

  “On the other hand, I’m not old. I’m able to take care of myself. I know what I want to do with my money. I know how I want to handle my business. You have no idea what it means to suddenly have the rug jerked out from under you to be left without a five-cent piece in your pocket, not a dime that you can put your hand on that belongs to you to have others telling you what to do to have people giving you hypodermics, strapping you down in a bed.

  “I wouldn’t go through that again if I had to commit a dozen murders.”

  Mason nodded sympathetically.

  “Daphne got me out of it.” Shelby said, “bless her soul. She used her head. She got me down at that room in the Northern Lights.”

  “And then what?”

  “She told me to stay under cover that she’d come and bring me food.”

  “And she did?”

  “Yes, she went to a Chinese restaurant and brought in some Chinese food.”

  “Then what?”

  “After she left,” Shelby said, “—and she hadn’t been gone over two minutes, there was a knock at the door.

  “I sat tight for a while, but the knock was repeated and I didn’t want to attract attention to the unit by not answering the door. So I went to the door and opened it, and there was Ralph Exeter, smiling that nasty, oily smile of his and he said, I am coming in, Horace,” and pushed his shoulder against the door and literally pushed his way into the room.”

  “Tell me what happened,” Mason said. “I want to know about Ralph Exeter. Just what happened?”

  “Exeter pushed his way into the room and put it right up to me,” Shelby said. “He said that he was the one who controlled my future that if I wanted to pay him a hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars I could go my way that he’d see that Borden Finchley and his wife cleared out that I could have what was left of my own money to do what I wanted to do with it that if I didn’t play ball with him he was going to turn me in to the authorities that he was going to swear I was completely incompetent and that I’d spend the rest of my days in a sanitarium under the influence of dope or strapped to a cot.”

  “Go on,” Mason said.

  “You don’t know what I’d been through, Mr. Mason. If it hadn’t been for that experience, I’d have laughed at him and gone to the telephone and called the police. But the way it was, no one would have taken my word for anything. I’d have been considered crazy. I was desperate.”