“Well,” Mason observed, “I am asking you.”

  “Yes, it was very skimpy.”

  “And fitted her tightly across the hips?”

  “Molded to her hips would be more like it,” the witness said. “It was what I would call daring—to the point of bad taste.”

  “Many formal gowns are like that, are they not?” Mason asked.

  “It depends on the taste,” the witness countered, “and the manner in which they’re worn.”

  “Now, Mrs. Moar followed her husband up the stairs to the boat deck?”

  “Yes.”

  “There’s an iron rail running along both sides of those stairs?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And as Mrs. Moar went up the stairs, she held to the rail with both hands,” Mason asked, “that is, she placed each of her hands on one of the rails?”

  “Yes, she … no, she did not!” the witness said emphatically, in the manner of one who refuses to be trapped. “Her right hand held to the iron rail. Her left hand had gathered up the skirts of her dark gown.”

  “Now,” Mason inquired blandly, “will you kindly tell us just where a woman clad in a backless evening gown, with a front which was altogether too skimpy, a gown which fit so tightly over the hips that you considered it indecent, with her right hand holding to the iron rail of a flight of steps, her left hand holding up the skirt of her evening gown, could have carried a thirty-eight revolver?”

  For a startled moment, Aileen Fell was silent. The tense courtroom was filled with the sound of rustlings as spectators leaned forward, anxious to miss no word. After a moment, Aileen Fell said, “She had it in her left hand.”

  “You mean she was holding the revolver in her left hand and also holding her skirt?”

  “Yes. The gun was beneath the folds of the dress.”

  “Now, was this dress transparent?” Mason asked.

  “It might as well have been.”

  “But could you see the gun through it?”

  “Well … well, I don’t suppose I could, no.”

  “In other words,” Mason said, “you didn’t actually see Mrs. Moar take any gun up to the boat deck, and, when she walked past within a very few feet of you, you didn’t see any weapon in her possession, did you?”

  “Well,” the witness said, “I know she had the gun. She must have had it.”

  “And that’s the only way you know she had it—because you think she must have had it.”

  “Well, yes, if you want to put it that way.”

  Mason smiled. “I want to put it that way, Miss Fell.”

  Her mouth was a thin, straight line. Her eyes blazed indignantly.

  “Now, when you were half way up the stairs, you heard a shot?”

  “Yes.”

  “And when you arrived on deck, you saw Mrs. Moar standing over the unconscious form of her husband?”

  “Lifeless form,” the witness said.

  “Ah,” Mason observed blandly, “then it was a lifeless figure?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re certain of that?”

  “Yes.”

  “In other words, you’re positive that Mr. Moar was dead at that time.”

  “I think he was, yes.”

  “Well now, are you guessing, or do you know?”

  The deputy district attorney jumped to his feet, said, “Your Honor, I object. This is not proper cross-examination. This witness couldn’t possibly tell …”

  “I object to the Prosecutor coaching this witness,” Mason interrupted. “She’s an educated woman and is thoroughly competent to take care of herself under cross-examination. She has said Mrs. Moar was standing over the lifeless form of her husband. She used that word ‘lifeless’ to prejudice Your Honor against Mrs. Moar, and I’m going to make this witness take back that statement. I am going to make her admit that she doesn’t know whether the form was lifeless or not.”

  “You’re not going to do any such thing,” Aileen Fell snapped. “I said the body was lifeless, and it was lifeless.”

  Scudder slowly sat down.

  “You mean that Mr. Moar was dead, then, when you came up the stairs to the boat deck?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then, when you state that the defendant hoisted him to the rail and fired another shot into his body, you want the Court to understand that she was firing that shot into a dead man, and that shot had nothing to do with the murder of Mr. Moar, because Mr. Moar was already dead. Is that right?”

  The witness started to say something, checked herself, stopped, then said savagely, “I guess Mrs. Moar wanted to make sure he was dead. That’s her type!”

  “In other words,” Mason went on, smiling, “your idea is that Mrs. Moar, standing within three feet of her husband, wasn’t certain he was dead when she dragged him to the rail, whereas you, standing some fifty or sixty feet away, took one look at him and are willing to swear that he was dead. Is that right?”

  “He was dead,” she said.

  Mason continued to smile. “Now then, just before Mrs. Moar lifted her husband to the rail, the ship had rolled far to the left, hadn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “By the way,” Mason said, “weren’t your stockings torn when you came down off the boat deck?”

  “One of them was, yes.”

  “What caused it to tear?”

  “I skinned my knee and tore my stocking when I fell down.”

  “Oh,” Mason said solicitously, “you fell down, did you?”

  “Yes.”

  “That was when the ship took that heavy roll to port, was it?”

  “Yes.”

  “You lost your footing, fell to the deck, and started to slide?”

  “I nearly went overboard.”

  “How did you check yourself, Miss Fell?”

  “I clung to the deck as much as I could and finally came to a stop against the rail.”

  “You must have been a pretty busy young woman for a few minutes,” Mason suggested.

  “I was,” she assured him.

  “And it was when the ship took this roll to port that Mrs. Moar lifted her husband to the rail, shot him and dropped him overboard. Is that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you roll over and over as you slid down to the rail on the port side?”

  “I rolled over a couple of times, then I slid the rest of the way.”

  “On your face?”

  “On my hands and knees.”

  “Yet, notwithstanding all of this, you didn’t take your eyes from Mrs. Moar, but actually saw her lift her husband to the rail, shoot him and drop him overboard?”

  “Well,” she said, and hesitated.

  “Isn’t it a fact,” Mason asked, “that immediately after this occurrence, you talked with the young woman who shared your cabin and then and there told her that when Mrs. Moar started to drag her husband to the rail you had lost your footing and hadn’t seen what happened, but had heard the second shot and then saw Mrs. Moar running down the deck alone?”

  “Well, if she didn’t shoot him and pitch him overboard, who did?” she asked.

  “That,” Mason said, “is the point the Court will be called upon to determine. Now, isn’t it a fact that you didn’t see what happened there at the rail?”

  “Well … no, I saw it.”

  “But didn’t you state at a time when the occurrence was more fresh in your memory that you hadn’t seen it?”

  “Well, perhaps I did.”

  “Which is right?” Mason inquired. “What you said then or what you say now?”

  “Well …”

  “Answer the question,” Mason insisted as she hesitated.

  “Well,” she said, “I didn’t see … that is, I didn’t actually see with my own eyes Mrs. Moar lift her husband to the rail and drop him overboard. But I did hear the shot.”

  “And you didn’t see Mrs. Moar shoot her husband the first time, did you?”

  “Well …”

  “That shot,” Mason reminded her, “was fired when you were half way up the stairs.”

  “Well, no. I didn’t see her shoot him.” -

  “Then you don’t know of your own knowledge that she fired either one of the shots, do you?”

  “Well, I guess that when a woman …”

  “Of your own knowledge,” Mason interrupted. “You don’t know, do you?”

  “I don’t know absolutely, no.”

  “Now then,” Mason said, “let’s check up for a moment on the manner in which you were dressed at the time.” He walked over to the table where his briefcase was reposing, took from it a photograph, offered it to Scudder for inspection and then passed it to the witness. “I show you what purports to be a flashlight photograph of a group in evening clothes, and in which you are standing the second from the left. Is that the dress you wore on the night in question?”

  “Why … yes,” she said, staring at the picture. “I remember when that picture was taken, but I didn’t have any idea …”

  “Save only and solely for a beret and a rain coat, that’s exactly the way you appeared when you were on the deck at the time Mr. and Mrs. Newberry walked past you?”

  “Why … yes, I guess so.”

  “And that photograph shows you exactly as you were at the time of the captain’s dinner?”

  “Yes.”

  “To all practical intents and purposes, that photograph of you might have been taken at the time of the captain’s dinner?”

  “Yes.”

  Mason said, “By the way, Miss Fell, may I see your glasses?”

  “You may not,” she snapped.

  Judge Romley said, “What is the purpose of this, Mr. Mason?”

  Mason said, “Your Honor, this witness has testified that this photograph shows her exactly as she was at the time of the captain’s dinner. She has also testified that she went to her stateroom and there picked up a beret and rain coat, but did not pick up anything else. She swears that this photograph also shows exactly the manner in which she appeared, save for a cap and rain coat, when Mr. and Mrs. Moar walked past her on deck. Now then, if the Court will notice this photograph …”

  Mason passed the photograph up to Judge Romley, who studied it for a moment, nodded, and said, “Very well, Miss Fell, you will please let Mr. Mason inspect your spectacles.”

  With an air of outraged dignity, the witness removed the glasses and handed them to Mason.

  “Ah, yes,” Mason said, “I see the resemblance now. The reason I hadn’t thought it was such a good photograph before, was that you weren’t wearing spectacles in the photograph. I believe it’s your invariable custom to leave off your spectacles when you dress formally, isn’t it, Miss Fell?”

  “Well,” she admitted, “I don’t think a woman looks as attractive in spectacles when she’s attending a formal function. In my own case, I think my appearance is …”

  “Exactly,” Mason said. “And, of course, you weren’t wearing your glasses when you went on deck after the captain’s dinner?”

  “Well, I …”

  “Because, if you had been,” Mason went on to point out, “with the rain beating down in torrents, the lenses would have been covered with moisture and you couldn’t have seen things clearly.”

  “No,” she said emphatically, “I was not wearing my glasses.”

  “I thought not,” Mason said, still holding her glasses in his hand. “Now then, Miss Fell, about how far were you from Mrs. Moar when you climbed the stairs to the boat deck?”

  “You mean when she was standing over the body of her husband?”

  “Yes.”

  “I said fifty or sixty feet.”

  Mason backed away from the witness, to stand just in front of the deputy district attorney. “This far?” he asked.

  “Certainly not,” she said. “I said fifty or sixty feet. You’re not over twenty feet away from me. You can’t trap me that way, Mr. Mason.”

  “Then I am standing at only about a third of the distance at which you saw Mrs. Moar, is that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now, was there as much light on the deck as there is in this courtroom?” Mason asked.

  “Of course not.”

  “Well, how much was there?”

  “Not very much,” she said, “but enough came through the hospital door so you could see objects.”

  “Would you say a third as much light as there is here in the courtroom?”

  “Probably not that much.”

  Mason nodded. “Now you’ve identified a photograph which has been introduced in evidence as being that of the gentleman who was traveling on this ship under the name of Newberry, the man who was the husband of this defendant.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll show you another photograph,” Mason said, “of Mr. … er … I never can get that name straight. … Paul, where’s that photograph?”

  Drake handed Mason a rolled photograph.

  Mason, still standing in front of Scudder, said, “This is a life-size photograph, Miss Fell. I’ll ask you if you can identify it.”

  He unrolled the photograph; she glanced at it and nodded her head.

  “And this is the man whom you saw pushed overboard?” Mason asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And it was this man’s lifeless figure which you saw lying on the boat deck, with Mrs. Moar, the defendant in this action, standing over it?”

  “Yes.”

  Judge Romley suddenly frowned and leaned forward to stare at the photograph, glanced from Mason to Scudder. A smile twitched at the corners of his lips.

  Scudder, noticing the expression on the judge’s face, became instantly suspicious. He said, “It is customary, if the Court please, to let opposing Counsel inspect a photograph before a witness is examined on it.”

  “I beg your pardon,” Mason said urbanely, “I did overlook that, didn’t I? It happens, Mr. Scudder, that the photograph I hold in my hand is a life-size photograph of Mr. Donaldson P. Scudder,” and Mason turned so that the photograph was visible to Scudder and to the courtroom.

  The bailiff vainly pounded with his gavel, seeking to restore order. Judge Romley fought to keep a smile from his lips, while Scudder, his face red, shouted indignant protests which went unheeded.

  When order had been resumed, Scudder shouted. “Your Honor, I object. This is not proper cross-examination. It’s unethical. It takes an unfair advantage of the witness. Counsel distinctly told her that he was showing a life-size photograph of the decedent, Mr. Carl Waker Moar.”

  “Counsel told her no such thing,” Mason said.

  “I think Mr. Mason is right,” Judge Romley ruled. “I remember particularly that he said, ‘Mr. … er …’ and hesitated, then said, ‘I never can get that name straight.’ Of course it was an attempt to entrap the witness, but, as Counsel has so aptly pointed out, this witness is educated and should be able to take care of herself on cross-examination. Her identification of the photograph has been most positive.”

  Mason turned to the witness. “Will you kindly explain, Miss Fell, how it is that you have now testified that it was Mr. Donaldson P. Scudder, the deputy district attorney, whom you saw lying lifeless on the deck, whom you saw thrown overboard, whom …”

  “You had my glasses,” the witness said acidly. “You lied to me about that photograph, Mr. Mason. I took your word for it.”

  Mason, still holding the photograph, said, “But you didn’t have your glasses on the night in question, Miss Fell. Whose word are you taking for what happened then?”

  She was silent.

  “Now, will you kindly tell us how it is that when I show you a life-size photograph, standing within one-third of the distance at which you have testified you saw the defendant on the deck of the steamship, in a room which you admit is more than three times better lighted than that deck, under conditions, therefore, which are far more favorable than those which existed at that time, you are unable to distinguish between a life-size photograph of Mr. Scudder and a photograph of Mr. Moar?”

  The witness said, “If you will kindly return my glasses, Mr. Mason.”

  Mason said, “In other words, Miss Fell, without your glasses you can’t identify faces at this distance, can you?”

  “I can identify figures.”

  “Exactly,” Mason said, “by the way they are dressed. Is that it?”

  “Well, that’s partially it.”

  “In other words,” Mason went on, “while Mr. and Mrs. Moar passed closely enough to you when you were standing on the lower deck so you could recognize them, by the time you had gained the boat deck, you were not close enough to them to recognize their faces. You could see figures. You only knew that there was the figure of a man in a tuxedo and a woman in a dark formal gown. Is that right?”

  “That’s all I needed to know under the circumstances,” she said.

  “But that’s right, isn’t it?”

  “I could identify those figures, Mr. Mason. I know the woman was Mrs. Moar. It couldn’t have been anyone else.”

  “She was wearing a dark formal gown?” Mason asked.

  “Yes. I’ve told you that two or three times already.”

  “And isn’t it true,” Mason asked, “that someone wearing a formal gown of any other dark color—for instance a dark blue—would have appeared to you under those circumstances to have been Mrs. Moar?”

  “Those were the only ones who had gone up to that deck.”

  “But there were other means of gaining that deck?”

  “There were other stairs, yes.”

  “And someone must have been in the hospital section, to have turned on that light.”

  “I don’t know how it was turned on.”

  Judge Romley said, “Just a minute, Mr. Mason.” He bent forward to regard the witness with frowning disapproval. “Miss Fell,” he said, “this is a murder trial. You’re in a court of justice. You are testifying under oath. This is not a game of wits which you are playing with opposing Counsel. This is a serious matter. Apparently your vision without your glasses is very much impaired. Now then, I want you to answer Mr. Mason’s question.”

  “What question?” she asked.

  “If the only thing you can absolutely swear to is that you saw two figures on the boat deck, but that you can’t positively identify either of those figures.”