“Answer the question, Mr. Crinston,” said Perry Mason. “Whom did you talk with?”

  “With Mr. Sherman, the president.”

  “And what did you talk with him about?”

  “About the partnership business.”

  “You talked with him about meeting the indebtedness of approximately nine hundred thousand dollars which the partnership had with that bank, did you not; an indebtedness which, as I understand the facts, was evidenced by notes which had been signed by you as an individual alone, isn’t that right?”

  “No sir, that is not right. Those notes were partnership notes, signed by Crinston & Norton.”

  “That is, signed by the partnership name of Crinston & Norton, per Arthur Crinston. Isn’t that right?”

  “I think that is right,” said Arthur Crinston. “The main business of the partnership as far as banking activities were concerned, was transacted by me; that is, I signed the partnership name to notes, although in a majority of instances the checks were signed by both of us. No, I’ll amend that statement. I guess that the Wheeler’s Trust and Savings Bank notes were signed with the partnership name per myself, and that checks were drawn out in the same way.”

  “You went out to Mr. Norton’s house to see him about the maturity of those notes, did you not?”

  “That is correct.”

  “Then,” said Perry Mason, “how did it happen that you talked about the blackmailing of Frances Celane by the housekeeper?”

  “I didn’t say it was by the housekeeper,” snapped Arthur Crinston. “I said that her name was mentioned as a possibility.”

  “I see,” said Perry Mason. “My mistake. Go ahead and answer the question.”

  “Because,” said Crinston, “the business matter relating to those notes occupied but a few minutes of our discussion. The question of his niece’s being blackmailed weighed very heavily on Mr. Norton’s mind, and he insisted upon postponing all further business discussion in order to ask my advice about that.”

  “And why did he say she was being blackmailed?” asked Perry Mason.

  “He thought that she was being blackmailed over something she had done.”

  “Naturally,” said Perry Mason. “Did he mention what it was?”

  “No, I don’t think he did.”

  “Did he mention what it might have been?”

  “He mentioned that she had an ungovernable temper,” said Crinston suddenly, and then bit his lip and said: “Wait a minute, I’ll withdraw that. I don’t think he said that. That was my mistake.”

  “Your mistake,” asked Mason, “or are you trying to protect the defendant, Frances Celane?”

  Crinston’s face purpled.

  “I’m trying to protect her a lot better than you are!” he roared.

  Judge Markham’s gavel banged upon his desk.

  “Mr. Crinston,” he said, “the court cautioned you once before. The court now pronounces you in contempt of court, and assesses a fine of one hundred dollars for contempt of court.”

  Crinston, his face purple, bowed his head.

  “Proceed with the case,” said Judge Markham.

  “Was anything else discussed by you and Mr. Norton, save the matter of indebtedness to the bank, the partnership affairs, and the possibility that his niece was being blackmailed?”

  “No, sir,” said Arthur Crinston, evidently with relief that the question was no more searching as to the possibilities of the blackmail.

  Perry Mason smiled urbanely.

  “I may desire to recall Mr. Crinston for further cross-examination later on, Your Honor,” he said, “but I have no more questions at the present time.”

  Judge Markham nodded.

  “Any redirect?” he asked.

  “Not at this time,” said Claude Drumm, “but if counsel reserves the right to recall the witness for further cross-examination, I would like to reserve the right to recall the witness for further redirect examination.”

  “Granted,” snapped Judge Markham. “Proceed.”

  Claude Drumm raised his voice dramatically.

  “Call Mr. Don Graves,” he said.

  Don Graves arose and pushed his way forward, while the spectators turned to exchange swiftly whispered comments. The murder trial was proceeding with a dispatch which was unusual, and the attorney for the defense seemed to be overlooking many opportunities in his cross-examination. Yet those who knew Perry Mason knew him as one whose trial technique was a by-word among attorneys.

  And it was equally apparent that Judge Markham was mystified, as well as the spectators. From time to time, his eyes dwelt upon the placid face of Perry Mason with thoughtful speculation.

  Don Graves cleared his throat and looked expectantly at Claude Drumm.

  “Your name is Don Graves, and you were employed on the twenty-third of October of this year, and had been employed for some time prior thereto, as the confidential secretary of Mr. Edward Norton?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You were with Mr. Norton on the evening of October twenty-third?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “When did you last see him on that evening?”

  “At approximately eleven thirty in the evening.”

  “You had seen him before that?”

  “Oh, yes. Mr. Crinston left about eleven twenty-seven or eleven twenty-eight, and Mr. Norton came out of his private office when Mr. Crinston left. They talked for a minute or two and Mr. Norton asked me to get some papers which Mr. Crinston had at his house.”

  “Then what happened?” asked Claude Drumm.

  “Then Mr. Crinston went downstairs, and Mr. Norton told me to call Mr. Peter Devoe, the chauffeur, and get him to drive me to Crinston’s residence. Then, just as I was starting for the stairs, he said: ‘Wait a minute. I have another idea,’ or words to that effect, and went to the window and called down to Mr. Crinston to ask if I could accompany him.

  “Mr. Crinston said that he was with Judge Purley and would have to get Judge Purley’s permission, and I, knowing that Judge Purley would give his permission and that time was valuable, ran down the stairs and was just coming out of the front door when Mr. Crinston called up that Judge Purley said he would be glad to accommodate me.

  “I ran across and got in Judge Purley’s automobile, getting in the rear seat, and then Judge Purley started the automobile and we drove up the winding road until we came to a spot, the approximate location of which Judge Purley has marked on the map.”

  “And then what happened?”

  “At that point,” said Don Graves dramatically, “I turned and looked back, and saw through the rear window of the automobile into the study window of Edward Norton.”

  “And what did you see?” purred Claude Drumm.

  “I saw a figure raise a club and strike Mr. Norton on the head.”

  “Could you recognize who that person was?”

  “I thought I could,” he said.

  “Who did you think it was?” asked Drumm.

  “Just a minute,” said Perry Mason, “that is objected to as calling for a conclusion of the witness, and as leading and suggestive. The witness has stated that he thought he could make the identification.”

  Judge Markham looked at Perry Mason as though expecting to hear an extended argument upon this crucial point. There was no argument.

  He looked at Claude Drumm.

  Claude Drumm shrugged his shoulders.

  “He has stated that in his opinion he could make an identification,” he said. “The word ‘thought’ is merely a colloquial expression.”

  “You’d better clear the matter up,” said Judge Markham.

  “Very well,” said Claude Drumm.

  “Mr. Graves,” he said, “you say that you thought you could identify the witness. Just what do you mean by that?”

  “I believe,” said Don Graves, “that I know who that man was. I think that I recognized him. I did not see his face clearly, but I think that I could recognize him by the manner in which he held his head, from his shoulders and the general outline of his body.”

  “That is sufficient, if the court please,” said Claude Drumm. “A man doesn’t need to see the facial characteristics of another in order to make an identification. The objection goes to the weight, rather than the admissibility of the evidence.”

  Judge Markham looked expectantly at Perry Mason.

  Perry Mason said nothing.

  “I will overrule the objection,” said Judge Markham. “Answer the question, young man.”

  “That man was Robert Gleason,” said Don Graves in a low voice.

  “Was there anyone else in the room?” asked Claude Drumm.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Who was that other person?”

  “A woman, sir, who was attired in a pink garment of some sort.”

  “Could you see that woman?”

  “I saw part of her shoulder, just a bit of her hair, and her arm.”

  “Could you recognize that woman from what you saw of her?”

  Judge Markham interrupted.

  “I think, counsellor,” he said, “that while I permitted the first identification upon the ground that the objection went to the weight rather than the admissibility of the evidence, that where a witness can see only a relatively small portion of a woman’s figure at the distance which was shown upon this map, the objection really should go to the weight as well as the admissibility of the evidence, and I will sustain the objection as to the identity of the woman.”

  “Your Honor,” said Perry Mason softly, “there was no objection made as to the identity of the woman.”

  “No objection?” said Judge Markham.

  “None, Your Honor,” said Perry Mason.

  “Very well,” said Judge Markham, “I shall sustain an objection if one is made.”

  “There will be none made,” said Perry Mason.

  A rustle sounded throughout the courtroom.

  “Very well,” snapped Judge Markham, his face purpling, “answer the question.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Don Graves. “I think that that woman was Frances Celane. I am not as certain in her case as I was in the case of the man, but I think it was Frances Celane. She was dressed like Frances Celane, and the color of her hair, and the contour of her shoulder made me think it was Frances Celane.”

  “How long have you known Frances Celane?” asked Claude Drumm.

  “For more than three years.”

  “You have lived in the same house with her?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Did she, at that time, to your knowledge, have a dress or some garment of the color which you saw upon the woman who was standing in that room?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Very well,” said Claude Drumm. “What did you do, if anything?”

  “I told the other gentlemen what I had seen, and asked them to turn the car around.”

  “I will strike that out on my own motion,” said Judge Markham. “It is incompetent, irrelevant, and immaterial. The question is what the witness did next, with reference to what had taken place in this room. Conversations between parties outside of the presence of the defendant which are not part of the res gestae will not be permitted.”

  “Very well,” said Claude Drumm. “Then what happened? What did you do with reference to Mr. Edward Norton?”

  “I returned to the house, climbed the stairs to his study, and found his body slumped across the desk, with the top of his head beaten in,” said Don Graves.

  “Cross-examine,” snapped Claude Drumm.

  Perry Mason got to his feet and stared slowly and fixedly at Don Graves. An electric tension ran around the courtroom. The spectators sensed that this was to be the crucial part of the trial.

  “Your eyes are in good condition?” asked Perry Mason.

  “Yes.”

  “You think that you were able to sit in a speeding automobile at this point on the road, and, in the momentary glance which you had through the rear of the automobile, recognize the occupants of the room in that study?”

  “Yes, sir. I know I could.”

  “How do you know it?”

  “Because I saw them at that time, and because in order to test my own ability, I have made subsequent tests.”

  “The last part of that answer may go out,” snapped Judge Markham.

  “There was no motion to strike it out,” said Perry Mason. “If the court please, I would like to follow that point up.”

  “Very well,” said Judge Markham.

  “You say you have made subsequent tests?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “In an automobile?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “With occupants in the room?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Who were the occupants in the room?”

  “Mr. Drumm, the Deputy District Attorney, and two people from his office.”

  “You were able to recognize those people?”

  “Yes, sir. You see, sir, the windows are very wide, and the lighting in that study or office is very good.”

  “The automobile in which those tests were made wasn’t driven very rapidly, was it?” asked Perry Mason.

  “Just about the same rate as the automobile in which I was riding on the night of the murder.”

  “That was Judge Purley’s automobile?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “But you haven’t made a test in Judge Purley’s automobile, have you?”

  “No, sir, in other automobiles.”

  “Then the tests weren’t made under the same conditions; that is, the machine wasn’t the same, the window in the rear wasn’t the same.”

  “They were similar,” said Don Graves.

  Perry Mason stared accusingly at the witness.

  “But the tests weren’t made under exactly the same conditions.”

  “No, sir.”

  “Would you,” thundered Perry Mason, “dare to make a test under the same conditions?”

  “Objected to as argumentative,” snapped Claude Drumm.

  “I think,” said Judge Markham, “that it may be argumentative, but it has a tendency to show the interest or bias of the witness. The question was, whether or not he would be willing to make a test under certain conditions.”

  “But such a test wouldn’t prove anything more than has already been proven,” said Drumm.

  “The question,” said Judge Markham, “is, whether or not he would be willing to make such a test. I think I will permit the witness to answer.”

  “Answer the question,” said Perry Mason.

  “Yes, I would be willing to make such a test.”

  “If Judge Purley will furnish his automobile, will you make a test while you are riding in such automobile?”

  Claude Drumm was on his feet.

  “The question is now different, Your Honor. It is not a question now of whether he is willing to make such a test, but if he will make such a test.”

  “Yes,” said Judge Markham, “if you desire to object to that question, I think that I shall sustain an objection to it.”

  Perry Mason turned to face the jury.

  “In that event,” he said, “there is no further cross-examination.”

  “No further cross-examination?” asked Claude Drumm.

  “No. The fact speaks for itself,” snapped Perry Mason. “You are afraid to have a test made under identical conditions.”

  The gavel of Judge Markham banged sharply on the desk.

  “Counsellor,” he said, “you will please refrain from personalities and address your remarks to the court, rather than to opposing counsel.”

  “Your pardon, Your Honor,” said Perry Mason, but his voice held no trace of humility, and his eyes twinkled with amusement.

  Claude Drumm stared at Perry Mason, and his forehead creased in thought.

  “Your Honor,” he said, “might I ask at this time for an adjournment until to-morrow morning at ten o’clock? I have been rather surprised at the unexpected progress which this case has made.”

  “You are no more surprised than the court,” said Judge Markham. “Agreeably surprised, I may say. It is customary for murder cases to be drawn out to such prolonged length that it comes as rather a startling innovation to have a case move with such rapidity as this. Your request is granted, Counsellor, and court will adjourn until ten o’clock to-morrow morning, during which time the jury will remember the usual admonition of the court against discussing the case or allowing it to be discussed in their presence.”

  The gavel banged.

  Perry Mason swung about in his chair and turned to face the dark eyes of Frances Celane.

  He smiled at her reassuringly.

  Rob Gleason, sitting at her side, was haggard and drawn, showing the effects of the ordeal; his posture tense and strained, his eyes filled with a lurking fear.

  The girl was calm and collected, her eyes gave no hint of her feelings. Her chin was up, and her head back.

  Perry Mason leaned toward her.

  “Have confidence in me, please,” he said.

  Only when she smiled at him was there evident the changes which had taken place in her during the ordeal preliminary to the trial. There was a touch of sadness in the smile; a hint of patience that had not been in her face before. She said nothing, but her smile spoke volumes.

  Rob Gleason whispered: “A word with you, sir? And in private, please.”

  A deputy sheriff moved forward, touched Frances Celane on the shoulder. Perry Mason said to him: “Just a moment, please,” and led Rob Gleason to one side.

  Gleason spoke in hoarse whispers.

  “Looks pretty black, doesn’t it?”

  Perry Mason shrugged his shoulders.

  “If,” whispered Gleason, “it’s going against us, I want to take it all.”

  “Meaning?” asked the lawyer.

  “Meaning,” husked Gleason, “that I want to confess and take the sole blame. I want to free Fran of any responsibility.”

  Steadily, purposefully, remorselessly, Mason’s eyes studied Gleason’s features.

  “It hasn’t come to that yet, Gleason,” he said. “And it won’t. Keep your mouth shut.”

  He turned and signaled the waiting deputy that the conference was over.

  Chapter 22