“Just an old-fashioned custom,” Mason said, “—one that’s almost out of date—that of shooting square with a client.”

  Chapter 14

  Court convened at ten o’clock.

  Late spectators, shuffling into the courtroom, looking in vain for seats, were admonished by a stern bailiff that there was to be no standing room, that only seated spectators could remain. The low-pitched hum of buzzing conversation, the rustling of restless motion on the part of the spectators, combined to furnish a back-drop of sound, against which the whispered conversation of Perry Mason and Della Street blended so perfectly that only their postures showed they were holding an important conference.

  “Gertrude Lade understands her part?” Mason asked.

  Della Street nodded.

  “Did she make any objection?” Mason asked.

  “Not a bit,” Della Street said. “She seemed to like the excitement.”

  Mason grinned. “Guess she hired out to the right party.”

  “I’ll say she did,” Della Street said.

  A side door opened, and a deputy sheriff escorted Alden Leeds into the courtroom.

  The whispered conversation died to a dead silence, broken only by the breathing of the attentive audience, a breathing which was a sequence of overlapping sounds, without rhythm.

  Judge Knox entered the courtroom from his chambers, and the bailiff rapped the court to order.

  Bob Kittering, struggling to keep his voice calm as he arose from his chair, said, “If we may have the indulgence of Your Honor, the prosecution would like to remove the fingerprint expert from the stand long enough to interrogate a new witness who knows important facts which were not entirely within the possession of our office yesterday.”

  Judge Knox glanced at Perry Mason.

  “No objection,” Mason said.

  “Very well, so ordered,” Judge Knox observed.

  Kittering said, “Call Harold Leeds to the stand.”

  Harold Leeds moved forward from the rear of the courtroom. His steps lagged as though his legs recognized all too clearly the nature of the ordeal awaiting at the end of their journey.

  “Step right up,” Kittering said. “. . . That’s better. . . Hold up your right hand and be sworn. Now give your name, address, and occupation to the clerk. Be seated on this witness chair. . .. Now, Mr. Leeds, your name is Harold Leeds. You are a nephew of the Alden Leeds who is on trial here in this action as a defendant. Is that right?”

  “That,” Harold Leeds said moodily, and with his eyes downcast, “is right.”

  “Were you acquainted with John Milicant prior to his death?”

  “I was.”

  “Did John Milicant, at any time, tell you anything concerning his true identity?”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “What was it?”

  Judge Knox said, “Just a minute before you answer that question,” and looked down at Mason as though expecting an objection. When he heard none, he said, “I’m not certain, gentlemen, but what this question plainly calls for hearsay evidence.”

  Kittering pulled his brief case toward him, and took out several pages of closely-written, legal foolscap.

  “If Your Honor will permit me,” he said, “I would like to be heard on this. While it is true that the question may, in one sense of the word, call for hearsay evidence, in another sense of the word, it is the sort of hearsay evidence which, by law and custom, has been universally accepted in all courts of justice.

  “For instance, the question is frequently asked a witness, ‘How old are you?’ And the witness replies, giving his age. Obviously, the question calls for hearsay evidence, and the answer is founded on hearsay. Yet, it is universally accepted as being necessary in the nature of things that such an exception to hearsay evidence should be permitted.

  “Now we come to another and similar situation. A man establishes his identity by going under a certain name. If a man goes under a certain name, that is all that is necessary to establish at least a claim to identity. In the present case, we propose to show that the decedent went for many years under the name of Bill Hogarty, that it was under this name, he met and prospected with Leeds in the Yukon. . ..”

  “I understand,” Judge Knox said, “but this question asks the witness to repeat something which the decedent told him. It is your contention that this is part of the res gestae?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  Judge Knox frowned. “I’m going to reserve a ruling on that question for the moment,” he said. “The court is inclined to think that there should be some foundation in the case for supporting the contention that this is a part of the res gestae.”

  “I was trying to show that it was, by this very question, Your Honor.”

  “I understand that,” Judge Knox said patiently, “but I think you had better first lay a foundation so that the court can determine intelligently how much of a time factor is to enter into the determination of the res gestae.”

  “And,” Kittering pointed out, in a sudden burst of inspiration, “there’s no objection on the part of counsel for the defense.”

  Judge Knox’s face showed a flashing expression of surprise. He glanced down at Perry Mason, frowned, and said thoughtfully, “I guess that’s right. Do I understand, Mr. Mason, that such is the case?”

  Mason said, “Such is the case, Your Honor. There has been no objection.”

  “Well,” Judge Knox said irritably, “lay some foundation anyway.”

  Kittering said, “I will ask you this question, Mr. Leeds. Did you, during his lifetime, know a Bill Hogarty?”

  “Well,” Leeds said hesitantly, “I knew a Bill Hogarty, alias Conway, alias Milicant.”

  “How did you know he was Hogarty?”

  Leeds said, with what evidently was the manner of one reciting by rote, “In the same way that I know you are Mr. Kittering, the deputy district attorney—because he told me so. He told me his name wasn’t Milicant, that he wasn’t the brother of Emily Milicant, that he was Bill Hogarty, a man whom Alden Leeds thought he had murdered. He said he’d had his nose broken since and put on a lot of weight, and Uncle Alden hadn’t recognized. . .”

  “Just a moment,” Judge Knox interrupted. “I think that answer has gone far enough. The answer, as given, most certainly answers the question, as asked. I think any statement made by the decedent to this witness for the purpose of showing motivation, malice, or bad blood between the parties should not be admitted in evidence unless it is shown that it was a dying statement. And I take it, counselor, your question didn’t call for such a communication?”

  “No, Your Honor.”

  “Very well. Proceed.”

  “Did you see the defendant on the night of the murder—the seventh of this month?”

  “Yes.”

  “When?”

  “At about ten-twenty-five in the evening.”

  “Where?”

  “Emerging from the room of Bill Hogarty—or John Milicant, whichever you want to call him.”

  “Please state exactly what you saw and exactly what you did,” Kittering said.

  Leeds told Judge Knox his story. At times, his voice was so low that even the court reporter had difficulty in hearing it. At times, he spoke more freely. Always he tried to push into the background his relationship with Inez Colton.

  When he had finished, Kittering, evidently hoping to take Mason as much by surprise as possible, said abruptly, “Cross-examine.”

  “That,” Mason said with a suave smile, “is all. I have no questions.”

  Leeds seemed nonplused. The deputy district attorney was frankly incredulous. “Do you mean to say there’s to be no cross-examination of this witness? You aren’t cross-examining on the question of identity?”

  “No,” Mason said.

  “Very well, the witness is excused, and I will now call one more witness slightly out of order—Mr. Guy T. Serle.”

  Judge Knox looked down at Perry Mason. “Any objection, counselor?” he said.

  “None whatever,” Mason said.

  Serle came slowly forward, was sworn, answered the usual preliminary questions, and then glanced expectantly at Kittering.

  “You knew William Hogarty, alias John Milicant, alias Louie Conway, in his lifetime?” Kittering asked.

  “I did.”

  “You saw him on the evening of the seventh of this month?”

  “I did.”

  “Where?”

  “At his apartment.”

  “When?”

  “Some time around half past seven or quarter to eight in the evening.”

  “Who was present?”

  “Just Conway—that is, Hogarty—and myself.”

  “How long were you there?”

  “Until around twenty minutes past eight.”

  “What happened at that time? Just tell the court what was said and what was done.”

  “Well, Conway. . .”

  “I think,” Kittering interrupted, “that in view of the proof which we now have available, it will be better, for the sake of the record, if you refer to him as Hogarty.”

  “Very well. Hogarty and I had had some business dealings. He’d sold me a business. Police had raided it. I figured it was because of a squawk from one of Louie’s customers or from someone who was gunning for Louie. I told him I thought it was on a tip-off from Alden Leeds. Louie didn’t seem at all surprised. I wanted Louie—Hogarty—to stand back of me. He said he would.”

  “Was there any other conversation?” Kittering asked.

  “That was the substance of it. Hogarty was interrupted by a lot of telephone calls, and he hadn’t eaten any dinner and neither had I. He told me to call a number that he gave me and order a dinner. I put in the call and the dinner came up. It wasn’t Louie—Hogarty—who called. I did the telephoning. I guess it was right around ten minutes past eight when the dinner arrived. We were both in a hurry and we ate fast. Then I shook hands with Hogarty and left.”

  “Wasn’t there some other conversation?” Kittering asked.

  “Oh, yes. He told me to call back at ten o’clock, and he’d let me know if things were okay.”

  “At what time?”

  “Ten o’clock.”

  “You’re certain of that?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Did you call him back?”

  “I did.”

  “When?”

  “At ten o’clock on the dot. He told me things were okay, that he was to have a conference in about ten minutes and that he expected the conference would take about ten minutes, that he’d be free after that and would be sitting right there waiting for my call.”

  “What time did you call him?” Kittering asked.

  “At ten o’clock exactly.”

  “Cross-examine,” Kittering flung triumphantly at Perry Mason.

  Mason said, in a tone of voice which was that of an ordinary, informal conversation, “You felt that Alden Leeds had given the officers the tip which resulted in a police raid on your place of business?”

  “I figured that was possible.”

  “And Milicant—or Hogarty, whichever he was—also figured that way?”

  “Well, he admitted it was possible. We knew Leeds would be gunning for Conway, trying to get him out of the way—only Leeds didn’t know Conway and Milicant were the same, and he hadn’t recognized Milicant as Hogarty. He thought Hogarty was dead. Hogarty said he was going to get Leeds in and tell him he was Conway.”

  “Did you have any trouble getting Milicant to agree to come to your rescue?”

  “None whatever. He recognized that it wasn’t fair to make me the goat in his business.”

  “Did your troubles affect your appetite?” Mason asked.

  “My appetite?”

  “Yes.”

  “No. When things go against you, they go against you. That’s all there is to it. There’s no use pulling a baby act.”

  “Isn’t it a fact that in the Home Kitchen Cafe on the eighth of this month at some time during the lunch hour, you intimated to me that if Alden Leeds would give you some form of financial renumeration, you would change your testimony so it would appear that telephone conversation with Conway took place after Leeds had left Conway’s apartment?”

  “That’s not true,” the witness shouted, “and you know it’s not true!”

  “You made no such offer?”

  “No. You tried to bribe me and I told you Alden Leeds didn’t have money enough to make me change my story. You tried to threaten me, to bribe me, and to intimidate me.”

  Judge Knox regarded Mason in frowning concentration, but Mason casually passed on to something else.

  “Mr. Serle,” he asked, “you were arrested the night of the murder on a felony charge, were you not?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you ever been prosecuted on that felony charge?” Kittering was on his feet. “Objected to as incompetent, irrelevant, and immaterial,” he said. “It is not a proper question by way of impeachment. It is only when a witness has been convicted of a felony that that point can be brought out on cross-examination.”

  Mason said, “I am not trying to impeach the witness. I am trying to show bias.”

  “Objection overruled,” Judge Knox said.

  “I haven’t been tried on that case,” Serle said, “because there wasn’t any case. The raid was made on a tip-off from Alden Leeds. There wasn’t any evidence.”

  “As a matter of fact,” Mason said, “you were shrewd enough to realize that you could ingratiate yourself with the district attorney’s office by changing the time of that telephone conversation from ten-thirty to ten o‘clock, and did so. Now isn’t it a fact that this telephone conversation which you have referred to as taking place at ten o’clock actually did not occur until approximately thirty minutes later?”

  “That is not a fact,” Serle shouted.

  “And that as you first related that conversation to the officers at headquarters and as you subsequently related it to me there in the Home Kitchen Cafe, you made no mention of Hogarty telling you that he had a conference in ten minutes which he expected would take about ten minutes?”

  Serle shifted his position, but his voice was calm. “I remembered some of the conversation more clearly after I’d had a chance to think it over. But that’s what Hogarty told me all right. . .. You know how those things are. You don’t remember everything a man says to you over the phone the first time you try to recall the conversation.”

  “After you left this apartment house where Conway, or Milicant, had his apartment, you went directly to the All Night and Day Pool Room, did you not?”

  “No.”

  “You didn’t?”

  “No.”

  “How long was it after you left Conway’s apartment before you entered the pool room?”

  “I don’t know. I’d say it was fifteen or twenty minutes.”

  “And what were you doing in the meantime?”

  “Various things.”

  “Name one.”

  “I was telephoning.”

  “To whom?”

  “A friend.”

  “Who was this friend?”

  Serle paused and looked expectantly at Kittering. Kittering got to his feet, and said, “Your Honor, I object. Not proper cross-examination. Counsel can be given a reasonable latitude in checking the time element. Please note that so far as this witness is concerned, there is no question whatever of his testimony being pertinent to the case except insofar as it relates to the question of time. It is the contention of the defense, naturally, that this telephone conversation occurred after Leeds had left the apartment. It is the contention of the prosecution that it did not.”

  Judge Knox glanced down at Perry Mason. “I’d prefer to have you pass this question for the moment, counselor, and lay some foundation to show that it’s pertinent to the case. The court doesn’t want to embarrass other parties by dragging in their names—unless it’s necessary.”

  Mason went on with the cross-examination, calmly, casually. “Isn’t it a fact that when you entered the pool room, you told witnesses there that you were going to call Louie Conway around ten-thirty?”

  “I may have,” Serle said.

  “You were lying to these men?”

  “I wasn’t lying. I saw no reason for telling pool-room loafers all of my private affairs.”

  “Notwithstanding the fact that you knew when you entered the pool room that you intended to call Bill Hogarty, or Louie Conway, as the case may be, at ten o’clock, you nevertheless told these men that you were going to place the call at somewhere around ten-thirty?”

  “Yes.”

  “Didn’t you tell the district attorney when you first repeated your story that you had called Conway at ten-thirty?”

  “No.”

  Kittering said, “Your Honor, I would like to have the decedent referred to as Hogarty rather than Conway. It will keep the record free from confusion, and. . .”

  Judge Knox interrupted. “There is not sufficient proof as yet to warrant the court to require counsel to so frame his questions.”

  Mason said, as though the point were of no great importance: “Oh, I guess it’s all right. I’ll stipulate his real name was Hogarty, and so refer to him if counsel wishes.”

  “Very well, so stipulated,” Kittering said.

  Judge Knox looked sharply at Perry Mason. “That stipulation of identity may be important on the question of motivation, counselor.”

  “It’s all right,” Mason said carelessly. “I’ve known he claimed to be Hogarty for some time, and if Kittering has proof of it, I’ll save time by stipulating.”

  “I do have proof,” Kittering said.

  “Very well,” Judge Knox observed. “Go on with your cross-examination, Mr. Mason.”

  “Did you tell the district attorney at first that the time was ten o’clock?” Mason asked.

  “I didn’t mention any time.”

  “I see,” Mason said. “You told the officers that you had called Hogarty. They then explained to you that it was important to fix the time of that call because if it was after ten-twenty, it would mean they couldn’t convict Alden Leeds of the murder. Isn’t that right?”

  “Well, we had a talk. They told me some things and I told them some.”