“Well, the car came along this road, going rather slowly. It sounded like it was in low gear, or perhaps second gear, and then it came crawling up this steep bank up to the highway.”

  “Did you see it?”

  “No, I couldn’t see it at that time. I could hear it. That steep climb up to the highway is about – oh, perhaps, a little over a quarter of a mile from the culvert where I was sitting.”

  “And then what?”

  “I’m sure the car came up this steep bank to the road in low gear. Then it went into second gear and about the time it was shifting into high, I showed myself in front of the headlights.”

  “Now let’s go back a moment, Veronica. Before you heard this motor, did you hear any other sounds?”

  “Yes.”

  “What were they?”

  “Shots.”

  “How many shots, Veronica?”

  “Six.”

  “Can you describe them?”

  “Well, I thought it was a motor backfiring at the time, but now I’ve had a chance to think it over, I know they were shots. I heard one and then in about a second another, and then after a second or two I heard four more fired very rapidly.”

  “Now when did you hear these shots, Veronica?”

  “Just a minute or two before the car started.”

  “As much as five minutes?”

  “I don’t think so. Maybe two or three minutes, just a little while.”

  “Would you know what time this was?”

  “Not exactly. I think it was just about nine o’clock, probably a few minutes before.”

  “Very well. Now you heard the shots. You heard the car start. You heard it come to the road. You saw it approaching you.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Did you try to thumb a ride?”

  “No, I made no motion whatever, but I did look at the headlights so that the man who was driving the car could – well, you know, get a good look at me.”

  “And what happened?”

  “The car wasn’t going very fast. It was just getting into high gear, and just after it passed me, it stopped and then started to back up.”

  “And then what?”

  “Then Mr Addison asked me if I wanted a ride.”

  “Now, you are referring to Mr John Racer Addison, the defendant in this case, the gentleman sitting on Mr Mason’s left?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Burger, his voice oozing with sympathy, said, “Now, Veronica, I know it’s not a pleasant subject, but will you please go ahead and tell us exactly what happened. Tell us everything.”

  “Well,” she said, “Mr Addison stopped and backed up. He asked me if I wanted a ride. I’d been sizing him up all the time.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Well, I’d sized up the sound of his motor. I knew it was a big expensive car from its purring. Then I had a chance to look at his silhouette as he drove by. There was enough light from the dash light in the car, so I got a pretty good idea of him. He looked like a substantial businessman, not the type I’d been having trouble with the last thirty or forty miles.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “I smiled at him and thanked him and told him I’d like to ride to the city if he was going that far. He said he was and I got in.”

  “And you talked?”

  “Yes, we talked.” She smiled and said, “That’s one obligation a young woman hitchhiker owes to people who pick her up. If they want to talk, she talks. If they don’t want to talk, she keeps quiet.”

  “And Mr Addison wanted to talk?”

  She smiled and said, “I think he wanted to hear me talk.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “I talked. I told him about myself and told him I was coming to the city to – well, sort of look around, to seek my fortune.”

  “And told him you had left home?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what did Mr Addison do?”

  Veronica raised her eyes and her voice. “I want one thing definitely understood. Mr Addison was a perfect gentleman, a perfect gentleman.”

  “Yes, I understand,” Burger said, “but tell me just what transpired. What took place?”

  “Well, he asked me if I had any place to stay and I told him no, and he asked me about how much money I had and I tried to avoid that question but he kept being very insistent, and when it turned out I only had a small amount of money and didn’t know just where I was going to stay when I got to town, he gave me a little fatherly advice. He told me that a girl couldn’t do those things in a big city, that it was different from a country town, and then he said he was going to get me a place to stay.”

  “And what did he do?”

  “He stopped the car at a service station and went in and did some telephoning, and when he came out he said it was all fixed, that I had a room in a hotel, and that it was all paid for.”

  “And then what?”

  “Then when he came to the city, he drove me to the Rockaway Hotel and saw that I registered, and the clerk said a room was already engaged for me, and that’s all I know about that.”

  “Now, you saw Mr Addison again?”

  “Yes.”

  “When?”

  “On the afternoon of the tenth I went to see him at his department store.”

  “At his request?”

  “Yes.”

  “What happened?”

  “He sent me down to the personnel manager with a card and – well, I was given a job and started work at once.”

  “And did you at any time know any of the sordid details of this blackmail?”

  “No, sir, never.”

  Burger turned to Mason. “I suppose,” he said reproachfully, “you will wish to cross-examine this young woman?”

  “I most certainly do,” Mason said, getting to his feet.

  Burger said, wearily, “The law gives you that right. Go ahead.”

  “Your mother is living?” Mason asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And you were living with your mother?”

  “Yes.”

  “And went away from the family domicile?”

  “The family domicile,” she said, smiling faintly, “was a restaurant. I waited on tables. It was in a pitifully small town. There were no opportunities. One never met anyone except a few awkward, shy young men who lacked the courage and initiative to get up and get out.”

  “And so you left?”

  “Yes.”

  “And hitchhiked out here?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s interesting,” Mason said. “Now, Miss Dale, how long did it take you to hitchhike here?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You are young and personable and attractive and, I take it, you don’t have to wait long for a ride.”

  Veronica Dale began to show panic in her eyes.

  “Well, no.”

  “So how long did it take you from the time you left your home to get out here?”

  “Not very long.”

  “As much as a week?”

  “I … well, perhaps. Yes, I guess so.”

  “Then you were at home with your mother in this restaurant up to a week before you first met Mr Addison?”

  There was a long silence.

  “Can’t you answer that?”

  “Oh, if the Court please!” Hamilton Burger said, getting to his feet, his manner that of a fatherly protector for the girl and, as far as the Court was concerned, an advocate whose patience was entirely exhausted. “I object to that. Let Counsel confine himself to the approximate vicinity of the crime and the approximate time of the crime. Surely, this young woman has been crucified enough. Simply because she happened to be where she saw the defendant in the vicinity of the crime at about the time of the crime was committed is no reason she should be pilloried by a remorseless and desperate counsel.”

  “Neither remorseless nor desperate, Your Honour,” Mason said cheerfully. “I’d like to find out something about how the young lady happened to be in the place at the time she mentioned. Since this all hinges on the time element, I’d like to check on it.”

  “I think the question is within the permissible bounds of cross-examination,” Judge Keetley ruled, “but it does seem to the Court, Mr Mason, that the cross-examination of this young woman should not go too far afield.”

  Again there was silence.

  “Answer the question,” Judge Keetley said.

  “May I have a glass of water?” Veronica Dale asked in a low voice.

  “Certainly,” Mason said.

  But it was Hamilton Burger who sprang to his feet and came rushing toward the witness stand. “Now, Veronica,” he said, “don’t overtax yourself.”

  “What’s the matter with her?” Mason asked. “Is there something wrong with her?”

  “What do you mean?” Burger roared at him. “That is entirely on a par with your insinuations, your dastardly …”

  “She seems to me to be a healthy young woman, some twenty years old,” Mason said. “She certainly should be able to answer a question as to what time she left home. The way you’re coddling her, I’m beginning to think there’s something wrong with her.”

  “Well, there isn’t!” Burger shouted.

  Mason took advantage of Burger’s sputtering rage to pour a glass of water and hand it to Veronica Dale. “Go ahead Miss Dale,” he said suavely, “take all the time you want, drinking the water, and then when you have finished with the water, just tell the Court what time you left home, just when it was you left that restaurant and your mother.”

  “Twenty years old!” Burger stormed. “This girl is a child, a young, unsophisticated, unspoiled young woman of eighteen – barely eighteen, at whom you are consistently throwing mud, simply because …”

  “That will do, gentlemen,” Judge Keetley said. “The examination will proceed in an orderly fashion, and Counsel will refrain from personalities.”

  Judge Keetley looked from under bushy eyebrows at Veronica Dale slowly sipping water from the glass Mason handed her. The trace of a frown appeared upon his forehead.

  “Are you finished with the water?” Mason asked.

  “No.”

  “Are you feeling better?” Burger inquired solicitously.

  “Just a little faint,” she said.

  Mason extended a hand for the glass, but Veronica Dale ignored the hand, continuing to sip the water, slowly and thoughtfully.

  “Have you thought of the answer yet?” Mason said. She looked up at him, then abruptly started to cry.

  Mason gently took the glass of water from her fingers, walked over to the table where he had been seated, placed the water glass on the table, sat down and waited.

  Burger moved forward, placed a fatherly hand on the girl’s shoulder. “There, there, Veronica,” he said, “It’s almost over. The Court is going to protect you. Judge Keetley isn’t going to let him make any more of those dastardly insinuations. If the Court please, this unwarranted, despicable insinuation, this accusation that there was something wrong with this young woman, has upset her, and justifiably so. I feel that every man in this courtroom felt his blood boil when Counsel …”

  “Please refrain from personalities, Mr District Attorney,” Judge Keetley said, his keen eyes resting speculatively on Veronica Dales face.

  Mason settled back in the swivel chair at the counsel table, clasped his hands behind his head and waited.

  There was something in the calm, silent waiting which did more to place Veronica Dale’s actions in their true perspective than any amount of remonstration with her would have done.

  “Your Honour,” Hamilton Burger said after a while, “I am going to renew my objection, and I think that the cross-examination of this witness should terminate. Counsel himself is responsible for the upset condition of this witness. He has only himself to thank if his insinuation …”

  “Let her alone. She’s thinking,” Mason said, grinning.

  Judge Keetley said, a tone of firm finality in his voice, “The Court sees no reason why the witness can’t answer that question.”

  “It is not that question, Your Honour,” Burger protested. “It is the manner of this cross-examination, the insinuations as to this young woman’s pregnancy.”

  “He merely asked if there was anything wrong with her condition,” Judge Keetley said, “and as far as the Court is concerned, it would appear that you brought that on yourself by a display of undue solicitude. How old is this young woman? Have you checked her age?”

  “She is barely eighteen, Your Honour, a young woman …”

  “She’s twenty,” Mason said.

  “How old are you?” Judge Keetley asked Veronica.

  She looked up at him and then again had recourse to tears.

  Judge Keetley settled back in his chair, his manner somewhat similar to that of Perry Mason. “Very well,” he said, “let’s wait until she can answer that question.”

  “Do you feel as though you could go on answering questions, Veronica?” Hamilton Burger asked.

  “No!” she said promptly.

  “She answered that question all right,” Judge Keetley said, “Now try answering this one. How old are you, young lady?”

  She glanced desperately around the courtroom.

  “How old?” Judge Keetley asked.

  Burger looked at the Judge with a certain amount of exasperation.

  “I think you can go back and sit down, Mr District Attorney. I don’t think she’s going to fall off the witness stand. How old are you, Miss Dale?”

  She waited a full five seconds before she answered the question. “Twenty,” she said.

  “Humph,” Judge Keetley snapped, and then with a sharp edge to his voice, said, “When did you leave your home, when did you last see your mother, how long did it take you to get out here? Now, tell us just exactly how long you’ve been hitchhiking on the road.”

  “I … I can’t tell. I didn’t keep account of the time.”

  “How long since you’ve last seen your mother?”

  “I …”

  “Your Honour,” Hamilton Burger said, “if I may interpose one more suggestion …”

  “Well, interpose it briefly,” Judge Keetley snapped.

  “I am given to understand that this girl’s mother is here in the city, that she is in the custody of Mr Perry Mason, and that Mr Perry Mason for reasons best known to himself does not have the mother in court this morning. Therefore, it seems to me that at this time Mr Mason should be instructed to let this young woman have the comfort of her mother’s presence.”

  Mason said, “I rang you up last night, you’ll remember, Counsellor, and suggested that you let Miss Dale and her mother have a friendly reunion, and you scoffed at the suggestion.”

  “Nevertheless,” Burger said, “and while I resent Counsel’s statement that I scoffed at the suggestion, I feel that this young woman should have an opportunity to see her mother. Last night I was taken unawares, at a time when I was in a hurry to get home, by Counsel’s offer that I should surrender Veronica Dale to him so that she could see her mother. I naturally refused. Later on, after thinking things over, I decided that if Mr Mason would send Mrs Dale to me, I would personally escort her to her daughter. I spent some time vainly trying to reach Mr Mason. I had the hotel registers searched in vain. I felt, however, that Counsel shrewdly timed his suggestion so as to court a refusal. I feel that his deliberately keeping this young woman from her mother is in keeping with the tactics he has used …”

  Judge Kettley’s gavel banged sharply. “Kindly refrain from these personalities, Mr Burger.”

  “That’s all right. Let him go, Your Honour,” Mason said. “He really doesn’t mean them. He’s trying to give this witness time to think. She had her answers all ready, but now that she’s learned I have her mother here, she’s had to change her story.”

  “She should see her mother,” Burger shouted.

  “She’ll have an opportunity to see her mother when she answers a few questions,” Judge Keetley said irritably. “After all, here’s a healthy, husky woman, twenty years of age. She certainly can answer a simple question without having to sip her way through a full glass of water and then have the district attorney pat her solicitously on the shoulder. And she can answer questions without waiting until her mother is brought to hold her hand. I want to know when she left that restaurant, when she last saw her mother, and I propose to find out!”

  There was an awkward silence.

  “How long was it?” Judge Keetley asked, his voice utterly devoid of sympathy.

  “About a year,” Veronica Dale said.

  Mason was on his feet. “And so,” he said, “you wanted us to think it had only been a matter of a week?”

  “I … I was confused.”

  “Are you confused now?”

  “Yes.”

  “You understand my questions?”

  “I understand them now. Yes.”

  “You left home about a year ago?”

  “Yes.”

  “You haven’t seen your mother since?”

  “No.”

  “When were you twenty?”

  “I … about three months ago.”

  “Where have you been for the last year? Have you been on the road all the time coming here?”

  “No.”

  “Where have you been?”

  “Various places.”

  “Oh, Your Honour,” Hamilton Burger said, “surely the whereabouts of this young woman for the past year, what she has done and where she has been, don’t enter into any legitimate scope of cross-examination. Her direct examination was limited to an interval of approximately one hour, during which she met the defendant at a spot on the road near where the defendant had just finished killing his partner. Naturally, the defendant doesn’t like to have that brought out, and I have no objection to any cross-examination as to anything within reasonable limits – a day, two days, a week – but to go back for a year and attempt to besmirch this young woman’s reputation is carrying cross-examination too far.”

  “Under ordinary circumstances, I would agree with you,” Judge Keetley said, “but the manner of this witness certainly indicates that she is trying to cover something up.”