“I’m Forrester Baylor, the son of Harriman Baylor,” the young man said, apparently stung by Paul Drake’s casual attitude.

  “Oh, yes,” Drake said. He nodded to Perry Mason. “Got some news for you, Perry.”

  “What about?”

  “About the four thousand dollars.”

  “What about it?”

  “It came from the Midfield National Bank in Midfield, Arkansas. The place was held up on the seventeenth by a slender, boyish-looking individual who stood in line and pushed the usual note through the cashier’s window. The note said to turn over all of the hundred-dollar bills, keep the hands in sight, not press the alarm, and to wait five minutes before reporting anything. You know, the usual type of note.

  “The cashier passed over forty hundred-dollar bills. At first he thought it was a young man. Now, the more he thinks of it, he believes it was a young woman in men’s clothes. He never did hear the voice.

  “The description matches that of Fern Driscoll.”

  Forrester Baylor lunged at Drake. “You lie!” he shouted. “You—”

  Drake, with the ease of long practice, slipped Baylor’s punch over his right shoulder.

  Mason grabbed Baylor from behind, pinioned his arms to his waist. “Easy does it! Easy does it!” Mason said.

  “That’s a lie! That’s a dirty, despicable lie! Fern Driscoll wouldn’t do anything like that any more than … any more than you would.”

  Mason swung Baylor to one side, sent him spinning down into the big, overstuffed chair by the desk.

  “Sit there!” he said, his voice cracking like a whip. “Control your damned emotions! Use your head. Give us some help. I want to know about Fern Driscoll. I want a photograph.”

  Baylor, somewhat dazed, said, “She wouldn’t! She didn’t!”

  “A picture!” Mason shouted at him. “Do you have a picture?”

  Almost mechanically, Baylor reached in his pocket, took out a wallet and opened it. The smiling portrait of a girl peered up at them from behind a cellophane window.

  Mason grabbed the wallet.

  “And,” Drake said, “we found Fern Driscoll’s car.”

  “Where?” Mason asked.

  “Wrecked at the bottom of a canyon between Prescott and Phoenix.”

  “Anyone in it?”

  “No one.”

  “Baggage?”

  “None.”

  “Anything else?”

  “The car apparently just ran off the road, tumbled down the canyon. There’s no sign anyone was injured. The driver evidently escaped.”

  Mason’s eyes were hard. “So the car ran off the road and on the way down the driver not only escaped but dragged out her suitcase as well?”

  Drake grinned. “The local authorities don’t seem to have thought of that.”

  “What time was the bank held up at Midfield?” Mason asked.

  “Ten-thirty in the morning.”

  Mason jerked the picture of Fern Driscoll out of Forrester Baylor’s wallet. “Paul,” he said. “I want you to have copies made of this picture. I want you to get a hundred men on the job. I want every newspaper to have a copy of this picture, and I want them to have the story of the bank stick-up in Midfield. You—”

  Forrester Baylor came up out of the chair. Mason stiff-armed him back into the cushions.

  “What’s the big idea?” Drake asked.

  “Never mind the idea,” Mason said. “Get the hell out of here and get started before someone stops you. Cover every motel within a driving distance of three hours east and north of Midfield. Get rid of the lead and start moving. Show this picture. Get it in the press. Notify the F.B.I.”

  “You’re playing right into the prosecution’s hands,” Drake protested. “You—”

  Mason, still holding Forrester Baylor in the chair, half-turned toward Paul Drake. “Get started before I fire you,” he said.

  Forrester Baylor still struggling to get up said with low earnestness, “Mr. Mason, I’m going to kill you fox this if it takes all the rest of my life to do it!”

  Chapter 17

  Judge Bolton, sitting sternly upright, looked down upon the packed courtroom.

  “The Court has seen the morning papers,” he said. “I am going to ask the spectators to refrain from any demonstration of any sort.

  “The defendant is in court; counsel are present. The defendant was on the stand being cross-examined by Hamilton Burger. Will the defendant please resume her position on the stand.”

  “Just a moment,” Hamilton Burger said. “I find that I have no further questions on cross-examination.”

  “No redirect,” Mason said.

  “Very well, Mr. Mason. Call your next witness,” Judge Bolton said.

  “I will call Mr. Harriman Baylor as my next witness,” Mason said.

  “What?” Hamilton Burger shouted, in sheer surprise.

  “Mr. Harriman Baylor!” Mason said, raising his voice. “Mr. Baylor, will you come forward and take the stand, please?”

  Baylor jumped up and said, “I know nothing whatever about this case. I am only interested because—”

  “You have been called as a witness,” Judge Bolton said. “You will come forward and be sworn.”

  Hamilton Burger said, “If the Court please, I resent any attempt on the part of Mr. Mason to try and extricate himself by seeking to involve Mr. Baylor in a matter concerning which he knows nothing. I may state that I have personally interrogated Mr. Baylor in the greatest detail, and I am satisfied he knows nothing whatever concerning the facts of this case. I am satisfied that he does know certain matters concerning the background of Fern Driscoll, and it may be that the prosecution will want to bring out some of those facts when the case comes to trial in the superior court. But at this time, as part of the preliminary examination, there is nothing that Mr. Baylor knows which would be of the slightest value to the defense, and I feel that he should not be called as a witness.”

  “The district attorney should know,” Judge Bolton said, “that the defense has it in his power to call any person he wishes as a witness. Mr. Baylor will come forward and take the stand. You will have an opportunity, Mr. District Attorney, to object to any specific question as it is asked.”

  Baylor reluctantly came forward.

  “Hold up your right hand and be sworn,” Judge Bolton said.

  “If the Court please,” Hamilton Burger said, “Mr. Baylor is suffering from bursitis. It will be necessary for him to hold up his left hand.”

  “Very well, hold up your left hand and be sworn,” Judge Baylor said.

  “Just a moment,” Mason said. “If the Court please, I object to the district attorney giving testimony in this case.”

  Judge Bolton looked at Mason in surprise. “The district attorney has given no testimony in this case, Mr. Mason.”

  “I respectfully beg to differ with the Court. The district attorney is making statements which are evidentiary in their character and are of the highest importance.”

  “The district attorney said that Miss Street had committed perjury,” Judge Bolton said. “The Court would have rebuked the district attorney if any objection had been made at the time. However, the Court feels that the district attorney is unquestionably sincere and that his statement was made for the purpose of saving a hardworking woman from being arrested on a charge of perjury.”

  “I am not referring to that,” Mason said. “I am referring to Mr. Burger’s statement that Mr. Baylor is suffering from bursitis and therefore cannot raise his right hand.”

  “Why,” Hamilton Burger said angrily, “I’m not giving any testimony; I am merely explaining to the Court that such is the case.”

  “How do you know it’s the case?” Mason asked.

  “Why, Mr. Baylor … why, Mr. Baylor has been in my office. I have talked with him in detail. He has told me all about his trouble.”

  Mason grinned. “It now appears, Your Honor, that the district attorney is not only giving testimony before the Court, but that he is giving testimony which is founded purely on hearsay.”

  “Just what is all this leading up to?” Judge Bolton asked.

  Mason said, “Under the law, a witness is required to raise his right hand and have the oath administered. If this witness refuses to raise his right hand, I demand to know why he can’t raise his right hand.”

  Judge Bolton regarded Harriman Baylor. “You are unable to raise your right hand because of bursitis which is, I understand, a disease which affects the shoulder?”

  There was a moment of silence.

  “Or,” Perry Mason said, “is Mr. Baylor unable to raise his right hand because of an infection in the right arm due to the wound of an ice pick?”

  “An ice pick!” Judge Bolton exclaimed.

  “An ice pick,” Mr. Mason repeated firmly. “If the Court will notice newspaper photographs of Mr. Baylor at the time he arrived in this city, the Court will notice he is coming down the stairs from an airplane carrying his brief case in his left hand, waving his right hand in a gesture of friendly salute, presumably at the cameraman who took the picture. At that time, according to the newspaper report, he claimed he had bursitis. If that was true, it must have been in his left shoulder. His right hand and his right arm were unaffected.

  “Now, I would like to know why it is that he has had this sudden indisposition, in his right arm. I would like to have a physician examine Mr. Baylor to see whether or not there is bursitis in the right shoulder, and I would like to know the names of the physicians he has consulted since he has been here in this city so that we can subpoena them and find out whether the trouble with his right arm is not due to a wound inflicted by an ice pick.”

  Judge Bolton said, “Mr. Mason, that is a very serious charge, a very grave accusation. I trust that you have facts with which to back it up.”

  “It is no more grave than the statement made by the district attorney that Mr. Baylor was unable to raise his right hand because of bursitis,” Mason said. “If you want to rebuke anybody, rebuke the district attorney.”

  Judge Bolton flushed. “Mr. Mason, that remark borders dangerously on contempt of Court.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way,” Mason said. “I simply felt a natural resentment that any statement I made as to the cause of Mr. Baylor’s injury was accepted with the gravest doubts, whereas the district attorney was permitted to give the Court the benefit of his solemn assurance, an assurance which, as it turns out, was predicated entirely on hearsay testimony, and that he received no rebuke. I would suggest, with all due respect, that the Court examine Mr. Baylor and ask him for the names of the physicians who have treated him.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Baylor said in a low voice. “I regret that the matter has reached this stage. I have carried on the deception long enough. My conscience is bothering me and now I am faced with complete ruination. I wish to make a statement to the Court. Mr. Mason is entirely correct. The bursitis is in my left shoulder. The trouble with my right shoulder is due to a wound from an ice pick which was at first painful but which now has become badly infected.”

  Judge Bolton banged furiously with his gavel. “Order!” he shouted. “Order! There will be order in the court or I will clear the courtroom! The spectators will refrain from making any disturbance! This is a court of justice. Now be silent.”

  When Judge Bolton had restored order somewhat, he looked at Baylor with a puzzled frown. “This is something,” he said, “that I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  “It is simple enough,” Baylor said. “I went to the apartment of Mildred Crest because I felt that I had to have certain letters my son had sent Fern Driscoll which could cause the greatest embarrassment to my family and to my social position. I felt that those letters were in danger of becoming public property through the activities of a scandal magazine. The defendant wasn’t there when I arrived. I entered her apartment by using a duplicate key which I obtained by bribing the janitor. I unscrewed the light bulbs so I could not be surprised and identified. I was searching for the letters with the aid of a flashlight, when the defendant unexpectedly returned.

  “I suddenly realized the position in which I had placed myself. I felt that the only thing for me to do was to turn out my flashlight and in the dark rush past the young woman who blocked the doorway.

  “I didn’t want to hurt her, so I lowered my right shoulder and charged. What I didn’t realize was that she had an ice pick in her hand. The ice pick was, by the momentum of my own charge, impaled in my arm near the shoulder and torn from her grasp. I ran down the stairs, and it was just as I was at the foot of the stairs, that I encountered Carl Harrod.

  “Harrod apparently had been keeping an eye on the apartment house. He recognized me, turned and followed me.

  “By that time I realized I was out of the frying pan and into the fire. Harrod had a camera. He got a flashlight picture as I ran to my car.

  “The magazine with which Harrod had been negotiating for the story of my son’s attachment would have paid many times as much for a story involving me as a housebreaker. I knew I was licked.

  “Feeling that I might have a chance to buy my son’s letters, I had arranged for a large sum of ready cash which I had on my person.

  “I had withdrawn the ice pick and thrown it into the gutter before I made my arrangements with Harrod. I paid him ten thousand dollars in cash to help me out of my predicament. It was my only way out.

  “Carl Harrod agreed to go to his apartment and call Perry Mason. He was to tell him that the defendant had stabbed him with the ice pick.

  “Since I felt certain the defendant hadn’t recognized me, and since we knew she’d call Mr. Mason and tell him she had stabbed someone, we felt Harrod’s call to Mason would completely confuse the issues and give me a chance to keep out of it.

  “I was to go to my suite in the hotel, shut off the telephone and refuse to see anyone. Harrod, however, was to report to me, using the name of Howley when he had performed his part of the bargain. I made arrangements so that any call from Howley would be put through at once.

  “If Carl Harrod was able to convince Mr. Mason he was the one who had been stabbed, I was to give him another ten thousand dollars. I also realized there would be further payments, but at the moment I couldn’t help myself.

  “It was the only time in my life I had ever yielded to blackmail. This time I faced the pitiless publicity of a scandal magazine. I had no choice. Anything would have been better than that sort of publicity.

  “We never expected Perry Mason would want to call a doctor to examine Harrod. We knew his client would have told him of the man who had rushed at her, of having stabbed him with the ice pick. It was my idea Harrod would claim the ice pick had penetrated his shoulder, but Harrod tried to put himself in a bargaining position by claiming he had been stabbed in the chest. That was so he could offer a settlement if Mr. Mason would turn over the letters we wanted. Harrod had my ten thousand dollars in cash, ten one-thousand-dollar bills. He knew that I would pay him another ten thousand dollars and that, if he could get those letters, I would pay him even more.

  “Harrod knew that Mr. Mason would try at all costs to protect his client by keeping the matter from the police. Harrod, of course, was jubilant. He assured me he could handle Mr. Mason so Mason would, as he expressed it, be eating out of our hands. He said he had handled people of Mason’s type before, that Mason couldn’t be forced to do anything for himself, but that he could be made to do anything when it was a matter of protecting the interests of a client. Harrod assured me he was going to force Mr. Mason to turn over the letters we wanted. Harrod, of course, was expecting compensation for all of this, but he knew I would pay him more than the magazine would.

  “I am sorry, Your Honor. I entered upon a scheme of deception and now I find myself trapped by my own chicanery.”

  Judge Bolton looked at the crestfallen, completely flabbergasted district attorney, then looked at Perry Mason.

  “If this is the truth,” Judge Bolton said, “who inflicted the fatal wound on Carl Harrod?”

  “There was only one person, Your Honor,” Mason said in a voice of quiet assurance, “who could possibly have done that. What Carl Harrod hadn’t anticipated was that I would insist on calling a physician to make an independent examination.

  “Harrod had no ice-pick wound, no wound of any nature when I was talking with him, but he knew after my interview that I had gone to summon a doctor. Carl Harrod, therefore, did the only thing he could. He told the young woman with whom he was living to insert an ice pick in his chest, not to insert it deep but to make a sufficient wound so that he could show a puncture mark to the doctor I was bringing, who was to make the examination.

  “Nellie Elliston saw an opportunity to get the large sum of cash Carl Harrod had just acquired from Mr. Baylor. That is the only explanation that accounts for the facts. Harrod bared his chest. He instructed her to insert the ice pick an inch or two. She went to the utility drawer in the kitchen, took out an ice pick, returned to bend over Harrod, smiled down at him, and plunged the ice pick into his heart.

  “Then she took the cash Harrod had acquired and fabricated an entirely spurious death scene and dying declaration. Because the district attorney was so anxious to get me involved in the case, he didn’t have her submit to the rigorous tests which he would have imposed under other circumstances.”

  Judge Bolton looked around the courtroom, then turned back to Perry Mason. “How do you know all that, Mr. Mason?” he asked.

  “Knowing that Irma Karnes was identifying the defendant, not because of the transaction at the Arcade Novelty, but because of mental suggestion and because of an image so firmly implanted in her mind by improper police methods, I knew there was only one thing that could have happened.

  “And when I suddenly remembered the picture of Mr. Baylor arriving at the airport with his right hand waving a greeting, yet remembered that later on that same evening he had been forced to shake hands with his left hand, claiming a bursitis in his right shoulder, I knew what must have happened.”