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

  “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 remuneration, 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.”

  “Did they explain to you the importance of the time element before you mentioned the exact time of that telephone conversation to them?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “And you were shrewd enough to realize that this might give you an advantage, so you made some statement to the effect that you saw no reason why you should co-operate with the officers if they were going to raid your place of business, and arrest you on a felony charge, did you not?”

  “Well, naturally, I didn’t feel any too cordial.”

  “And one of the officers said that that might be fixed up, didn’t he?”

  “Well, he said that if the prosecuting witness didn’t show up, it was no skin off their shins.”

  “All right,” Mason said, “now getting back to what you did after you left Hogarty’s apartment. You telephoned a friend of yours. Isn’t it a fact that that telephone call was to the Home Kitchen Cafe, and that you talked with Hazel Stickland?”

  Serle’s face showed alarmed dismay. “Why . . . I . . . ”

  “Remember,” Mason said, leveling a rigid forefinger at him, “you’re under oath.”

  “Well, yes. I did call her, but not at the cafe.”

  “And what did you tell her?”

  “Objected to as incompetent, irrelevant, and immaterial, and not proper cross-examination,” Kittering said.

  “Sustained,” Judge Knox ruled. “You may fix the time of the conversation, counselor. The subject matter would seem beyond the scope of proper cross-examination.”

  “Your Honor, I think this conversation is pertinent,” Mason said.

  “I don’t, not as the question is asked at the present time. You are, of course, the cross-examiner, and, therefore, have the right to ask leading questions. If you think the conversation is pertinent, frame a question to show that fact.”

  Mason, turning to Serle, inquired, “Isn’t it a fact that you told Hazel Stickland to pack her things, and leave town, that you would meet her, give her some money, and explain?”

  “Same objection,” Kittering said.

  Judge Knox frowned at Perry Mason. “Is it your contention, counselor, that this has anything to do with the crime?”

  “Yes,” Perry Mason said. “This girl was a waitress at the Home Kitchen Cafe, and was quite friendly with this witness. On the night of the murder, Serle located Bill Hogarty, before Hogarty went to his apartment. He took Hogarty to the Home Kitchen Cafe for dinner, Hazel Stickland waited on them. The restaurant had two ‘specials’ for dinner that night. One was filet of sole and baked potatoes, the other roast lamb chops, peas, and baked potatoes. Serle and Hogarty had the meat dinner. . . . I have here a menu from that restaurant showing the regular weekly dishes.”

  “What time was this?” Judge Knox inquired, puzzled.

  “Approximately six o’clock or six-fifteen,” Mason said.

  “But this witness had dinner in the apartment with Hogarty the night of the murder,” Judge Knox pointed out. “There seems to be no question of that fact.”

  “Look at his face if you think he did,” Mason said.

  Kittering was on his feet. “I object to this colloquy between court and counsel, and I object to that statement on the part of counsel. I assign it as prejudicial misconduct.”

  Judge Knox glanced swiftly at Serle’s white, drawn face, then looked back to Perry Mason. “The objection is overruled,” he said. “Answer the question.”

  “Isn’t that a fact?” Mason asked. “Isn’t that what you told her?”

  “No,” Serle said, in a strained, harsh voice.

  “You tried to get Hogarty to come through with bail. He wouldn’t come through,” Mason said. “You knew that even if you were bailed out, you’d never be allowed to reopen your business. You were furious. You’d paid him money for that business. You demanded a return of the purchase price; and you also insisted that he must put up bail. He refused. You started brooding. You knew that he had the better part of twenty thousand dollars in his possession, probably on his person in a money belt. After you separated, you began to wonder whether it would be possible for you to murder him and get that money, but do it in such a way that you would have a perfect alibi. You knew something about how autopsy surgeons fix the time of death from the extent to which digestion has progressed. You knew that at six-fifteen, Hogarty had eaten, and exactly what he had eaten.

  “Almost two hours later, you went to his apartment, and killed him. You paused long enough to order a restaurant in the block to bring you up food that was exactly the same as that which Hogarty had consumed in the restaurant. When the waiter arrived with the food you were in Hogarty’s bedroom, apparently engaged in a spirited conversation with him . . . but Hogarty was already dead. You were pitching your voice to two different tones, and doing all the talking yourself. Isn’t that right?”

  “It’s a lie!” Serle shouted, but his voice was strained and hoarse.

  Mason went on calmly and remorselessly. “You waited until the plates had arrived, and then scraped all of the contents of the plates into the garbage chutes.”

  “I did not.”

  “Then you left, intent upon building up an alibi. You were careful to see that the door was locked. You didn’t know Marcia Whittaker had a key to that apartment. You left there after the murder and went to the pool room where you knew you could find several of your cronies, and took occasion to tell them that you were going to call Hogarty at around ten-thirty.

  “Then, to clinch matters, and make it appear that the decedent had been murdered right after that telephone conversation, you pretended to dial his number and talk with him on the telephone. You pretended to be engaged in a conversation about bail. And from the pool room, you went directly to the police station, figuring that that would be the safest way for you to clinch your alibi.”

  “I did nothing of the sort,” Serle said with dogged persistence.

  Kittering, who had recovered his composure, said, “Your Honor, I object to this. This is an attempt to browbeat the witness. It . . . ”

  “Objection overruled,” Judge Knox said. “Proceed, Mr. Mason.”

  “Better think again,” Mason said, “because I’m going to prove what I say, Serle.”

  Serle clamped his lips tightly together, and said nothing, but the skin across the top of his forehead began to glisten as it slimed with cold perspiration.

  “Now,” Mason went on calmly, “let’s go back to the night of the murder. You went to the Home Kitchen Cafe. Hazel Stickland waited on your table. She . . . ”

  “I didn’t eat there the night of the murder,” Serle blurted. “I ate with Hogarty in his apartment. I tell you, I never was at the Home Kitchen Cafe any time that night.”

  Mason said, calmly. “You were there, Serle. You and Bill Hogarty. You may have arranged to get rid of the waitress, but you perhaps failed to notice that two girls were seated at the table next to you, and that Hogarty was surreptitiously trying a pickup.”—Mason whirled abruptly to face the audience. “Miss Gertrude Lade,” he called out. “Will you stand up please?”

  Gertrude Lade stood up.

  Mason, pointing a rigid forefinger, said, “Look at that young woman, Serle. I am going to ask you if you have ever seen her before—if, as a matter of fact, she wasn’t seated at the table next to you when you were eating dinner in the Home Kitchen Cafe on Friday, the seventh of this month?”

  Gertrude Lade said, “That’s him all right.”

  The deputy district attorney jumped to his feet, spouting objections. Mason held up his hand, and said, “No, no, Miss Lade, not a word from you! Please! Your time will come later, you and the young woman who was with you. I just wanted to ask Mr. Serle to identify you, that’s all. Sit down please.”

  Gertrude Lade sat down.

  Serle’s face had turned a pasty green.