“And if you can’t?” Drake asked.

  Mason said grimly, “If we can’t, we’ll do the best we can for our client.”

  “You mean you’ll let her plead guilty to manslaughter?”

  Mason nodded.

  Drake said, “ I hadn’t realized before where that would leave you, Perry. Please don’t do it. Think of Della, if you won’t think of yourself . . .”

  Mason said, “I’m thinking of Della. I’m thinking of her to beat hell, Paul, but Della and I are playing this thing together. We’ve played things together for a good many years. We’ve taken the sweet, and we’ll take the bitter. She wouldn’t want me to throw over a client, and by God I’m not going to.”

  Chapter 16

  There were only a few scattered spectators in the courtroom as Judge Summerville ascended the bench, seated himself, and the bailiff called the court to order.

  Sally Madison, somewhat subdued, but with her face still giving no clue to her thoughts, sat directly behind Perry Mason, apparently completely detached from the tense, dramatic conflict of the trial itself. Unlike most clients, she didn’t bother to whisper comments to her lawyer, and might as well have been a piece of beautiful furniture so far as taking any active part in her defense was concerned.

  Judge Summerville said, “Time and place heretofore fixed for the preliminary hearing of The People versus Sally Madison. Are you ready, gentlemen?”

  “Ready for the prosecution,” Ray Medford said.

  “Ready for the defense,” Mason announced calmly.

  The district attorney’s office was quite apparently trying to sneak up on Mason’s blind side.

  So far, Tragg had said nothing about those incriminating fingerprints of Della Street’s on the murder weapon. Ray Medford, one of the shrewdest men on the prosecutor’s staff of trial deputies, was taking no chances with Perry Mason. He knew too much about the lawyer’s ingenuity to overlook a single bet. But, on the other hand, he was very careful to treat the case merely as a routine procedure, one where the judge would bind the defendant over to answer, and the main contest would be made before a jury in the Superior Court.

  “Mrs. Jane Faulkner will be my first witness,” Medford said.

  Mrs. Faulkner, clothed in black, took the witness stand, related in a low voice how she had returned from “visiting friends” and had found Perry Mason and Sally Madison, the defendant, waiting in front of the house. She had admitted them to the house, explained to them that her husband wasn’t home, then gone to the bathroom and found her husband’s body on the floor.

  “Your husband was dead?” Medford asked.

  “Yes.”

  “You are sure that the body was that of Harrington Faulkner, your husband?”

  “Quite certain.”

  “I think that’s all,” Medford said, and then added with a disarming aside to Perry Mason, “Just to prove the corpus delicti, Counselor.”

  Mason bowed. “You had been with friends, Mrs. Faulkner?”

  She met his eyes calmly, steadily. “Yes, I had been with my friend, Adele Fairbanks during the entire evening.”

  “At her apartment?”

  “No. We had been to a movie.”

  “Adele Fairbanks was the friend to whom you telephoned after you had discovered your husband had been murdered?”

  “Yes. I felt that I couldn’t stay in the house alone. I wanted her to be with me.”

  “Thank you,” Mason said. “That is all.”

  John Nelson was next called to the stand. He gave his occupation as a banker, stated that he had known Harrington Faulkner in his lifetime; that on the afternoon of the day on which Faulkner was murdered he had been at the bank when Mr. Faulkner had telephoned, stating that he desired rather a large sum of money in cash; that shortly after the telephone call had been received, Faulkner had shown up, had been admitted to the bank through the side door, and had asked for twenty-five thousand dollars in cash, which he had withdrawn from his checking account. It was, he explained, his individual account, not the account of Faulkner and Carson, Incorporated. The withdrawal had left Mr. Faulkner with less than five thousand dollars to his credit in his personal account.

  Nelson had decided it would be a good plan to take the numbers of the bills, inasmuch as Faulkner had asked for twenty thousand dollars in one-thousand-dollar bills, for two thousand dollars in one-hundred-dollar bills, and for three thousand dollars in fifty-dollar bills. Nelson testified that he had called one of the assistant tellers, and, together, they had managed to list all of the numbers on the bills while they kept Mr. Faulkner waiting. Then the money had been turned over to Mr. Faulkner and he had placed it in a satchel.

  Quite calmly and casually, Medford called for the list of numbers on the bills and that list was received in evidence. Then Medford produced a leather satchel and asked Nelson if he had ever seen it before.

  “I have,” Nelson said.

  “When?”

  “At the time and place I have referred to. That was the satchel which Mr. Faulkner carried with him to the bank.”

  “The satchel in which the twenty-five thousand dollars in cash was placed?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Are you certain that is the identical satchel?”

  “Quite certain.”

  “You may cross-examine,” Medford said to Mason.

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

  “I noticed it particularly when I put the money in it.”

  “You put the money in it?”

  “Yes. Mr. Faulkner raised it to the little shelf in front of the cashier’s window. I unlocked the wicket, swung it back on its hinges and personally placed the twenty-five thousand dollars in the satchel. And at that time, I noticed a peculiar tear in the leather pocket on the inside lining of the satchel. If you’ll notice, Mr. Mason, you’ll see for yourself that that tear is still there. It’s a rather peculiar, jagged, irregular tear.”

  “And you identify the satchel from that?” Mason asked.

  “I do.”

  “That’s all,” Mason said.

  Sergeant Dorset was the next man on the witness stand. He testified to the conditions he had found at Faulkner’s house when he arrived, the position of the body, the discovery of the satchel under the bed in the bedroom, the place where Faulkner’s coat, shirt and tie had been found tossed carelessly on a chair, the safety razor on the shelf, still uncleaned, with the lather and hairs still adhering to the blade. The lather was partially dry, which, in his opinion, indicated that it had been “some three or four hours” since the razor had been used. The face of the corpse was smooth-shaven.

  Medford desired to know whether Sergeant Dorset had seen the defendant there.

  “I did, yes, sir.”

  “Did you talk with her?”

  “I did.”

  “Did she accompany you upon any trip?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Where did she go?”

  “To the residence of one James L. Staunton.”

  “That was at your request?”

  “It was.”

  “Did she make any objection?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Was there a fingerprint expert present in the Faulkner house?”

  “There was.”

  “What was his name?”

  “Detective Louis C. Corning.”

  “Did he examine certain articles for fingerprints under your direction and supervision and in accordance with your instructions?”

  “He did.”

  “You may take the witness,” Medford said to Perry Mason.

  “Just how did Mr. Corning examine the fingerprints?”

  “Why, through a magnifying glass, I presume.”

  “No. That isn’t what I meant. What method did he use in perpetuating the evidence? Were the fingerprints developed and then photographed?”

  “No. We used the lifting method.”

  “Just what do you mean by that?”

  “We dusted certain objects to develop latent fingerprints, and then placed adhesive over the fingerprints, lifting the entire fingerprints from the object, then covering the adhesive with a transparent substance so that the fingerprints could be perpetuated and examined in detail.”

  “Who has the custody of those fingerprints?”

  “Mr. Corning.”

  “And he has had such custody ever since the night of the murder?”

  “To the best of my belief, he has. However, I understand he’s going to be a witness, and you can ask him about that.”

  “The method of perpetuating the fingerprints was suggested by you?”

  “It was.”

  “Don’t you consider that rather a poor method to use?”

  “What other method would you have preferred, Mr. Mason?”

  “I wouldn’t have preferred any method,” Mason said. “But I have always understood that it was more efficient and better practice to develop the latents and then photograph them in their position on the object, and, if the fingerprints seemed to be important, to bring the object into court.”

  “I’m sorry that we can’t accommodate you,” Sergeant Dorset said sarcastically, “but it happens that in this particular case the fingerprints were all over the bathroom of a dwelling house which was in use. We were hardly in a position to dispossess the tenants, and keep all fingerprints intact. We used the lifting method, which I believe is infinitely preferable to the other where the circumstances justify it.”

  “What circumstances justify it?” Mason asked.

  “Circumstances such as these, where you are dealing with objects that can’t readily be brought into court.”

  “Now what means did you use to identify the places from which the fingerprints had been taken?”

  “I didn’t use any, personally. That is entirely within the province of Mr. Corning, and you will have to ask him those questions. I believe, however, he prepared envelopes on which the exact location from which each print had been lifted were printed and kept the prints straight by that method.”

  “I see. Now, did you have occasion that night to look into the other side of the duplex house—the side which was, I believe, utilized as an office for the real-estate corporation of Faulkner and Carson?”

  “Not that night, no.”

  “You did the next morning?”

  “I did.”

  “What did you find?”

  “An oblong glass tank, which had been apparently used as an aquarium or fish tank, had been drained of water, apparently by means of a section of long, flexible rubber tubing of an inside diameter of approximately one-half inch. The glass tank had then been turned over on its side and the mud and gravel in the bottom of the tank had been dumped out on the floor of the office.”

  “Did you make any attempt to get fingerprints from that tank?”

  “No, sir. I didn’t take any fingerprints from the glass tank.”

  “Did you try to take any?”

  “I didn’t personally, no sir.”

  “Did you suggest that anyone else do so?”

  “No, sir.”

  “As far as you know, none of the police made any attempt to develop fingerprints from that tank?”

  “No, sir.”

  “May I ask why?”

  “For the simple reason that I didn’t consider the overturned tank had any connection whatever with the murder of Harrington Faulkner.”

  “It may have?”

  “I don’t see how it could have.”

  “It is quite conceivable that the same person who murdered Harrington Faulkner might have drained that tank and overturned it?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “In other words, because you, yourself, personally, didn’t see how there could have been any connection between the two crimes, you let this evidence be destroyed?”

  “I’ll put it this way, Mr. Mason. In my capacity as an officer on the police force, it is necessary for me to make certain decisions. I take the responsibility for those decisions. Obviously, we can’t go around fingerprinting everything. We have to stop somewhere.”

  “And this was your stopping place?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You usually take fingerprints in case of a burglary, don’t you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Yet you didn’t in connection with this one?”

  “It wasn’t a burglary.”

  Mason raised his eyebrows.

  “Nothing was taken.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Nothing was missing.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I know,” Dorset said angrily, “because no one made any complaint that anything was missing.”

  “The tank had been installed there by Harrington Faulkner?”

  “So I understand.”

  “Therefore,” Mason said, “the only person who could have made any complaint was dead.”

  “I don’t consider anything was taken.”

  “You made an examination of the contents of the tank before it was upset?”

  “No.”

  “Then, when you say you don’t consider anything was taken, you’re using a telepathic, intuitive . . .”

  “I’m using my judgment,” Dorset all but shouted.

  Judge Summerville said placidly, “Is this overturned fish tank important, gentlemen? In other words, does the prosecution or the defense intend to connect it up?”

  “The prosecution doesn’t,” Medford said promptly.

  “The defense hopes to,” Mason said.

  “Well,” Judge Summerville ruled, “I’ll permit a very wide latitude so far as questions are concerned.”

  “We are not making any objection,” Medford hastened to assure the judge. “We want to give the defendant every opportunity to establish any facts which may tend to clarify the case.”

  “When you entered the bathroom of Faulkner’s house,” Mason asked, “you found some goldfish in the bathtub, Sergeant?”

  “I did, yes.”

  “Two goldfish?”

  “Two goldfish.”

  “What was done with them?”

  “We took them out of the tub.”

  “Then what was done with them?”

  “There seemed to be no place where we could keep them, so we simply swept them out with the other goldfish.”

  “By the other goldfish, you mean the ones on the floor?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You didn’t make any attempt to identify the two goldfish that were in the bathtub?”

  “I didn’t ask them their names,” Sergeant Dorset said sarcastically.

  “That will do,” Judge Summerville rebuked the witness sharply. “The witness will answer counsel’s questions.”

  “No, sir. I simply made note of the fact that two live goldfish were in the bathtub and let it go at that.”

  “There were goldfish on the floor?”

  “Yes.”

  “How many?”

  “I’m certain I couldn’t say. I think the photograph will show the number.”

  “As many as a dozen?”

  “I would say somewhere around that number.”

  “There was a shaving brush and a razor on the glass shelf above the wash stand?”

  “Yes. I have already testified to that.”

  “What else was there?”

  “There were, I believe, two sixteen-ounce bottles of peroxide of hydrogen. One of them was almost empty.”

  “Anything else?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Now, what did you notice on the floor?”

  “There were pieces of broken glass.”

  “Did you make an examination of those pieces of broken glass to determine if they had any pattern or if they had been originally a part of some glass object?”

  “I didn’t personally. I believe at a later date Lieutenant Tragg caused all of those pieces to be assembled and had them fitted together so that they formed a rather large curved goldfish bowl.”

  “You say that there was a checkbook on the floor?”

  “There was. ”

  “Near the body of the murdered man?”

  “Quite near.”

  “Can you describe its appearance?”

  Medford said, “Your Honor, I intended to introduce this checkbook in evidence by another witness, but if counsel wants to examine this witness about it, I’ll introduce it right now.”

  Medford produced the checkbook, Sergeant Dorset identified it, and it was received in evidence.

  “Calling your attention,” Medford said to Judge Summerville, “to the fact that the last check stub in the book—that is the last one from which the corresponding check has been torn away along the perforated line, is a check stub bearing the same date as the day of the murder, with an amount of one thousand dollars written in the upper right-hand corner, and in the body of the stub a portion of a name has been written. The first name is completely written and the last name has been unfinished. Only the first three letters of that name appear. They are ‘-G-r-i.’ ”

  Judge Summerville examined the check stub with keen interest.

  “Very well, this will be received in evidence.”

  “Were any of the goldfish on the floor alive when you entered the room?” Mason asked Sergeant Dorset.

  “No.”

  Mason said, “For your information, Sergeant, I will state that I noticed motion on the part of one of the goldfish when I entered the room—and I was, I believe, in the room some ten or fifteen minutes before the police arrived. I placed that goldfish in the bathtub and apparently it resumed life.”

  “That, of course, was something you had no right to do,” Sergeant Dorset said.

  “You made no test to ascertain whether there was some life on the part of any of the other goldfish?”

  “I didn’t apply a stethoscope to them,” Dorset said sarcastically.

  “Now then, you have stated that you asked the defendant to accompany you to the home of James L. Staunton?”

  “I did, yes, sir.”

  “You had some conversation with Mr. Staunton there?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Mr. Staunton gave you a statement purporting to bear the signature of Harrington Faulkner, the deceased?”

  “He did.”

  Medford said, “Your Honor, I don’t want to seem technical, but after all, this is a preliminary examination. The purpose of it is to determine whether there is reasonable ground to believe the defendant murdered Harrington Faulkner. If there is, the Court should bind her over to answer. If there isn’t, the Court should dismiss her. I think that we have plenty of evidence to establish our case without carrying the inquiry far afield. These matters are entirely extraneous. They have nothing whatever to do with the murder.”