“Well, I was startled, but I didn’t lose my head at all.”

  “And you remember everything which occurred very vividly?”

  “Yes, sir, the entire occurrence is etched vividly in my mind.”

  Mason inquired casually, “Then after you had carried the defendant over to the curb, you first saw this bag lying on the road, is that right?”

  Diggers said, “No, sir, that isn’t when I first saw it. I first saw it when the defendant left the curb.”

  Mason was on his feet, pointing his finger. “I thought,” he thundered, “that the defendant raised up her gloved hands in this manner, as though to push back the automobile; that you saw one hand just as clearly as you saw the other. Now, kindly tell the jury how that could have been possible if the defendant had been holding a bag such as this bag which you have identified, at the time?”

  Diggers waited patiently until Mason had finished. Then he turned to the jury, just as Sampson had instructed him to do.

  “She wasn’t holding the bag when she had her hands up, Mr. Mason,” he said. “She dropped the bag just before she put her hands up, and the bag was lying on the road, right where she had dropped it.”

  “That bag was lying just about where the blue sedan had been parked, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And the blue sedan had been there until just a moment before the defendant stepped out from the curb, is that right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then, how do you know that the bag which you picked up hadn’t been dropped by the occupants of the blue sedan?”

  “Because,” Diggers explained patiently, “I saw the defendant carrying the bag in her hand. The minute I saw her, I saw the bag. If that bag had been dropped by the occupants of that blue sedan, Mr. Mason, the defendant must have dived under the blue sedan, picked up the bag, run back to the sidewalk, and then turned to run out in front of my headlights.”

  “Now, where was the gun when you first saw it—this thirty-eight caliber revolver you have just described to the jury?”

  “Practically protruding from the handbag.”

  “It wasn’t lying on the pavement near the handbag?”

  “No, sir.”

  Mason sat down. “That is all,” he said.

  “The witness is excused,” Sampson announced, and a note of triumph was apparent in his voice.

  Sampson next called one of the ambulance attendants to identify the bag and its contents. Mason offered no cross-examination.

  Sampson heaved a sigh of relief. Well, he’d got past that hurdle very nicely. Mason had been forced to surrender the point. He consulted his list of witnesses.

  “Call Carl Ernest Hogan,” he said, and, with Hogan on the stand, quickly ran through his occupation: ballistics expert for the police force. Once more, Mason stipulated to the qualifications of the witness, subject to the right of cross-examination. And Hogan, testifying with the close-clipped efficiency of an expert who is as much at home on the witness stand as in his own living room, identified the test bullet which had been discharged from the gun found in the bag, identified the bullet which had been handed him by Sergeant Holcomb as the fatal bullet, and then introduced a greatly enlarged microphotograph showing the marks of the rifling on the two bullets. The photograph was offered in evidence, and admitted without objection. The jury needed only to look at it to tell that the two bullets had unquestionably been fired from the same gun. An atempt had been made to trace the ownership of the gun from the numbers. The attempt had been unsuccessful because the records of a merchant, going back over a period of years, had been lost or destroyed. The numbers on the gun, however, had not been tampered with. “Cross-examine,” Sampson said triumphantly.

  Sampson sat back in his chair, breathing easily while the cross-examination droned on. No, the witness couldn’t, of his own knowledge, testify as to the fact that this gun had been found in the bag. It was a gun which had been given him by Sergeant Holcomb of the homicide squad. The witness had, however, checked the numbers, and, as Mr. Mason could observe, the numbers tallied with those which had been written down by Harry Diggers at the time of the accident.

  No, the witness couldn’t, of his own knowledge, testify that this bullet was the fatal bullet. That bullet, as he understood it, had been taken by the autopsy surgeon from the body of Austin Cullens, given to Sergeant Holcomb, and by Sergeant Holcomb handed to the witness.

  Larry Sampson, thinking that perhaps some of the jurors might be misled, took occasion to interpolate a comment to the court. “We’re not asking to introduce this fatal bullet in evidence at the present time, Your Honor. It’s only been marked for identification. The last link in the chain will be forged by the testimony of Sergeant Holcomb, and then we’ll have to have the bullet introduced.” Judge Barnes nodded.

  Mason said casually, “By the way, Mr. Hogan, you were testing two guns at the same time, were you not?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Both thirty-eight caliber revolvers?”

  “Yes, sir, but they were of different makes.”

  “I understand that,” Mason said. “I’m simply trying to get the circumstances under which the test was conducted before the jurors. I believe one of the guns was one which had been used in the murder of George Trent, was it not?”

  The witness smiled. “I’m sure I can’t tell you about that, Mr. Mason,” he said. “I know what Sergeant Holcomb told me when he handed me the guns. But it is only my province to test guns by firing projectiles from them and comparing them with fatal bullets.”

  Judge Barnes smiled. Larry Sampson grinned. If Mason thought he could get anywhere cross-examining an expert like Hogan, he had another guess coming. Hogan was deadly as a rattlesnake on cross-examination. Try to crowd him, and he’d strike back in a hurry.

  “By the way,” Mason said, “do you remember whether you first compared a bullet from the gun which Sergeant Holcomb told you had been used in the Trent case, or the one which Sergeant Holcomb told you had been found in the bag of the defendant in this case?”

  Hogan frowned meditatively and said, “As nearly as I remember, Mr. Mason, I first discharged a test bullet from this gun. Then I discharged a test bullet from the gun which Sergeant Holcomb told me had been used in the Trent case.”

  “And in checking the bullets, what order did you follow?” Mason asked.

  “Sergeant Holcomb handed me a bullet which I first compared with a bullet fired from this gun,” Hogan said. “I believe I mentioned to Sergeant Holcomb that it wasn’t fired from this gun …”

  “Oh, it wasn’t,” Mason said.

  Hogan said acidly, “If you’ll permit me to finish my statement, Mr. Mason.”

  “I wasn’t aware that I’d interrupted you,” Mason said. “I thought you had finished.”

  “Well, I hadn’t finished,” Hogan said. “I was about to remark that I advised Sergeant Holcomb that the bullet hadn’t been fired from this gun, and Sergeant Holcomb told me of course it hadn’t; that the bullet he had handed me was the one which had been taken from the body of George Trent. Thereupon, I compared that bullet with the test bullet fired from the revolver which Sergeant Holcomb had told me figured in the Trent case, and found that the bullets were identical. I then compared the bullet which he gave me and which he told me had been taken from the body of Austin Cullens, and found that it was identical with the test bullet fired from this gun.”

  Mason said wearily, “That’s all.”

  “Call William Golding,” Sampson said.

  Golding came forward to the witness stand and was sworn. His face was the face of a professional gambler, cold, expressionless, and observing, completely divorced from that which was taking place in his mind.

  Golding stated his name and address. “Your occupation?” Sampson asked.

  “I run a restaurant known as The Golden Platter.”

  “Are you acquainted with the defendant, Sarah Breel?”

  “Yes.”

  “Were you acquainted with Austin Cullens, the decedent?”

  “Yes.”

  “When did you last see Austin Cullens?”

  “On the evening of the day he was murdered.”

  “Where did you see him?”

  “At The Golden Platter—my place of business—at around seven o’clock in the evening.”

  “And did you have occasion, later on, on that same day, to go to the residence of Austin Cullens?”

  “I did. About eight o’clock.”

  “And who was with you, if anyone?”

  “Miss Eva Tannis.”

  “And what did you do?”

  “We drove to the ninety-one hundred block on St. Rupert Boulevard. Miss Tannis was driving the automobile. She parked at the curb in front of Mr. Cullens’ house.”

  “You could see the house at that time?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Were there any lights in the house?”

  “Not at that time, no.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “I was just about to get out of the car, when I saw some lights on the windows. My wife—Miss Tannis thought it was a flashlight …”

  “Never mind what anyone else thought,” Sampson said hastily. “Just what did you see yourself, Mr. Golding?”

  “I saw a flicker of light on the window. I saw that on two or three occasions; then I heard two shots; then I saw a woman run out of the front door of the house, and run toward my automobile.”

  “Did you recognize that woman?”

  “I did.”

  “Who was she?”

  Amidst a silence in which a pin could have been heard to drop, Golding raised a dramatic forefinger and pointed it at Sarah Breel. “She was the defendant in this case,” he said.

  “The woman sitting there?” Sampson asked.

  “Yes.”

  “What did she do?”

  “She ran toward my automobile. Miss Tannis said that …”

  “Never mind what anyone else said,” Sampson interrupted. “What did you do, if anything?”

  “I sat in the car while Miss Tannis drove it away.”

  “Where was the defendant when you last saw her?”

  “About six feet from me curb, running toward the street.”

  “Running rapidly?”

  “Yes.”

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

  “Why did you and Miss Tannis drive away to hurriedly?” Mason asked.

  “Because we didn’t want to see Mrs. Breel.”

  “And you didn’t want Mrs. Breel to see you?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Simply because I wanted to see Mr. Cullens without having anyone else present.”

  “You operate a gambling establishment in connection with your restaurant?” Mason asked.

  Sampson was on his feet. “Your Honor,” he said, “that is objected to as incompetent, irrelevant, and immaterial. It is improper cross-examination; it is an attempt to discredit the witness in the eyes of the jury by submitting him to …”

  “The objection is sustained,” Judge Barnes interrupted to rule.

  Mason smiled, and said, “I’ll reframe the question, Your Honor. Mr. Golding, isn’t it a fact that earlier in the evening Mr. Cullens had advised you that George Trent had pledged certain diamonds with you to cover a financial loss which he had incurred at the gambling tables in your establishment at The Golden Platter?”

  “Your Honor,” Sampson said, “I object to this question, and I assign the asking of it as misconduct. I suggest that counsel be admonished by the Court. The Court has already ruled that …”

  “The Court has ruled nothing of the sort,” Judge Barnes said. “The first question might have been considered as an attempt to embarrass the witness by casting reflections upon his character in connection with an extraneous matter. As the present question is worded, it relates entirely to a conversation which took place between Mr. Cullens and this witness on the night of the murder. The witness has already testified that he saw Cullens at that time, and counsel has a right on cross-examination to go into what was said, insofar as it may have any bearing on the present case. The objection is overruled, the witness will answer the question.”

  Sampson slowly sat down. Golding, with his face calmly expressionless, said, “That is substantially correct, sir.”

  “And George Trent had lost money over your gambling tables at The Golden Platter?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And had pledged certain diamonds as collateral, in order to secure his gambling debt with you?”

  “No, sir.”

  “He hadn’t?”

  “No, sir, he hadn’t.”

  “Do I understand that you had not received any diamonds whatever from Mr. Trent, pledged as collateral security for gambling losses?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Or for any other losses?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Or to cover any loans?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Or any indebtedness of any sort?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Are you certain that you didn’t enter the residence of Austin Cullens at St. Rupert Boulevard?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You had only parked the car at the curb, and hadn’t left the car?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Are you certain that the bag, which was found lying on the street about where your car was parked, hadn’t been tossed from your car?”

  “It had not.”

  “And the gun, which the witness, Diggers, has testified about, wasn’t that in your possession at some time during the evening in question?”

  “It was not.”

  “And you didn’t drop it or throw it from your sedan?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Nor did Miss Tannis?”

  “No, sir.”

  “But,” Mason said, eyeing him steadily, “you were, by your own admission, on St. Rupert Boulevard, within a few feet of the house in which Austin Cullens resided, on the night of the murder. You were there at a time when you heard two shots fired, which sounds apparently came from the house?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And you are unable to give any explanation as to what you were doing there, other than the statement which you have just made to this jury?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And your car was a blue sedan with a crumpled rear fender?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And you knew that the witness, Diggers, had told the police about seeing such a car parked there at the curb the night of the murder?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And you immediately got rid of that car?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I didn’t want to be called as a witness.”

  “Why not?”

  “I wanted to keep out of the whole business. I’m a gambler. I knew that would be brought out somehow. You’ve done it now. That’s going to ruin my business. I’ll be closed up.”

  “Your desire to keep out of it wasn’t because you were mixed up in the murder itself?”

  “No, sir.”

  Mason said, “That’s all.”

  “Call Sergeant Holcomb,” Sampson said.

  Sergeant Holcomb came striding to the witness stand. His manner clearly indicated that he had a sneering contempt for the defendant and her counsel. He was a man who knew what he was going to testify to, and didn’t intend to let any attorney confuse him. He was sworn and gave his name, address and occupation to the court reporter. He sat down in the witness chair and crossed his legs, after the manner of one who is thoroughly at his ease, amid familiar surroundings. He glanced at Larry Sampson, and his manner said very plainly, “All right, young man, go ahead.”

  Sampson started building up his case with Sergeant Holcomb. The Sergeant testified to finding the body of Austin Cullens, testified to the presence of Perry Mason and Paul Drake, a private detective, at the scene of the crime, to the copper coin in the light socket. One by one, he identified photographs showing the room, the body, the red smears leading from the body to the corridor. Later on, Sampson would use those photographs with telling effect. He’d compare the size and shape of the stains in the corridor with the size and shape of the stains on the sole of Mrs. Breel’s left shoe. Right now, he wanted to get the evidence in, and minimize the effect of it as much as possible so that he could crash it home to the jury with dramatic force. And so, the long line of photographs were identified and received in evidence. Then he brought up the fatal bullet.

  Sergeant Holcomb identified it. He had been standing by the side of the autopsy surgeon when the bullet had been taken from the body of Austin Cullens. He had received this bullet from the doctor. He had handed this bullet to the witness, Hogan, for the purpose of making tests. He had been present at those tests. The fatal bullet had been fired from the gun which had been taken from Mrs. Breel’s handbag.

  “Cross-examine,” Sampson said to Perry Mason.

  “How long have you been attached to the homicide squad, Sergeant Holcomb?” Mason asked.

  “Ten years,” Holcomb said.

  “You’ve had considerable experience in working up murder cases in that time?”

  “Naturally.”

  “You know what to do when you enter a room where a homicide has been committed?”

  “I think I do.”

  “Do you go through the pockets of the corpse, Sergeant?”

  “Not until the coroner gets there. We leave the body just the way it is until the coroner arrives.”

  “And you did that with the body of Austin Cullens?”

  “Yes.”

  “And then you searched the pockets?”

  “We did.”

  “You found a chamois-skin belt on the corpse?”

  “We did.”

  “Were there some jewels in that belt?”

  “There were a few jewels left in the belt,” Sergeant Holcomb said. “Mrs. Breel had taken the gems from front pockets of the chamois-skin belt and put them in her bag.”

  “You don’t know, of your own knowledge, that Mrs. Breel did that, do you, Sergeant?”

  “Well, I have a pretty good idea. … As you said, I’ve been on Homicide for ten years, and I’m not so dumb.”