“Tell me what?” Mason asked.

  “Haven’t you guessed?”

  Mason shook his head. “Don’t ever leave me like that again, Della,” he said, his voice choking. “I need you.”

  “But, Chief, I had to. I couldn’t … Oh, I simply can’t be the one to put you on the spot!”

  Mason stared at her, comprehension showing in his eyes. “Della,” he said, “you couldn’t … you wouldn’t …”

  She nodded. “I couldn’t go against you, Chief, and after all, it didn’t make any difference as far as the case was concerned. I knew that the law couldn’t make me testify, but I was afraid the newspapers could play up my refusal …”

  “The law can make you testify,” Mason said.

  “Why, I thought a lawyer’s secretary was in the same position as a lawyer in being a witness against a client.”

  “She is,” Mason told her, “but that applies only to confidential communications. It doesn’t keep a lawyer’s secretary from testifying things she’s seen. And you know how I feel about suppressing evidence, Della. Any time I have to win my cases that way, I’ll quit practicing law. Now tell me just what it was that you saw.”

  She clung to him. “Chief, I’m so darned sorry! I wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t thought they couldn’t make me testify. But you know how it would look in the newspapers. … I wasn’t hiding from the law, Chief, I was hiding from the newspaper men.”

  Drake said, “The more I hear, the less I know. I wish you two would come down to earth and tell me what the devil you’re talking about.”

  Mason said, “Don’t you see, Paul, she’s the …”

  There was a commotion on the outside of the cabin. One of Drake’s operatives said, “Beat it, you,” and a man’s voice answered, “Take a look at this, smart guy.” Then two men pushed into the room.

  Mason whirled to face them. “What the devil,” he asked, “are you two trying to do?”

  “Take it easy, Mason,” one of the men told him, flashing a badge. “We’re taking this young woman into custody as a material witness in the case of The People of the State of California versus Anna Moar.”

  Consternation showed on Mason’s face. One of the men took Della Street’s arm and said, “Come on, sister, you’re going places.” The other, huskier of the two, stood with his arms swinging free. “Don’t start anything, boys,” he warned.

  Mason said, “You can’t get away with that stuff.”

  “The hell we can’t,” the other man said. “You just think we can’t. This is a material witness. She ducked out when we were trying to serve a subpoena on her and she’s been a fugitive ever since, living under an assumed name. We’re taking her into custody right now, as a material witness on an indorsed subpoena and as an accessory after the fact. If you have any kick to make, go get a writ, and if you want to talk with her, you’ll talk with her on the witness stand in San Francisco.”

  Mason stepped forward, ominous purpose in his face. Della Street said, “Please don’t, Chief! It’s bad enough, the way it is …”

  The men hurried her through the door. Drake, looking at Mason, said, “What do you say, Perry? Do we take her away from them?”

  Mason slowly shook his head. “This is the pay-off, Paul. Let her go.”

  The two officers hustled Della Street to an automobile which roared into speed. Mason sat dejectedly down in the chair which Della Street had just occupied. He stared about him, at the furnishings of the shabby cottage, the new suitcase, the underwear drying on a clothes line which had been stretched from the shower bath to one end of the bed.

  “That wasn’t a prowl car,” Drake said bitterly. “They were tagging us. And like a fool, I played it wide open.”

  Mason said gloomily, “I could kick myself all over the lot for not understanding. Why the devil didn’t I have confidence in her?”

  “What do you suppose she knows, Perry?” Drake asked.

  Mason put his chin on his hands, propped his elbows on his knees, stared at the floor and said, “Hell, she’s the one who telephoned the bridge. I should have known it all along.”

  “What can we do?” Drake asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Well, she won’t hurt your case much,” Drake said. “They can’t drag anything out of her. She …”

  “She’s going to tell the truth,” Mason said. He got to his feet and stared at Drake. “She’s going to tell the truth,” he repeated, “because I’m going to make her tell the truth. If my client’s guilty of murder, she’s guilty of murder. No client is going to make Della Street get on the witness stand and take a chance on a perjury rap in order to give me a break. Do you get that?”

  Drake said soothingly, “Okay, Perry. I’m not arguing with you. I was just asking, that’s all.”

  Mason said, “All right, then, you know the answer.”

  He got to his feet, crossed the cabin, hoisted the suitcase on the bed and started packing it. “Go down to the office, Paul,” he ordered in a husky voice. “Find out what her bill is, and pay it. We’re checking out of here.”

  “Will you have a chance to talk with her before she goes on the witness stand?” Drake asked.

  Mason shook his head. “I don’t want to, Paul.”

  “We could have taken her away from them,” one of the men said.

  “And what a sweet mess that would have been,” Mason said. “Played up right in the newspapers, it would have made her testimony sound ten times as bad as it’s really going to be. My only remaining chance is to show she was hiding from me as well as from the D.A.”

  “How bad do you think it’ll be, Perry?” Drake asked.

  “It’ll knock my technical defense into a cocked hat,” Mason said grimly. “What the hell do you think she ducked out for? She actually saw Carl Newberry go overboard. God knows what else she saw. Get busy and pay that bill. I want to get out of here.”

  Chapter 16

  A crowd jammed the courtroom when Judge Romley reconvened court at three o’clock. Word had been passed through the courthouse of what was to happen. Telephone wires had buzzed with the news, and, by two-thirty, every seat was taken. By three o’clock, people, standing elbow to elbow, were flattened against the walls. The crowd overflowed into the corridor.

  Judge Romley, apparently unaware of the cause for the sudden interest, glanced curiously at the crowd, then said to Scudder, “Have you any further evidence to prove the corpus delicti?”

  Scudder arose, his manner triumphant. “I have,” he said, “evidence which will not only prove the corpus delicti, if the Court please, but which I expect will connect the defendant directly with the crime. Before placing that witness on the stand, however, I would ask permission to call one witness slightly out of order. It is for the purpose of laying a foundation.”

  “Foundation for what?” Judge Romley asked.

  Scudder said dramatically, “The witness whom I expect to place on the stand, your Honor, is Miss Della Street, the secretary to Perry Mason. She has refused to make any statement whatever as to what her testimony will be. It is, therefore, necessary for me to treat her as a hostile witness, and in order to do this, I wish to lay a foundation for the questions which it will be necessary to ask …”

  “Put on your witness,” Judge Romley interrupted.

  “Miss Adele Adams,” Scudder said.

  A trim-figured young woman walked forward, held up a gloved hand, was sworn, and took the witness stand.

  “Your name is Adele Adams? You are a telephone operator, and on the evening of the sixth instant you were employed as telephone operator and were, at that time, in the discharge of your duties, sailing on the ship of which Captain Joe Hanson is the captain, and on which there were traveling as passengers one Carl Newberry and wife?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I will call your attention to the defendant and ask you if you have ever seen her before.”

  “Yes, sir, she was on the ship as Mrs. Newberry.”

  “Now, directing your attention to the evening of the sixth, at approximately the hour of nine o’clock in the evening, did anything unusal happen at that time?”

  “Yes, sir, a woman called in on the line from the social hall and said …”

  “Just a moment,” Mason interrupted, “we object to anything which was said over the telephone as hearsay.”

  “I don’t wish to ask for any conversation which took place over the telephone outside of the presence of this defendant,” the deputy district attorney said, “which will be binding upon the defendant. I am only asking now, if the Court please, to show the identity of the person placing the telephone call.”

  “The Court will not permit the witness to testify as to what was said,” Judge Romley ruled.

  “Would you recognize the voice of that person who placed the telephone call which you have characterized as unusual if you heard it again?”

  “I would.”

  “Have you heard that voice again?”

  “I have.”

  “Whose voice is it?”

  “Objected to,” Mason said. “Incompetent, irrelevant, immaterial. Apparently this entire procedure is either for the purpose of intimidating the witness the Prosecutor is about to call, or else for the purpose of impeaching his own witness.”

  “I think it is of the res gestae,” the Porsecutor argued.

  “The objection will be sustained,” Judge Romley ruled. “As the Court sees it, this testimony should be received only by way of impeachment.”

  “Very well,” Scudder said with bad grace, “you may leave the stand, Miss Adams.”

  Mason’s voice was clear and steady. “If Della Street put in that telephone call,” he said, “you have only to ask her and she’ll tell you the truth.”

  “I don’t need your advice,” Scudder snapped.

  Judge Romley said in a tired voice, “That will do, gentlemen. If there is to be any more repartee between Counsel, the Court will restrict all remarks of Counsel to examination of witnesses and arguments made to the Court.”

  “Miss Della Street,” Scudder said savagely.

  A door opened, and a deputy escorted Della Street into the courtroom. Her face was expressionless. Her eyes avoided those of Perry Mason as she was being sworn.

  “Your name is Della Street, and you are employed by Perry Mason, as his private and confidential secretary, and have been in his employ for several years last past?” Scudder asked.

  Della Street said, “Yes.”

  “You accompanied Perry Mason on a trip which he made to the Orient, acting as his secretary, taking down data on the police systems of China and Japan?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you were returning with Perry Mason on the ship which Mr. and Mrs. Moar took out of Honolulu?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you were acquainted with Mr. Moar and Mrs. Moar, knowing them under the name of Newberry?”

  “Yes.”

  “I show you a photograph which has been marked ‘People’s Exhibit A,’ and ask you if you can identify that photograph?”

  “Yes.”

  “Whose photograph is it?”

  “That of Mr. Newberry.”

  “The same one who was on the ship with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now then, do you remember the night of Sunday, the sixth of this month?”

  “I do.”

  “Where were you at approximately the hour of nine o’clock that evening?”

  “I was on the promenade deck.”

  “What were you doing there?”

  “I was looking for Mr. Mason.”

  “Mr. Mason had asked you to join him on deck?”

  “Yes. Mr. Mason had an appointment with Mrs. Moar for nine-thirty. He told me to meet him at nine o’clock and we would have a liqueur.”

  “And previous to that, you had been at the table with Mr. and Mrs. Moar—or Mr. and Mrs. Newberry, as they were known aboard the ship—Belle Newberry, and a Roy A. Hungerford?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now, can you fix the exact time when you appeared on deck?”

  “Yes. It was approximately nine o’clock.”

  “How do you know?”

  “The ship’s bell struck twice within a second or two after I stepped out on deck.”

  “Now, which deck was this?”

  “The deck just below the boat deck.”

  “Did you see anyone on that deck?”

  Della Street hesitated for a moment, then said, “Looking aft, where the stairs went up to the boat deck, I could see the skirt of a woman’s dress, a woman’s feet and ankles. This woman was ascending the stairs.”

  “Did you hear anything?”

  “I heard peculiar thumping sounds from the deck above me.”

  “Did you hear anything else?”

  “I heard a loud noise.”

  “You heard a shot, didn’t you?”

  “I presume it was a shot, yes.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “I started to walk back toward the stairs, up which I had seen the woman climbing. The ship was rolling heavily. Shortly before I reached the stairs, it took a very heavy roll to port, and I slipped on the wet deck.”

  “What did you do?” Scudder asked.

  “I tried to regain my balance, and ran toward a stanchion on the port rail. I caught hold of it and hung on.”

  “What did you see?” Scudder asked.

  “I saw something above me,” she said, “something hanging over the rail of the boat deck.”

  “Did you see what this was?”

  “At first I saw it as a vague object. I didn’t have my eyes focused on it. I had an impression of—”

  “Never mind your first impression,” Scudder said. “You did focus your eyes on the object, didn’t you, Miss Street?”

  “As nearly as I could, under the circumstances. As I looked up, I was looking directly into the rain. The drops flooded my eyes.”

  “But you did see something. What was it?”

  “It was a man,” Della Street said, avoiding Mason’s eyes.

  “And was this man hanging to the rail?”

  “I couldn’t see.”

  “He was partially over the rail?”

  “Yes.”

  “And did you see anyone else near him?”

  “Yes. A woman was near him.”

  “That woman was the defendant in this action, wasn’t she?” Scudder asked, pointing dramatically at Anna Moar.

  “I don’t know,” Della Street said.

  “Why don’t you know?”

  “Because I couldn’t see all of her. I saw a pair of bare arms and a stretch of back. I saw a dark colored dress over the woman’s right breast. The driving rain interfered with my vision.”

  “This woman was wearing a black dress?” Scudder asked.

  “It was dark in color.”

  “It might have been a black dress?”

  “Yes.”

  “In your judgment, it probably was a black dress?”

  “Either black or dark blue.”

  “Did you notice anything about the arms of this woman which would enable you to identify them?”

  “Not definitely, no.”

  “Did you see anything distinctive about them?”

  “Yes.”

  “What?”

  “There were two bracelets on the right arm.”

  “Could you see those bracelets clearly?”

  “No.”

  “Could you recognize their design, workmanship, color or material?”

  “No, I just saw two bracelets.”

  “Now, you have testified that you were at the table with Mrs. Moar, the defendant in this action, earlier in the evening?”

  “Yes.”

  “At that time, was she wearing bracelets?”

  “Yes.”

  “How many?”

  “Two.”

  “Now, referring to what you saw taking place on the deck above you: Was there anything in either of the woman’s hands?”

  “Yes. There was an object in the woman’s right hand.”

  “It was a revolver, wasn’t it?”

  “I think so, yes.”

  “And you saw her fire that revolver into the man’s body?”

  “Yes,” Della Street said.

  “And then what happened?”

  “The man fell into the ocean.”

  “Falling past you?”

  “Yes.”

  “As a matter of fact, the woman pushed him into the ocean, didn’t she?”

  “She may have.”

  “Could you see the face of this man?”

  “No.”

  “Could you see how he was dressed?”

  “I saw that he had on dark clothes.”

  “And a white shirt front?”

  “Yes.”

  “And, as a matter of fact, this woman shot him and pushed him overboard, didn’t she?”

  “I can’t swear that she pushed him overboard.”

  “What did you do after you saw the man go overboard?”

  “I dashed into the social hall and telephoned the operator to tell the bridge there was a man overboard.”

  “Didn’t you tell the operator that a man had been pushed overboard?”

  Della Street hesitated, wet her lips with the tip of her tongue, and said, “Yes, I think I did.”

  “And your best recollection is that the man was pushed overboard?”

  “Perhaps he was, yes.”

  “Could you recognize the man who went overboard as Mr. Moar?”

  “No.”

  “Could you recognize the woman who shot him and pushed him overboard as Mrs. Moar?”

  “No.”

  “Did you,” Scudder demanded, pointing a finger at her, “see anything about the figure of the woman who shot this man and pushed the body overboard which would enable you to swear it was not Mrs. Moar?”

  For a long moment, Della Street was silent. Then she said, “No.”

  “That,” Scudder announced triumphantly, “is all.”

  Mason arose to cross-examine.

  “Della,” he said, “did you tell me about what you saw?”

  “No, I didn’t. I didn’t tell a living soul.”

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Because,” she said, “I thought that, as your secretary, I couldn’t be called as a witness. I thought that the testimony of Aileen Fell would cover everything I had seen and that therefore it was best for me to say nothing. I was afraid that if the newspapers knew of what I had seen, they would exaggerate it because of my connection with you, and perhaps make it seem you were suppressing evidence by not calling me to the stand. … So I kept quiet.”