One of the jurors snickered audibly. Perry Mason clamped his lips in a firm, straight line. “Of course,” Judge Markham said in a low tone of voice, “If you wish to have an investigation, Counselor, of any possible understanding between the deputy and the district attorney’s office …”

  Perry Mason’s laugh was sarcastic. “You know how much I’d find out,” he said bitterly.

  Judge Markham retained his judicial impassivity of countenance. “Is there any further inspection to be made?” he asked.

  John Lucas shook his head.

  “No,” Perry Mason said curtly.

  “We will then,” ordered Judge Markham, “return to court. We can probably take some additional testimony before the evening adjournment.”

  The jurors elected to walk down the stairs rather than ride in the elevator. Waiting cars whisked them back to the courtroom, where they promptly took their places in the jury box. “Proceed,” Judge Markham said.

  “I will,” said John Lucas, “call Ellen Crandall.”

  Ellen Crandall had dressed with care for the occasion. She moved forward, conscious of the eyes of the crowded courtroom. Her face held a fixed expression, an expression which evidently had been carefully practiced for the occasion. It was as though she wished the spectators to understand her appreciation of the gravity of the occasion, as well as the importance of the testimony she was about to give. Under the questioning of John Lucas, she testified to exactly the same set of facts that her husband had testified to, except that she had, perhaps, been more awake during the time of the struggle. She had heard the sound of the blow more distinctly, and she was positive that she had, following the sound of the blow, heard surreptitious whispers.

  The hour for the evening adjournment found John Lucas just completing his direct examination. Perry Mason got to his feet. “After your Honor admonishes the jurors,” he said, “I have a matter to take up with Court and counsel which concerns another phase of the case and should probably be discussed in the absence of the jurors.”

  “Very well,” agreed Judge Markham, and, turning to the jury, said, “It appears that the usual hour of evening adjournment has been reached. The Court is not impounding the jury during the trial of this case, but wishes to impress upon you, nevertheless, that you have a responsibility as a part of the machinery of justice. The Court is about to adjourn until ten o’clock tomorrow morning. During that adjournment you will be careful not to discuss this case among yourselves, nor to permit others to discuss it in your presence. You will form or express no opinion concerning the guilt or innocence of the accused. You will refrain from reading any newspaper accounts of the trial, and you will promptly report to the Court any one who seeks to discuss this matter in your presence or any one who makes any advances to you.”

  The judge’s gavel banged upon the marble slab on the top of his bench and the jurors filed from the courtroom.

  When the jury had gone, Perry Mason arose and faced Judge Markham. “Your honor,” he said, “Rhoda Montaine has filed suit for divorce against Carl Montaine. In connection with the proper preparation of that case for trial, it has become necessary for me to take the deposition of Carl Montaine; that deposition has been noticed for tomorrow. In order to facilitate matters, I have arranged that the deposition may be taken during the noon recess. It may, however, require a little additional time to complete the deposition, in which event I shall ask the indulgence of the Court.”

  John Lucas, sneeringly sure of himself, made an impatient gesture. “Counsel well knows,” he said, “that the only object of that deposition is to go on a fishing expedition with one of prosecution’s witnesses before that witness is put on the stand.”

  Perry Mason bowed mockingly. “A witness,” he said, “who has been wet-nursed by the prosecution ever since the death of Gregory Moxley.”

  “Gentlemen,” said Judge Markham, “that will do. Counsel is entitled to take the deposition of the witness if he wishes. That is the law. If the deposition is noticed for tomorrow, it will be taken up tomorrow.”

  “Under stipulation with the counsel who is representing Carl Montaine,” said Perry Mason, “the deposition will be somewhat informal. It will be taken before Miss Della Street, my secretary, who is a notary public as well as an efficient shorthand reporter. Counsel for Carl Montaine and myself will be present. The deposition is a purely civil matter. I do not understand that Counselor Lucas will seek to be present. If …”

  “I’ve got a right to be present if I want to,” thundered Lucas.

  “You have not,” said Perry Mason. “This is purely a civil matter. You do not now appear as civil counsel for Montaine. Therefore it has been necessary for him to retain other counsel. The other counsel agrees with me that this is purely a civil matter, and …”

  Judge Markham’s gavel again banged on the desk.

  “Gentlemen,” he said, “this discussion is entirely out of order. Court will suit your convenience tomorrow in the taking of the deposition, Mr. Mason. Court is adjourned.”

  John Lucas, gloating in the triumph of a day during which he had built up a case against the defendant which Perry Mason had been unable to shake, smiled sneeringly at Mason and said in a voice loud enough to be heard over much of the courtroom, “Well, Mason, you seem to lack much of your usual fire to-day. You didn’t get very far cross-examining the Crandalls about the doorbell, did you?”

  Mason said politely, “You forget that I have not finished with my cross-examination.”

  The answering laugh of John Lucas was taunting.

  Perry Mason stopped at a telephone booth and telephoned the hotel where C. Phillip Montaine, the Chicago millionaire, was registered. “Is Mr. Montaine in his room?” he asked.

  After a moment he was assured that Mr. Montaine had not as yet returned to his room. “When he returns,” said Perry Mason, “please give him a message from Perry Mason. Tell him that if he will arrange to be at my office at seven-thirty tomorrow evening I think I can arrange matters with him in regard to a property settlement in his son’s divorce case. Will you see that he gets that message?”

  “Yes,” said the telephone clerk.

  Perry Mason rang Della Street. “Della,” he said, “I left a message for C. Phillip Montaine at his hotel, saying that if he would meet me at my office at seven-thirty tomorrow night I would arrange a complete property settlement between Rhoda and Carl. I don’t know whether he will get that message. Will you ring him this evening and make sure?”

  “Yes, chief,” she said. “You won’t be coming to the office?”

  “No.”

  “Listen, chief,” she told him, “Carl Montaine can’t come to your office. The district attorney is keeping him in custody, isn’t he?”

  Perry Mason chuckled.

  “That’s right, Della.”

  “But you want C. Phillip Montaine to be here anyway, is that it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll see that he gets the message.”

  That night the city editor of the Chronicle, examining the transcript of proceedings for the day, with the eagle eye of a newspaper man who had seen Perry Mason in action and who knew that lawyer’s masterly technique of placing bombs in the prosecution’s case timed to explode with deadly effect at the most inopportune moments, was impressed by the peculiar phraseology of Perry Mason’s questions concerning the doorbell. He sent two of his best reporters out with instructions to corner the attorney and get an interview from him in regard to the significance of that particular phase of the case. The reporters, however, scoured the city and were unsuccessful. Not until court convened the next morning did Perry Mason put in a public appearance. Then, freshly shaven, with a certain jauntiness in his manner, he stepped through the swinging doors of the courtroom, precisely five seconds before court was called to order.

  Judge Markham, taking his place on the bench, observed that the jurors were all present, the defendant was in court, and instructed Mrs. Crandall to once more take the witness stand for cross-examination.

  Perry Mason addressed himself to the court. “Your Honor,” he said, “it was agreed between counsel yesterday that the doorbell taken from the apartment where Gregory Moxley met his death would be received in evidence. I desire to cross-examine this witness concerning the sound of that doorbell, and have had an electrician prepare a set of dry batteries, properly wired with clamps which can be adjusted to the bell, so that I can ring the bell itself in court, so as to test the recollection of the witness as to the manner in which it was rung. The Court will remember that yesterday the husband of this witness testified generally to the sound of the bell as having been ‘an entirely different type of bell. In the first place, there was more of a whirring sound to it. In the second place, it rang at longer intervals than a telephone bell rings.’

  “I have quoted, your Honor, from the testimony of Mr. Crandall, as it has been written up by the court reporter. Obviously, such testimony is merely the conclusion of a witness, and, in view of the fact that Mrs. Crandall has given similar testimony, I feel that I should be able to cross-examine these witnesses with the doorbell itself in evidence. In view of the fact that the bell has been brought to court, I ask permission of the Court to have this witness step down from the stand long enough to enable the prosecution to introduce its evidence, identifying the doorbell and making it available for such test.”

  Judge Markham glanced at John Lucas. “Any objections?” he asked.

  John Lucas made a throwing gesture with his arms, spreading them wide apart as though baring his breast to the inspection of the jury. His manner was aggressively frank. “Certainly not,” he said. “We are only too glad to put our evidence in in such a manner that it will assist counsel for the defense in his cross-examination of our witnesses. We want counsel to have every possible opportunity for cross-examination.” With a smirk, he sat down.

  Judge Markham nodded to Mrs. Crandall. “Just step down for a moment, Mrs. Crandall,” he said, and then nodded to John Lucas. “Very well, Counselor,” he said in a voice sufficiently uncordial to apprise Lucas that further attempts to grandstand in front of the jury would meet with judicial rebuff, “proceed to introduce the doorbell in evidence.”

  “Call Sidney Otis,” said Lucas.

  The big electrician lumbered forward, glanced at Perry Mason, then glanced hurriedly away. He held his eyes downcast while he raised his hand, listened to the oath being administered. Then he sat on the edge of the witness chair and looked expectantly at John Lucas.

  “Your name?” asked John Lucas.

  “Sidney Otis.”

  “Where do you reside?”

  “Apartment B, Colemont Apartments, 316 Norwalk Avenue.”

  “What’s your occupation?”

  “An electrician.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Forty-eight.”

  “When did you move into the apartment which you now occupy?”

  “About the twentieth of June, I think it was.”

  “You’re familiar with the doorbell in the apartment which you occupy, Mr. Otis?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “As an electrician you have perhaps noticed it more or less particularly?”

  “Yes.”

  “Has the bell been changed or tampered with in any way since you occupied the apartment?”

  Sidney Otis squirmed uncomfortably in the witness stand.

  “Not since I moved into the apartment,” he said.

  “You say the bell has not been changed since you moved into the apartment?” John Lucas asked, puzzled.

  “That’s right.”

  “Had it, to your own knowledge, been changed or tampered with in any way prior to the time you moved into the apartment?”

  “Yes.”

  John Lucas suddenly snapped to startled, upright rigidity. “What was that?” he demanded.

  “I said it had been changed,” said Sidney Otis.

  “It had what?”

  “Been changed.”

  “How? In what way?” asked John Lucas, his face taking on a slow flush of anger.

  “I’m an electrician,” said Sidney Otis simply. “When I moved into that apartment I put on a doorbell that I took from my own store.”

  There was an expression of relief apparent on the face of the deputy district attorney. “Oh, so you wanted to put on one of your own bells, is that it?”

  “Yes.”

  “I see,” said Lucas, smiling now, “and the bell that you took out when you installed yours you have kept in your possession, have you?”

  “I kept it,” said Sidney Otis, “but it wasn’t a bell—it was a buzzer.”

  There was a tense, dramatic silence in the courtroom. Eyes of judge, jurors and spectators turned to the frank, honest face of Sidney Otis, then turned to stare at John Lucas, whose face, flushed and angry red, was twisting with emotion. His hands were gripping the edge of the counsel table so that the skin showed white over his knuckles. “When did you move into this apartment?” he asked ominously.

  “About the twentieth or twenty-first of June—somewhere along in there.”

  “And just before you moved into the apartment, you changed the doorbell?”

  “That’s right. I took off the buzzer and put on a bell.”

  Lucas took a deep breath. “Look here,” he said. “You’re an electrician?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Have you had occasion to go in the other apartments in that building?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then you don’t know, as a matter of fact, that there are bells in the other three apartments, and that the very remarkable and single exception was discovered by you when you moved into your apartment and found a buzzer in it?”

  “I don’t know as I get just what you mean,” Sidney Otis said, “but if you mean that my apartment was the only one that had a buzzer in it, you’re wrong, because the other upstairs apartment had a buzzer.”

  “How do you know, if you’ve never been in the apartment? Did some one tell you?”

  “No, sir, but you see, when I was putting on the bell in my apartment I started checking up on the wiring, and while I was doing that I pressed the button on the other apartments. I don’t know what’s on the two downstairs apartments, but on the other upstairs apartment my wife could hear the buzzer sounding when I pressed the button.”

  John Lucas snapped his mouth shut with grim determination. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this,” he said. He whirled to a deputy sheriff. “Get out there and find if there are buzzers on those other apartments,” he said, in a voice that was distinctly audible to the jury.

  Judge Markham banged his gavel. “Counselor,” he said, “as long as you are in court before this jury, you will confine your remarks to questions of the witness and comments to the Court.”

  Lucas was quivering with rage. He bowed his head in silent assent to the Court’s admonition, turned to Perry Mason and, for a moment, could not trust his voice, then he said, after an abortive motion of his lips, “Cross-examine.”

  Perry Mason waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal. “Why,” he said, “I’ve no questions. In fact, I find myself very much at a loss as to how to proceed because I had intended to make some tests with the doorbell. It now appears that this doorbell wasn’t the one that was in the apartment when Moxley was killed.”

  John Lucas whirled to face the witness. “That’s all,” he said. “You’re excused, Mr. Otis. I will call, if the Court please, as my next witness …”

  “You forget,” interrupted Perry Mason, “that Mrs. Crandall was on the stand for cross-examination. I had just started my cross-examination of her when she was withdrawn, in order to permit you to call Sidney Otis as your witness.”

  “Very well,” said Judge Markham, “you may proceed with the cross-examination of Mrs. Crandall. Take the stand, Mrs. Crandall.” Ellen Crandall again took the witness stand, looking very much bewildered.

  “Directing your attention to the bell that you heard during the time when the sounds of struggle were coming from the apartment where the murder was committed,” said Perry Mason, “are you prepared to state positively that that was not a telephone bell that you heard?”

  “I don’t think it was,” said Mrs. Crandall.

  “What are your reasons for saying that?”

  “Because it didn’t ring like a telephone bell. A telephone bell rings a short ring, then there’s a minute of silence and then another ring. It’s a mechanical ringing, and it’s a higher-pitched bell. This was more of a whirring sound.”

  “Now, then,” said Perry Mason, “I don’t want to trick you, Mrs. Crandall, and if it should appear that there wasn’t any doorbell in that apartment, but that there was a buzzer, then it must, of course, be true that it couldn’t have been the doorbell which you heard.”

  John Lucas got to his feet. “Objected to,” he said, “as argumentative.”

  “The question may be argumentative,” said Judge Markham, “but I am going to permit it. This is manifestly a fair method of cross-examination, even if the phraseology of the question may make it objectionable. The objection is overruled.”

  “I thought it was a doorbell,” said Mrs. Crandall.

  “Now, then,” said Perry Mason, “I’m going to direct your attention to the photograph, People’s Exhibit B, and show you that there is an alarm clock in that photograph. Isn’t it possible, Mrs. Crandall, that the bell which you heard on the night of the murder, at the same time you heard the sounds of a struggle and conflict, was the bell on the alarm clock?”

  Mrs. Crandall’s face lit up. “Why, yes,” she said, “it might have been. Come to think of it, perhaps it was. It must have been.”

  Perry Mason addressed the Court. “Now, your Honor,” he said, “I desire to cross-examine this witness by letting her hear the identical bell on this alarm clock. She has had her recollection tested by hearing the ringing of a doorbell in the apartment occupied by the victim of the homicide on the night of the killing. It now appears that that doorbell was not in the apartment at the time. It further appears, from the prosecution’s own testimony, that the alarm clock was. I therefore insist that the prosecution shall produce this alarm clock here and now.”