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

  “You bet there’s objection!” shouted John Lucas, getting to his feet. “We’ll put on our case in any way we see fit. We’re not going to be brow-beaten or tricked …”

  Judge Markham’s gavel banged repeatedly. “Counselor,” he said, “sit down. Your comments are improper as argument or as statement. A request has been made that the prosecution produce an article which was taken from the room where the homicide was committed. This article is admittedly in the custody of the prosecution. In view of the testimony that has been introduced on the direct examination of this witness concerning the ringing of a bell in the apartment, I believe that it is within the legitimate bounds of cross-examination to ask this witness concerning any bell which was in the apartment, and to let her listen to it for the purpose of ascertaining whether it is the bell in question or not. I direct, therefore, that the alarm clock be brought into court.”

  John Lucas sat rigid. “You have the alarm clock in your possession?” asked Judge Markham.

  “The sheriff has it,” said John Lucas, speaking with an effort. “And, your Honor,” the enraged prosecutor said jumping to his feet, indignation giving him sudden loquacity, “you can see the manner in which this whole thing has been manipulated. We were trapped into breaking into the cross-examining of Mrs. Crandall, in order to be confronted with the surprise which counsel on the other side apparently anticipated. Now, with the witness confused by this spectacular development which I have had no chance to thoroughly investigate, she is rushed along in her cross-examination without the opportunity of conferring with counsel for the prosecution. …”

  Judge Markham’s voice was stern as he said, “Counselor, your remarks are improper and are out of order. You will be seated.” Judge Markham turned toward the jury with the admonition, “The jury is instructed to disregard the remarks of counsel,” then, turning to the bailiff, “bring that alarm clock into court.”

  The bailiff stepped from the courtroom. There was a moment of silence, then the hissing sibilants of excited whispers, the sounds of rustling garments as people squirmed in an ecstasy of excitement. From the back of the courtroom came a sharp, hysterical giggle.

  Judge Markham’s gavel commanded silence.

  There followed a period during which comparative silence was restored, but occasional whispers crept into the tense atmosphere, vague, indefinite sounds, impossible to locate, yet surreptitiously adding to the emotional tension.

  The deputy sheriff brought an alarm clock into court. Perry Mason looked at the alarm clock, turned it over in his hands. “There’s a label pasted on this clock, if the Court please,” he said, “stating that it is the same clock which was taken from the apartment of Gregory Moxley on the morning of June sixteenth of this year.”

  Judge Markham nodded.

  “I take it,” said Perry Mason, “that I may use this in my cross-examination of the witness?”

  “In view of the fact that it was produced by the prosecution in response to an order of this Court directing the prosecution to place in your hands the identical alarm clock which was taken from that room,” said Judge Markham, “you may use it. If the deputy district attorney has any objection he will make it now.” John Lucas sat very straight and very erect at the table assigned to counsel for the prosecution. He made no sound, no motion. “Proceed,” said Judge Markham.

  Perry Mason, the alarm clock in his hands, approached the witness stand. “You will observe,” he said, handing the alarm clock to Mrs. Crandall, “that the alarm is set for two o’clock. You will further notice that the clock has now stopped. It has, apparently, run down. I will also call to the attention of the Court and counsel that the alarm seems to be run down.”

  “It would,” said John Lucas sarcastically, “naturally have run down. No one would have heard it ring in the sheriff’s office at two o’clock in the morning.”

  “There need be no argument,” said Judge Markham. “What is it you wish to do with the alarm clock, Counselor?”

  “I wish to wind the alarm,” said Perry Mason, “turn the hour and minute hands of the clock so that it may definitely be ascertained when the alarm was set. I want the witness to hear the sound of the alarm, and then she can testify whether that was the bell which she heard.”

  “Very well,” said Judge Markham, “you will wind the alarm clock and set the hands under the supervision of the Court. Mr. Lucas, if you wish to step up to the bench while counsel is winding the clock you are invited to do so.”

  John Lucas sat rigid. “I refuse to have anything to do with this,” he said. “It is irregular, a trick of counsel.”

  Judge Markham frowned at him. “Your remarks, Counselor,” he observed ominously, “come very close to being contempt of court.” He turned to Perry Mason. “Step up with the alarm clock, Counselor.”

  Perry Mason suddenly dominated the courtroom. Gone was all the indifference of his former manner. He was now the showman, putting on a headline act. He bowed to the judge, turned to smile at the jury, stepped up to the bench. He wound up the alarm, turned the hands of the clock slowly. When those hands registered two minutes before two, the alarm whirred into action.

  Perry Mason set the clock on the judge’s desk, turned and walked away, as though satisfied with what he had done. The alarm whirred for several seconds, then paused for an appreciable interval, then whirred again, paused and once more exploded into noise.

  Perry Mason stepped forward and shut off the alarm, turned to Mrs. Crandall and smiled at her. “Now, Mrs. Crandall,” he said, “since it appears that it couldn’t have been the doorbell that you heard, since you are equally positive that it wasn’t the telephone bell that you heard, don’t you think that the bell you heard must have been that of the alarm clock?”

  “Yes,” she said dazedly, “I guess it must have been.”

  “Are you sure that it was?”

  “Yes, it must have been.”

  “You’re willing to swear that it was?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now that you think it over, you’re as certain of the fact that it must have been the bell of the alarm clock which you heard ringing, as you are of any other testimony you have given in this case?”

  “Yes.”

  Judge Markham picked up the alarm clock, inspected it frowningly. He toyed with the key which wound the alarm, suddenly started drumming his fingers on the bench. He frowningly surveyed Perry Mason, then turned to regard the alarm clock with a scowl. Perry Mason bowed in the direction of John Lucas. “No further cross-examination,” he said, and sat down.

  “Redirect examination, Counselor?” asked Judge Markham of the deputy district attorney.

  John Lucas got to his feet. “Are you now swearing positively,” he shouted, “in contradiction of your previous testimony, that it was not a doorbell which you heard, but the bell of an alarm clock?”

  Mrs. Crandall looked somewhat dazed at the savagery of his attack. Perry Mason’s laugh was good-humored, patronizing, insulting. “Why, your Honor,” he said, “Counselor has forgotten himself. He is seeking to cross-examine his own witness. This is not my witness; this is a witness on behalf of the prosecution.”

  “The objection is sustained,” said Judge Markham.

  John Lucas took a deep breath, keeping control of himself with an effort. “It was this alarm clock which you heard?” he asked.

  “Yes,” said the witness with a sudden truculent emphasis.

  John Lucas sat down abruptly. “That’s all,” he muttered.

  “Your honor,” said Perry Mason, “may I recall Mr. Crandall for one question on further cross-examination?”

  Judge Markham nodded. “Under the circumstances,” he said, “the Court will permit it.”

  The tense, dramatic silence of the courtroom was so impressive that the pound of Benjamin Crandall’s feet as he walked up the aisle to the witness stand sounded as audible as the pulsations of some drum of doom. Crandall resumed the witness stand. “You have heard your wife’s testimony?” asked Perry Mason.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You have heard the alarm clock?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you,” said Perry Mason, “desire to contradict your wife’s testimony that it was the alarm clock she heard, or …”

  John Lucas jumped to his feet. “Objected to!” he said. “Argumentative. That’s not proper cross-examination and counsel knows it.”

  Judge Markham nodded. “The objection,” he said, in tones of grim severity, “is sustained. Counsel will keep his examination within the legitimate province of orderly questions. Counsel must well realize the impropriety of such a question.”

  Perry Mason accepted the rebuke meekly, but withal, smilingly. “Yes, your Honor,” he said quietly, and turned to the witness. “Now, I’ll put it this way, Mr. Crandall,” he said. “It now appears from the physical facts of the case that you couldn’t have heard a doorbell, and, inasmuch as you have stated positively that it wasn’t a telephone bell which you heard, don’t you think it must have been this alarm clock which you heard?”

  The witness took a deep breath. His eyes moved around the courtroom, locked with the steady eyes of his wife, who sat in an aisle seat. John Lucas made an objection in a voice which quivered so that it almost broke. “Your Honor,” he said, “that question is argumentative. Counsel is carefully making an argument to this man, and incorporating that argument as a part of his question. He keeps dangling the wife’s testimony in front of the husband. It’s not the way to cross-examine this witness. Why doesn’t he come out and ask him fairly and frankly, without all these preliminaries, whether he heard a doorbell or whether he didn’t hear a doorbell.”

  “I think, your Honor,” Perry Mason insisted, “that this is legitimate cross-examination.”

  Before Judge Markham could rule on the point, the witness blurted a reply. “If you fellows think I’m going to contradict my wife,” he said, “you’re crazy!”

  The courtroom broke into a roar of spontaneous laughter, which Judge Markham could not silence, despite the pounding of his gavel. After the tense drama of the previous situation, the spectators welcomed a chance to find some relief from the emotional tension. When some semblance of order had been restored by Judge Markham’s threat to clear the courtroom if there were any further demonstrations, John Lucas said in a voice that was like the complaint of a wronged child to its mother, “That’s just the point that Mason was trying to drill into the mind of this witness. He was trying to make him realize the position he’d put his wife in if he didn’t testify the way Mason wanted him to.”

  “Well,” said Judge Markham, with a smile twisting the corners of his mouth, despite himself, “whether that may or may not have been the case, it now is apparent that the point has at least occurred to the mind of the witness. However, I will sustain the objection. Counsel will ask questions which are free from argumentative matter.”

  Perry Mason bowed. “Was it a doorbell that you heard,” he asked, “or was it an alarm clock?”

  “It was an alarm clock,” said Crandall, without hesitation.

  Perry Mason sat down. “That’s all the cross-examination,” he said.

  “Redirect examination?” asked Judge Markham.

  Lucas walked toward the witness, holding the alarm clock in his left hand, shaking it violently until the sound of metal tinkling against metal was audible throughout the courtroom. “Are you going to tell this jury,” he said, “that it was this alarm clock that you heard?”

  “If that’s the alarm clock that was in the room,” said the witness slowly, “that was the one I heard.”

  “And it wasn’t a doorbell at all?”

  “It couldn’t have been.”

  Lucas looked at the witness with exasperation on his face. “That’s all,” he said.

  Crandall left the stand. Lucas, holding the alarm clock in his hand, turned and walked toward the counsel table. Midway to the table he paused as though he had suddenly been struck with some idea. He raised the alarm clock, stood staring at it, then whirled to face Judge Markham. Indignant words poured from his lips.

  “Your Honor,” he said, “the object of this examination is apparent. If this alarm was set for five minutes before two, and the alarm was ringing at the very moment when Gregory Moxley was murdered, the defendant, Rhoda Montaine, can’t possible have been the one who was guilty of that murder, because the testimony of the prosecution’s own witnesses shows that she was not at the scene of the murder at that time, but, until some ten minutes after two o’clock, on the morning when the murder was committed, was in a service station where she was under the eyes of an attendant who has carefully checked the time.

  “Now, your Honor, in view of that fact, it appears that the most important part of this whole situation hinges upon the question of whether the alarm on this clock had been shut off, or allowed to run down. Now I notice that counsel for the defense took that clock from the hands of the deputy sheriff. I notice that he said that the alarm was run down, but there’s no proof that it was run down. It would have been an exceedingly simple matter for counsel to have manipulated that lever while he was winding the alarm clock and turning the hands. I, therefore, suggest that all of this evidence be stricken out.”

  The Court motioned Perry Mason to silence, stared steadily at John Lucas.

  “You can’t strike out that evidence,” he said, “because the witnesses have now testified positively that it was the alarm clock that they heard. Regardless of the means by which they were induced to make such a statement, they have made it, and the testimony must stand. However, the Court desires to state, Mr. Lucas, that if counsel had desired to safeguard the interests of the People against any such manipulation of the alarm clock, counsel was afforded that privilege. The Court specifically invited counsel to step up to the bench and watch counsel for the defense while he was winding and setting the clock. As I remember the situation, your attitude was that of a sulky child. You sat at the counsel table sullen and sulking, and refused to participate in the safeguards which were offered you by the Court. The Court is administering this rebuke in the presence of the jury, because your accusation of misconduct on the part of counsel for the defense was made in the presence of the jury. The jury are instructed to disregard the comments of both Court and counsel, so far as having any probative weight in this case is concerned. The means by which a witness is induced to make a statement are controlled by the Court. The effect of the statements made by witnesses are for the jurors.”

  John Lucas stood, face white, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Your Honor,” he said in a voice which was barely audible, “this case has taken an unexpected turn. I, perhaps, deserve the rebuke of the Court. May I ask, however, that a continuance be granted until tomorrow morning?”

  Judge Markham hesitated, glanced dubiously at Perry Mason, and asked, “Is there any objection on the part of the defense?”

  Perry Mason was smilingly urbane. “So far as the defense is concerned, there is no objection whatever. As counsel for the prosecution remarked, earlier in the case, the prosecution desired that the defense have every opportunity to present its case. Now it gives counsel for the defense equal pleasure to assert to the Court that it desires the prosecution to have every opportunity to try and make out a case against this defendant—if it can.”

  Judge Markham placed a hand to his lips, in order that the jury might not see any possible quivering at the corners of his mouth. “Very well,” he said. “Court is adjourned until tomorrow morning at ten o’clock. During the interim, the jury will remember the admonition of the Court, and not discuss the case, or permit it to be discussed in their presence, nor form or express any opinion as to the guilt or innocence of the defendant.”

  And with that, Judge Markham whirled about in his chair, and strode to his chambers, his robes fluttering behind him. But there were those among the spectators who caught a glimpse of the judicial profile just as it turned into chambers, who subsequently swore, with great glee, that the judge wore a very human grin which stretched from ear to ear.

  Chapter 20

  The lights of Perry Mason’s private office beat down upon the masklike countenance of C. Phillip Montaine, the granite-hard features of Perry Mason. Della Street, obviously excited, held an open notebook on her knee. “Have you seen your son this afternoon, Mr. Montaine?” Mason asked.

  Montaine’s face was inscrutable, his voice well-modulated and slightly scornful. “No,” he said, “you know that I have not. You know the district attorney has him held in custody as a material witness, that no one can see him.”

  Mason said, almost casually, “Wasn’t it your suggestion, Mr. Montaine, that he be kept in custody.”

  “Certainly not.”

  “Doesn’t it impress you as being rather strange,” Mason suggested, “that despite the fact the district attorney knows he cannot call Carl Montaine as a witness because of the law which provides a husband cannot be called as a witness against a wife, the district attorney should keep Carl locked up as a material witness?”

  “I see no particular significance connected with it,” Montaine said. “Certainly, I have had nothing to do with it.”

  “I was just wondering,” Mason said, “if there wasn’t something back of all this; if, perhaps, some one were not trying to keep me from giving Carl a vigorous cross-examination.” Montaine said nothing. “Did you know that I saw him this afternoon?” Mason inquired.

  “I know you were to take his deposition in a divorce action, yes.”

  Perry Mason said slowly and impressively, “Mr. Montaine, I am going to ask Della Street to read to you what happened at the deposition.” Montaine started to speak, then checked himself. His face was as a mask. “Go ahead,” said Perry Mason to Della Street.