“Just a ride,” Mason told her, “nothing else—not yet.”

  Tragg said, “Let’s not have any misunderstanding, Mason. I’m running this thing.”

  “Sure you are,” Mason told him, “but you’re anxious to clear up the case, aren’t you?”

  “I’m driving to headquarters. Let’s take these rags off the guy and put on some handcuffs. Mason, I’ll take your word that this is Carlin. I’ll play along with you that far, but that’s as far as I’m going.”

  “Keep an eye on him,” Mason warned, “I have an idea he might even go through a window.”

  Tragg fitted handcuffs to Carlin’s wrists, said apologetically, “I don’t ordinarily do this, but I’m handcuffing your wrists behind your back on account of Mason’s build-up.”

  Carlin said, “Sure, let Mason do the talking, you do the listening. You’ll wind up behind the eight ball. Why the hell do you take his word for everything? Why don’t you ask me for my story?”

  “I asked you,” Tragg said. “I didn’t get much of an answer.”

  “Because Mason was doing all the talking.”

  “Mason was giving information,” Tragg said.

  “Sure,” Carlin said sarcastically. “Mason’s trying to get you a promotion. That’s all he thinks about. The client who hired him to save her neck in a murder case means nothing to him. The only thing Mason wants is to see that good old Tragg gets the case solved no matter who’s guilty.”

  “Keep talking,” Tragg said.

  “Mason knocks me out, ties me and gags me so I can’t say a damn word and then gets you on the job. That gives him a swell opportunity to sell you on his side of the case.”

  “What’s your side?” Tragg asked.

  Carlin said, “I left my home to go on a business trip—out on a mining deal. Someone entered my house as soon as I’d left, set fire to it and apparently planted a corpse so it would seem I’d been burned to death. How much cooperation do the police give me in trying to find out what’s happened? Not a damn bit.”

  “I didn’t see you down at police headquarters asking for any co-operation.”

  “I was going down there as soon as I found out what had happened. I just this minute got back to the city.”

  “And came calling on your girl,” Tragg said.

  “Why the hell don’t you grow up?” Carlin asked belligerently.

  “I’m wearing long pants now,” Tragg told him. “Come on, buddy, we’re going places. You can talk then.”

  “I demand that you take these handcuffs off,” Carlin said.

  “I’m hard of hearing in that ear,” Tragg told him, pushing him out into the corridor. “You’ll have to move to the other side if you want to make any requests.”

  “Don’t you worry,” Carlin told him, “I’ll move to the other side all right, and it’ll be your blind side when I do.”

  Mason made an elaborate gesture of offering his arm to Celinda Gilson.

  She said, “No thank you. I can get along very well without your help.”

  “Indeed,” Mason murmured.

  “From now on,” she said.

  They crowded into the little elevator, rattled down to the first floor, and Carlin, walking awkwardly with his hands behind his back, was assisted by Lieutenant Tragg down the steps to the waiting squad car.

  Tragg said to the officer who had driven him, “You sit in back, Joe. I’ll do the driving. Keep an eye on this guy. Clout him hard if he tries anything.”

  “Your face is going to be red over this,” Carlin warned. “You take these handcuffs off. Take me into headquarters like this and you’ll be on the carpet tomorrow.”

  Tragg said, “Wrong again, Carlin. I’m paid by the tax-payers to bring every live corpse I find down to headquarters. Now officially you’ve been murdered, and that makes you part of the spirit world. We have to take extra precautions with people who have been murdered and then come to life. That’s the way the department wants it.”

  “Go ahead, crack wise,” Carlin said. “When I get down to headquarters, I’m going to make you look foolish as hell.”

  Tragg said, “Please don’t. If you make me bust out crying my eyes will be all red and swollen, and I have to do a lot of fast driving.”

  Tragg saw that his passengers were seated in the car, turned on the blinking red spotlight, switched on the siren and started traveling with constantly accelerating speed, screaming through intersections, detouring around frozen traffic, skillfully picking openings through which he could send the speeding car, never slowing speed now, never accelerating, but keeping a steady, sustained high speed.

  “Might I suggest one more stop?” Mason asked.

  “Where?” Tragg inquired.

  “Where you can find a witness who …”

  “Don’t let this guy keep bamboozling you,” Carlin pleaded. “Go on down to headquarters if you want and listen to my story, then make up your mind. You let Perry Mason start putting candles on your cake and there won’t be any birthday.”

  “Your story is full of holes like Swiss cheese,” Tragg said.

  Carlin snapped, “Well, do you think I want to spill all the details in front of this slick mouthpiece?”

  Tragg shot Mason a quizzical glance, then suddenly shut off the siren, slowed down the car to a speed that was little more than a crawl.

  “What’s the idea?” Mason asked.

  “Shut up,” Tragg said. “I want to think.”

  “I don’t know why you want to bother doing that now,” Carlin said. “You’ve let him do your thinking for you so far. You might as well give him your badge and …”

  “Shut up!” Tragg said. “I’ve told you I want to think.”

  The officer in the back seat reached over and placed his thumb on the nerve center where Carlin’s jaw joined the neck. He exerted sudden pressure.

  “Ouch!” Carlin screamed.

  “The Lieutenant wants you to keep quiet,” the officer told him.

  Tragg drove slowly, being careful to observe all of the traffic regulations, to yield the right of way at intersections when necessary.

  Twice Carlin started to say something. Each time the officer in the rear seat promptly shut him up.

  Mason smoked a cigarette. Celinda Gilson sat absolutely silent, her face completely dead pan. Once or twice Lieutenant Tragg, while waiting for a signal light to change, stole a thoughtful glance at her.

  As far as Celinda was concerned she might not have known Tragg existed.

  Abruptly Lieutenant Tragg slowed the car to a full stop, and pointed across the street to where a yellow cab was standing at the curb.

  “See that, Mason?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “The cab.”

  “Yes. What about it?”

  Tragg smiled. “You’re a busy man, Mason. You have a lot of irons in the fire, you have a great many things to do. I wouldn’t want to interfere with your activities in any way. You’ve given me a lot of time. You’ve been more than generous. I simply can’t accept any further sacrifice.”

  “Meaning?” Mason asked.

  “Meaning that that cab will take you back to your office or wherever you want to go.”

  “Now you’re getting some sense,” Carlin said. “You …”

  “Shut up,” the officer commented, clamping more pressure on Carlin’s neck.

  Carlin, after one startled exclamation of pain, subsided into silence.

  Mason said, “You’d like to get the answer in this case, wouldn’t you, Tragg?”

  “I’m getting it.”

  Mason said, “Let’s suppose it was self-defense.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Suppose Fargo was tied up with Carlin. Suppose Mrs. Fargo found out about it. Suppose the whole thing is a pretty rotten mess. Suppose her husband found out she knew about it and tried to kill her.”

  “It’s okay by me,” Tragg said, “but you can’t make it stick.”

  “I think that’s what happened.”

  “This is a hell of a time to start thinking so,” Tragg said. “You can’t swap horses in the middle of the stream.”

  “I’m not in the middle of the stream.”

  “Perhaps not,” Tragg said, “but you’re way over your head.”

  Carlin said, “This guy is nuts.”

  The officer holding Carlin asked, “You want him to talk, Lieutenant?”

  “Not now,” Tragg said. “Mason is a busy man. He hasn’t time to listen to Carlin’s story. It’s too bad, but he’s got things to do and places to go. We won’t think of detaining him.”

  Mason said, “If I get the answer, Tragg, and it’s self-defense, will you ride along with me?”

  “I won’t ride with anyone on anything,” Tragg said. “It’s up to you and the District Attorney and the Judge. I’m getting evidence.”

  “If it should be the truth you won’t throw anything in my way?”

  “I always like the truth.”

  Mason said, “It’s the answer that fits into the picture. Myrtle Fargo was trying to protect the kid. She found out her husband was mixed up in a slimy racket. She wanted to handle it her way. She wanted Fargo to step out of the picture and release custody of the kid and then she’d get a divorce on the ground of desertion or some …”

  Carlin said, “This guy makes me sick.”

  Tragg pointed to the taxicab and said, “On your way, Mason.”

  “Because I’m making your prisoner sick?” Mason asked.

  “Because you’re talking too damn much,” Tragg said. “Save your arguments for the Judge.”

  The officer reached across and opened the door of the car. Mason stepped out to the pavement and the door slammed.

  Mason watched the police car speed away, then walked across the street to where the driver of the yellow cab had been watching the police car with curious speculation.

  Chapter 23

  Morning newspapers had announced the discovery that the corpse found in the building occupied by Medford D. Carlin was not that of Carlin, but was at the moment unidentified. Carlin, who had been found to be very much alive, had stated he had been away on a business trip inspecting mining interests in a remote section of the state. He was being held by the police for further questioning. And rumor around the courthouse had it that perhaps the arson case and the Fargo murder case were not unconnected.

  All of this had caused a sudden surge of interest in the case of the People of the State of California versus Myrtle Fargo, and Mason found the courtroom crowded as he entered and sat waiting for the bailiff to bring the defendant into court.

  A matron ushered Mrs. Fargo to the door of the courtroom. A deputy sheriff escorted her to her chair.

  Mason leaned forward for a brief, whispered conference. “Carlin is alive,” he said.

  “So they told me.” Her voice was level, dispirited and showed no interest.

  Mason said, “You sent me that money.”

  “No.”

  “You killed your husband.”

  “No.”

  “Was it in self-defense, or was it because of what you had found out?”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

  “You knew your husband was mixed up in a racket with Medford Carlin.”

  “No.”

  Mason said, “You’re trying to protect your son. You’d do a lot better by …”

  “No, no, please, Mr. Mason. I’ve told you everything.”

  She deliberately turned away from him.

  Judge Keith entered the courtroom and called court to order.

  Mason said, “Your Honor, I was cross-examining one of the prosecution’s witnesses, Mrs. Newton Maynard. I would like to resume that cross-examination, particularly in view of the fact that there have been rather startling developments since court adjourned.”

  “Developments which, however, have absolutely no bearing on this case,” the District Attorney interpolated.

  “That,” Mason pointed out, “remains to be seen.”

  “Mrs. Maynard will resume the witness stand,” Judge Keith ordered.

  Mrs. Maynard’s attitude had undergone a subtle change. She was wary, careful and as cautious as a skillful boxer sparring for an opening. She seated herself on the witness stand, placed the tips of her fingers against the patch over her eye, then turned to regard Perry Mason.

  “Mrs. Maynard,” Mason said, “I’d like to know a little more about the injury you sustained to your right eye.”

  “What does that have to do with it?” she asked.

  “Oh, Your Honor,” Hamilton Burger said, “this seems rather trivial. I think it is conceded by all concerned that this injury occurred after the twenty-second of September. She had both eyes at that time and it is quite apparent that she can see with one eye now.”

  “Many persons,” Mason said, “can see with one eye who can’t see with two.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Burger asked.

  “A lack of co-ordination,” Mason said. “I think it is a matter which can be demonstrated by the evidence of an expert.”

  “Does it have any application in this case?” Judge Keith asked.

  “I think it does,” Mason said. “I think Your Honor will find that this witness is unable to see with both eyes, although she can see with one, but for purposes of appearance she naturally dislikes to go about in public with one eye completely covered.”

  “That’s not so,” Mrs. Maynard snapped. “I can see perfectly.”

  “I don’t think you can,” Mason said, smilingly confident.

  “Why, certainly I can. I never heard of such a thing. This injury is the result of an infection. The doctor told me to keep my eye covered.”

  “What doctor?” Mason asked.

  “A—a doctor whom I consulted.”

  “After all,” Burger said, “this is going far afield. This is completely extraneous.”

  Judge Keith regarded the witness meditatively.

  “I am willing to challenge the witness,” Mason said. “I will venture to say that with both eyes open she cannot make an identification of an individual previously known to her who will stand up in the courtroom. I make that as a challenge to the prosecution.”

  “Oh, that’s absurd,” Burger said.

  “I shouldn’t remove my bandage,” Mrs. Maynard said.

  “Not even for a brief interval?” Judge Keith asked suspiciously.

  “Oh, I don’t suppose it would hurt for just a brief interval, but it’s all foolish. If I can see with one eye why couldn’t I see with two?”

  Hamilton Burger said, “Your Honor, it seems to me that this is very plainly a desperate attempt on the part of counsel to take advantage of an unfortunate situation in which the witness finds herself. She’s suffering from an infected eye which should be kept bandaged. There is no question but what she was able to see clearly enough to travel when she was on that bus and …”

  “Clearly enough to travel,” Mason said, “but that doesn’t necessarily mean she could identify persons.”

  “No?” Hamilton Burger asked sarcastically. “Not clearly enough to see persons who were seated right next to her on a bus? Don’t be ridiculous, Mr. Mason.”

  Mason smiled, glanced at his watch, and said, “After all, Your Honor, we’ve consumed several minutes with this objection. All that would be necessary would be for Mrs. Maynard to remove that bandage temporarily and be called upon to identify a person in the courtroom who will arise at a given signal.”

  “Some person who is known to her?” Judge Keith asked.

  “Some person whom I feel quite certain she has seen under circumstances at least on a par with the circumstances under which she claims to have seen the defendant in this case.”

  “Is there any reason why such a test should not be carried out,” Judge Keith asked, “so that the matter can be disposed of?”

  “I’m quite willing,” Mrs. Maynard snapped. “If you think you can trap me that way, Mr. Mason, I’ll give you the surprise of your life. Anyone I’ve ever seen before, I can identify. I have a very, very good memory for faces. That’s one thing on which I pride myself. If I’ve once had a good look at a person I never forget that person.”

  Mason said, “Just a moment.” He whispered to Della Street, who was seated at a point within the mahogany rail and directly behind his counsel table.

  Della Street nodded, moved out into the audience.

  Mason said, “I can assure the Court that I am not making this test idly. I think that the witness is unable to see with both eyes although she may be able to see with one.”

  “That’s absolutely absurd,” Mrs. Maynard snapped. “I’m quite willing to show how absurd that is.”

  “Will you then,” Mason asked, “kindly remove your bandage?”

  Della Street, moving through the spectators near the middle of the courtroom, passed a note to the parking lot attendant, Percy R. Danvers, who was sitting on an aisle seat.

  On the witness stand Mrs. Maynard was fumbling for a moment with the bandage over her eye.

  “May I help you?” Hamilton Burger asked, hovering about her solicitously.

  “If you please,” she said, “and I’ll want my glasses left on. Remember I’m blind as a bat without my glasses. I told you that. I want to put my spectacles on and then I can see perfectly.”

  “All right,’’ Burger said, “let’s have your spectacles ready, Mrs. Maynard. Now let the record show that the bandage is being removed. Here are your spectacles, Mrs. Maynard. Let the record show that the witness has now adjusted the spectacles. Now, Mr. Mason, go ahead.”

  There was a smile of triumphant satisfaction on the face of the District Attorney.

  Mason nodded toward the courtroom and motioned.

  Percy Danvers got to his feet.

  “Who is that person?” Mason challenged.

  Mrs. Maynard peered at him intently for a moment, said, “I don’t know his name but he’s the man who has the parking station there at the depot.”

  “You’re certain?” Mason asked.

  “Quite certain,” she snapped.

  “You’ve seen him there?”

  “Yes.”

  “And recognize him as the person you have seen at that parking station?”