“Something happened on the afternoon of Cullens’ death which convinced Sarah Breel that Cullens was responsible for her brother’s disappearance, possibly his death. She went to his house to get evidence. Someone had been there before her. Who was that someone? That was someone who was a dead shot with a revolver, someone who went there for some undisclosed purpose, someone who had access to the revolver with which it now appears the murder must have been committed.

  “Austin Cullens saw that person. He knew what that person wanted. He was overcome by the consciousness of his own guilt. He suddenly whipped his revolver from his right hip pocket and fired. The shot missed. But that person had also prepared against just such a contingency. That person was armed. That person fired, and that person did not miss.

  “Some time later, Mrs. Breel went to the house. She found the door open. She found the lights out. Remember, ladies and gentlemen, no flashlight was found in her bag. She had to grope her way through the darkness. She did not know that the body of Austin Cullens was lying on the floor. Stumbling her way along the dark room, she suddenly touched something with her left foot.

  “There was only one way in which she could investigate, and that was by a sense of touch. The room was dark. She had no flashlight in her bag. She had no matches in her bag. She bent down, exploring with the tips of her gloved fingers. She touched something hard. She picked it up. It was a revolver. And then she touched a body. Panic-stricken, she wished to call the police. She mechanically, automatically and unconsciously shoved the revolver into her bag and fled from the house, screaming for police. There was no one to hear her screams. She dashed out into the boulevard, and found herself suddenly confronted by a pair of headlights. In her terror, she had forgotten to look before she jumped out into the street.

  “That, ladies and gentlemen, since I have been precluded from making any other explanation, is the explanation which I think you will be forced to adopt from a consideration of the circumstantial evidence in this case.

  “You have sworn to act fairly and impartially. I made no effort to pack this jury with persons who would be favorable to the defendant’s side of the case, because I knew I didn’t have to. All I wanted was people who would be fair. Why, one of your number even mentioned that he had formed an opinion as to the guilt of the defendant, but said he could set aside such an opinion when he entered upon the trial of the case. I had the right to challenge him with a peremptory charge and remove him from the jury. I did not do it. Why? Because I felt that he would be fair, because I knew that he was intelligent. And because all on earth that the defendant in this case wanted was fairness and intelligence. Is that the attitude of a lawyer defending a guilty client? Is that the attitude of one who seeks to ‘razzle-dazzle’ a jury?

  “Ladies and gentlemen, you have sworn to follow the law in this case. When you hear the instructions of the judge, you will realize that this means that you have taken a solemn oath that if the facts of this case can be explained on any reasonable hypothesis other than that of guilt, you will acquit the defendant. Ladies and gentlemen, I leave you to your solemn duty.”

  Mason turned and walked back to his seat. Sampson, his face livid, struggling hard to control his voice, leaped up. “Just one word in rebuttal, ladies and gentlemen. Let me challenge Counsel to carry his own argument to its logical conclusion…. Who was that person who was such an expert revolver shot? Who was that person, who, by his own evidence had access to the revolver with which he now claims Austin Cullens was murdered—could it have been Virginia Trent, the niece of the woman who is on trial! It must have been! I challenge him to deny it!”

  Mason, on his feet, drawled, “Your Honor, I dislike to interrupt the deputy district attorney, but do I now understand the deputy district attorney is contending that Virginia Trent murdered Austin Cullens?”

  “According to your own reasoning, it’s as plain as the nose on your face,” Sampson roared.

  “Well,” Mason asked, “can you find any flaw in that reasoning? If so, please point it out to the jury.” The color drained out of Sampson’s face. His jaw sagged open in surprise. Mason turned to Judge Barnes. “I was going to suggest, Your Honor, that if it is the contention of the Prosecution that the evidence now shows Virginia Trent murdered Austin Cullens, that this jury must be advised to acquit the defendant in this case. But if the deputy district attorney really wants to know who killed Austin Cullens, I suggest he talk with Paul Drake …”

  “That will do, Mr. Mason,” Judge Barnes said. “That statement is improper. You will be seated. The Court will not entertain any motion for a directed verdict, but will let the jury speak for itself—that is, unless it is now the contention of the Prosecution that Virginia Trent committed the crime.”

  Sampson hesitated, gulped, then said abruptly, “No, I was only showing how absurd Mason’s argument was.”

  One of the jurors fixed Sampson with a suspicious eye. “What’s absurd about it?” he asked.

  “It’s just a smoke-screen,” Sampson asserted, “behind which he’s trying to hide his client.”

  “But what’s wrong with that theory?” the juror insisted.

  Sampson said, “Everything. However, I—I have completed my argument. You have evidence that—that Cullens was killed with the gun found in Mrs. Breel’s handbag. Other evidence introduced merely confuses the issues. I trust you ladies and gentlemen won’t be misled. I thank you.” He walked back to his seat at the counsel table.

  Mrs. Breel tried anxiously to catch Mason’s eyes, but the lawyer kept his own gaze averted. Judge Barnes instructed the jurors as to the law, swore the bailiff to conduct them to a safe place for their deliberations. And then, as the jurors left the Court, announced that Court would take a recess pending a receipt of the verdict.

  Sarah Breel beckoned Perry Mason over to her. “You should never have done that,” she said.

  “What?” Mason asked.

  “Dragged Virginia into it.”

  Mason grinned and said, “On the contrary, I dragged her out of it. You heard Sampson say it was absurd to think she could have murdered Cullens.”

  “Where is she? I want to see her.”

  Mason said, “My secretary took her for a ride in the country. I thought some fresh air would do her some good. I persuaded her that it would be to her advantage not to be present at the conclusion of the case.”

  Sarah Breel sighed. “Well, while we’re waiting for the jury to bring in its verdict, since you’ve admitted that was my bag, suppose you see if I can have the knitting out of it. I might just as well keep working on that sweater for Ginny while I’m waiting to see what the jury does.”

  Mason patted her hand. “I think you’d better try crossword puzzles. It might be safer.”

  “Will we have long to wait?” she asked.

  “My guess,” Mason said, “is ten minutes.”

  Events proved that Mason missed his guess by exactly twenty minutes. It took the jury half an hour to come filing into court with its verdict. Judge Barnes said, “Have you agreed upon a verdict, ladies and gentlemen?”

  “We have,” one of the men answered.

  The clerk took the folded document and handed it to Judge Barnes, who scrutinized it for a moment, then passed it back. “Read your verdict,” he said.

  The foreman read the verdict. “We, the jury, impaneled to try the above entitled case, find Sarah Breel not guilty of the crime charged in the indictment. The jury suggests to the district attorney’s office that it forthwith arrest Virginia Trent and try to prosecute her more intelligently than it has the defendant in this case.”

  The corners of Mason’s mouth were twitching. “I take it it may be stipulated that in entering the verdict, only the portion which finds the defendant not guilty is to be entered in the records.”

  “So stipulated,” Sampson said sullenly.

  Judge Barnes waited until the verdict had been entered, and then regarded the jury thoughtfully. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “in discharging you, the Court wishes to compliment you upon the manner in which you have performed your duty. This has been one of the most astounding cases this Court has ever witnessed. Right at present, the Court is frank to state that it doesn’t know whether the evidence points, as the jury apparently believes, to the fact that Virginia Trent fired the shot which killed Austin Cullens, or whether this Court has witnessed one of the most astounding pieces of legal legerdemain which has ever been perpetrated in a courtroom. Subsequent events will doubtless prove which is correct. The defendant is discharged from custody and court is adjourned.”

  Chapter 19

  Mason drove his car through the arched gateway which bore the sign THE GABLES HOTEL. The rural hotel loomed as a huge dark pile against the sky, with, here and there, the lighted oblong of a window marking human tenancy. Mason parked his car, gave his bag and suitcase to a sleepy-eyed bellboy who emerged from the lighted interior of the lobby, crossed to the desk and said to the clerk, “My name’s Mason. I believe you have a room reserved for me, Mr. P. Mason?”

  “Oh, yes, Mr. Mason. Your room’s all ready. Do you wish to go up now?”

  “Yes.”

  Mason followed the bellboy up a wide flight of stairs, down a long corridor, and into a typical country hotel bedroom. He tipped the bellboy, removed his coat and vest, washed his hands and face, locked the corridor door, put on his coat and vest again, and, entering the bathroom, stood with his ear against the door which led to the connecting room. He could hear the sound of low, steady sobbing. Mason tapped on the door. After a moment, Della Street’s voice said, “Who is it?”

  “Mason,” he told her. She opened the door.

  Virginia Trent, her eyes red and swollen from crying, her hair looking like unbraided rope, looked up at him from the bed; then grabbed at a kimona, which partially covered her. “Where did you come from?” she asked.

  Mason crossed the room to sit down on the edge of the bed. “I came from court,” he said, “just as soon as I could get away.”

  Virginia Trent pushed the damp, stringy hair back from her forehead, sat up on the bed, wadded a tear-soaked pillow into a ball and pushed it behind her. “I’m going back,” she said. Mason shook his head. “Yes, I am. I’m going back and face it. I tried to all day, and Della Street wouldn’t let me. Is that why you had her take me out here?” Mason nodded. “Well, I’m going back. I’m going to tell them …”

  “Tell them what?” Mason asked.

  “Tell them everything.”

  Mason said, “Tell me first, Virgie.”

  She said, “Aunt Sarah is covering up for me. She hasn’t lost her memory any more than I have. I don’t care what you say, Mr. Mason. I don’t care what she says. I know that Aunt Sarah is in danger. There’s a good chance the jury will convict her. The newspapers seem to think the case against her is dead open and shut, and …”

  Mason said, gently, “The jury has just acquitted your aunt of murder, Virginia. They found her not guilty.”

  “Not guilty?”

  “Yes.”

  “How … how did that happen?”

  Mason said, “I think the jury got a pretty good idea of what actually happened.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Suppose,” Mason said, gently, “you tell me exactly what did happen, Virgie.”

  In a voice which broke occasionally, under the hysterical reflex of sobs, she said, “I’m going to tell you the whole truth, Mr. Mason. Austin Cullens telephoned and asked me to get Aunt Sarah and be at a certain street corner at a designated time. He said he’d drive by and pick us up. He did. He said he thought we should make a determined effort to find Uncle George. He said the three of us could split up, and each of us could take a certain district and cover the gambling clubs in that district. He said he’d give us a list of the places where Uncle George went. He picked us up in his car, all right, and drove us out to his house, in order to get the list of the places we were to go to.”

  “You had a gun with you?” Mason asked.

  “Yes. I knew I was going to be in some questionable places, unescorted. I had a gun and a flashlight in my handbag.”

  “Go ahead, what happened?”

  “Mr. Cullens drove us out to his house. He put the car in the garage and started for the house. I saw a light flash in one of the windows, and he yelled out that someone was in the house. He had a gun in his hip pocket. He drew it and made a run for the door. I didn’t want to follow him in, but Aunt Sarah said, ‘Come along, Virgie,’ and started to follow. Naturally, I took the gun out of my purse. You know how it is when you’re good at something, you get to rely on it. I’d become a pretty good shot, and …”

  “Yes, I know,” Mason interrupted. “Go ahead and tell me what happened.”

  “There was some man in the front room of the house. I had just a confused glimpse of him. Mr. Cullens started to turn on the lights, and the fuse blew out and everything went dark. The man ran right past me and out of the back door.”

  “Then what happened?” Mason asked.

  “I took the flashlight out of my bag, and gave it to Mr. Cullens.”

  “And you were still holding the gun in your hand?”

  “Yes.”

  “And then what happened?”

  “Mr. Cullens said that he’d been robbed of a lot of jewels, and my aunt asked him why he kept jewels in the house that way, and all of a sudden he said to her, ‘By God, I believe that wasn’t a thief at all, but a detective you’ve had on my trail,’ and she said, ‘Why Aussie? Is it because you know those gems of yours had been stolen?’ and he said, ‘So that’s it, is it?’ and she said, ‘Aussie, I’ll promise you that if you’ll tell me where George is, and he’s safe, we won’t do anything at all; but if you don’t I’ll tell the police that …’ That was as far as she got. Aussie screamed out something about not being taken alive and flung up his gun and shot right square at Aunty.”

  “And what did you do?” Mason asked.

  “Whatever I did,” she said, “was just an unconscious reflex. Honestly, I have no recollection of pulling the trigger. The first thing I knew, Mr. Cullens was lying on the floor, and my aunt was just as cool as a cucumber. She said, ‘Vergie, we have to keep our heads on this. I’m afraid something awful has happened to George, and we’re going to have to make Aussie talk.’ She said, ‘We’ll have to telephone for an ambulance and get him to the hospital, but before we do that I think he has some evidence on him we’re going to have to get,’ and she bent over him and opened his vest and shirt and found a chamois-skin belt with some gems in it. She took the gems out and picked up the gun which he’d dropped and put it in her bag, and said to me, ‘Find a telephone, Virgie, and telephone for the police,’ and then while I was still groping around trying to find a telephone, she called to me and said, ‘Wait a minute, Virgie, he’s dead.’”

  “Then what happened?” Mason asked. Virginia Trent shook her head as though trying to dislodge a memory, and dove into the protection of the pillow. Mason put his hand on her shaking shoulder. “Now, wait a minute, Virgie, you’re all upset. Snap out of it. Tell me what happened.”

  After a few moments, she turned her head so that her mouth was clear of the pillow, and said sobbingly, “Aunt Sarah said she thought the stones that he had on him were stolen. That if they were, we’d be all right. That if they weren’t, we were going to be in an awful jam; that no one knew anything about our having been there, and that evidently a burglar had been in the house, and the best thing for us to do was to clear out and say nothing to anyone. She told me to take the back door, and she’d take the front…. And then … Well, you know the rest.”

  “And you’d gone up to your uncle’s office and put the gun back in the drawer just before I came in, Virgie?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you had no idea your uncle’s body was up there?”

  “Good Lord, no. Coming on top of everything else, it almost floored me. I thought I’d go crazy that night.”

  “So then what?”

  “Then,” she said, “you know just as much as I do. Aunt Sarah never would admit to me that she remembered anything that happened. She kept saying that her mind was a blank, and seemed perfectly cheerful about it, and said I wasn’t to worry, but was to leave everything to you. She wouldn’t even let me talk to her about anything that happened. She said her mind was a blank and she wanted it that way.”

  “Perhaps her mind is a blank,” Mason said.

  “I don’t think so. I think she’s just trying to protect me.”

  “But you don’t know?”

  “No.”

  Mason glanced at Della Street. “Virgie,” he said, “I’m going to tell you something. I want you to remember it. If your Aunt Sarah’s mind is a blank, that’s one thing. If it isn’t a blank, and she’s trying to cover up for you, that’s something else. As far as you’re concerned, it doesn’t make a particle of difference. You shot in self-defense. There’s no question but Austin Cullens intended to kill both you and your aunt. He’d killed your Uncle George, when your uncle had found out that the Bedford diamonds were stolen gems. Probably your uncle sent for Cullens. Cullens came up to the office; they had a showdown. When he saw he was trapped, and your uncle started to call the police, Cullens jerked the gun out of his hip pocket and killed your uncle. He concealed the body in a packing case, removed all evidences of the crime, went home, reloaded his gun, and, because he knew of your uncle’s habits, mailed in the keys to the car.

  “Now then, I didn’t know what had happened, but I had my suspicions. I felt certain that Pete Chennery’s wife had confessed to her husband, everything which had taken place with Austin Cullens, and her husband, Pete Chennery, a gem thief, saw an opportunity to make a good haul; so he had his wife continue to string Cullens along. He was engaged in going through the house when Cullens drove up.