The Case of the Black-Eyed Blonde

14

Judge Winters took his place on the bench promptly at two o’clock, peered over his glasses at the counsel table, said, “Counsel for both parties seem to be present and the defendant is in court. Proceed, gentlemen. I believe Lieutenant Tragg of the Homicide Squad was on the stand. Lieutenant, if you’ll resume your position in the witness chair, we’ll proceed with the case.”

Tragg returned to the witness chair.

Claude Drumm cleared his throat, produced a heavy manila envelope.

“Lieutenant,” he said, “I’m going to show you some photographs which, I believe, were taken in your presence by persons, however, other than you. I’m going to ask you to look at these photographs one at a time, and tell whether they represent and faithfully portray the scene of the crime and the position of the body as you saw it when you were called to this house on San Felipe Boulevard.”

Lieutenant Tragg shuffled through the photographs, going through the motions of looking at each one.

“They do,” he said.

Drumm took the photographs. “We will introduce these in order as various exhibits. The first photograph shows the body lying face down, taken toward the road. The second photograph...”

“Just a moment,” Mason interrupted. “I want to see each particular photograph, and I may want to cross-examine the witness on each of the photographs before they are introduced in evidence.”

Drumm showed some surprise. “You don’t question the accuracy of the photographs, do you?”

“I don’t know,” Mason said. “I haven’t seen them.”

Judge Winters said, “I take it the prosecution has proper evidence of the authenticity of these photographs?”

“Certainly,” Drumm said. “We can identify them by half a dozen witnesses if necessary. I will further state that I intend to put the photographer on the stand who took these pictures, but I didn’t want to withdraw Lieutenant Tragg again and have his testimony interrupted. However, if it becomes necessary...”

“I am not intending to question the authenticity of the photographs,” Mason said, “but I do feel that I am entitled to ask some questions as to the things that are shown in the photographs for the purpose of testing the Lieutenant’s recollection.”

“Oh, very well,” Judge Winters ruled. “You’ll have ample opportunity to cross-examine.”

“Technically I believe I have the right to cross-examine as to the recollection of the witness on the photographs before the photographs are admitted in evidence.”

“Very well, if you wish to do so,” Judge Winters ruled. “I see no reason why you shouldn’t. In fact,” he added somewhat reprovingly, “I can’t see that it makes any great difference one way or the other.”

Mason said, “May I see those photographs, please?”

Drumm said with dignity, “You can see the first one, which is what I am now offering in evidence.”

“Very well,” Mason said, taking the first photograph. “Now, Lieutenant Tragg, this photograph shows the body lying face down in the position in which it was found. The body had not been moved at the time the photograph was taken?”

“That’s right.”

“The picture is taken toward the road, I believe?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And shows a corner of the house?”

“Yes, sir.”

Mason regarded the picture intently, took a magnifying glass from his pocket, studied the photograph several seconds, then inquired, “Lieutenant, this photograph was taken very shortly after you arrived at the scene of the murder?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Could you say about how long?”

“I would say not to exceed fifteen minutes.”

“Had anything been touched?”

“What do you mean? The body hadn’t been touched.”

“Had anything else been touched?”

“Nothing that might have any bearing on the murder.”

Mason hesitated a moment, then handed the photograph back to Drumm. “Mo objections,” he said. “The photograph may be received in evidence.”

Drumm said, “The second photograph shows footprints in the mud leading to the body of the deceased and then returning to the boardwalk. It is the contention of the prosecution that those footprints were made by the defendant.”

“No objection to that photograph,” Mason said. “Let me see those photographs and I’ll... Thank you... No, these photographs may all be received in evidence without objection.”

Mason returned to his seat.

Diana Regis looked at him with anxious solicitude. Mason avoided her eyes.

Drumm waited until the photographs had all been stamped by the clerk of the court, and each marked with its appropriate exhibit number before again returning to examine Lieutenant Tragg.

“Now then, Lieutenant, did you have any discussion with the defendant in regard to the footprints which are shown upon this photograph — Exhibit Number Ten?”

“I did.”

“Where did that conversation take place?”

“At Police Headquarters.”

“Were any inducements held out to the defendant? Were any promises made, or any threats used?”

“No, sir.”

“Who was present?”

“The photographer who took the pictures, a deputy coroner, one of my assistants and the defendant.”

“And you were present?”

“Yes. I was asking the questions.”

“And what statement, if any, did the defendant make?”

“Well, as nearly as I can recall her exact words,” Tragg said with a frosty smile, “she stated: ‘I had an appointment with Mildred at this address. I was to be there at ten o’clock- I arrived a, few minutes early. I saw my car parked in front of the house, or almost in front of the house, and so knew Mildred was there. I paid off the taxi that had taken me out and went up the steps and rang the bell. There was no answer. The house seemed dark. I thought that was strange and walked around to the back of the house and knocked on the back door. There was still no answer. I saw a walk leading down toward a place in the back yard where there were some chicken coops and I saw something lying there. I knew there was a flashlight in the glove compartment of my car. I went back to the car and opened the glove compartment, got out the — flashlight, and returned. Then I saw that the thing which was lying in the little hollow near the chicken coops was a body. I went over to the body and knelt down beside it. It was Mildred. She was dead. That’s all I know about it. That’s the first I knew that anything had happened.’”

“Did you have any interview with the defendant about this gun which has been received in evidence as People’s Exhibit Number Four?”

“I didn’t personally,” Tragg said. “That interview was with another officer, Sergeant Holcomb.”

“Oh, yes,” Drumm said. “I will call Sergeant Holcomb a little later. I think that is all at the present time, Lieutenant Tragg. Do you wish to cross-examine, Counselor?”

Mason nodded, got to his feet, said, “Lieutenant Tragg, at the time you arrived at the scene of the crime it was raining, was it not?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Raining very hard?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And this body was found in a rather shallow depression in the back yard?”

“Yes, sir.”

“A depression which had collected a rather considerable amount of water?”

“Some water. Yes, sir.”

“Water which had drained into the depression from the surrounding higher points of ground?”

“Well, I don’t know how much had settled in the depression from the higher points of ground. I think the ground was soaking up a good deal of the early rain,” Tragg said cautiously. “But it was where rain from the higher ground would have a tendency to collect.”

“You’re certain of that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I call your attention to the photograph, People’s Exhibit Number Seven,” Mason said, “and ask you if it isn’t a fact that rain water would collect in a large cistern which had been erected and evidently maintained for the purpose of...”

“I think you’re right on that,” Tragg interrupted. “I believe that water from the roof of the house drained into this cistern.”

“Now then, at the time you first came to the scene of the crime, water was draining into this cistern?”

“I believe so. Yes, sir.”

“And there is a drain faucet at the bottom of that cistern?”

“I... I think there is.”

“Then any water which collected in that hollow must have been due, in large part, to water which was draining from the lower part of this rain water cistern?”

“I didn’t say that,” Tragg said.

“I’m asking you now whether that is or is not a fact?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not, Lieutenant?”

“I don’t think that faucet in the bottom of the cistern was open. Let’s take a look at that photograph, please.”

Mason handed him the photograph.

“I saw you looking at it with a magnifying glass,” Tragg observed with a smile.

Mason bowed, handed Tragg the pocket magnifying glass.

Tragg studied the photograph carefully. “The way it looks in this photograph, Your Honor, there isn’t any water coming down from this faucet.”

“The photograph,” Mason announced, “speaks for itself. I’m asking you for your recollection, Lieutenant. Was that drain faucet open or closed?”

“I think it was closed.”

Mason said, “That’s all. No further questions,” and returned to his seat at the counsel table with no outward indication of the crushing blow that had been dealt his case.

“Call Helen Chister Bartsler,” Drumm said.

Helen Bartsler came forward, held up a gloved hand, was sworn and took the witness stand.

“You live at the premises described as sixty-seven fifty San Felipe Boulevard?”

“I do.”

“How long have you lived there?”

“For about a year.”

“Have you been employed during that time, Mrs. Bartsler?”

“I have operated a small chicken ranch there with some degree of success.”

“You have not had outside employment?”

“No.”

“Were you acquainted with the deceased, Mildred Danville?”

“Yes.”

“For how long had you known her?”

“For a period of some three or four years.”

“Had she ever been in your employ?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“In the early part of 1942.”

“And for how long was she in your employ?”

“A period of two or three months — during my confinement and immediately afterwards.”

“And did you see her again after that?”

“Yes. We remained friends.”

“And did you see her on the night of the twenty-sixth?”

“No, sir.”

“Or on the morning of the twenty-seventh?”

“I saw her body.”

“When had you last seen her prior to the twenty-seventh?”

“I don’t remember exactly. It had been two or three days before that.”

“Had you talked with her over the telephone?”

“Yes.”

“Had there been some unusual occasion incident to this conversation?”

“Yes.”

“What was it?” Drumm asked.

Judge Winters stirred uneasily, looked down at Mason. “Any objection as to its competency or relevancy?”

“None, Your Honor.”

“Very well, answer the question.”

Mrs. Bartsler tilted her chin. “Mildred Danville,” she said in a low, clear voice, “had kidnapped my son. I was trying to get him back.”

Judge Winters stiffened to attention and regarded the witness with frowning scrutiny. “Did you say the deceased had kidnapped your son?”

“Yes.”

The silence of the courtroom was so tense that the scribbling of pencils on the part of the reporters was distinctly audible.

“When,” Drumm asked, “did this kidnapping take place?”

“My son,” the witness said, “was in the custody of Ella Brockton who resided at twenty-three Olive Crest Drive. Mildred Danville had become very much attached to Junior during the time she worked for me. She had called to see him on several occasions, and two days before her death — the twenty- fourth, she persuaded Mrs. Ella Brockton not...”

“Were you there at the time?” Drumm interrupted.

“No, sir.”

“Your knowledge then is of what Mrs. Brockton told you subsequently?”

“Yes.”

“Then we won’t go into that. We’ll establish that by other evidence.”

“No objection as far as the defense is concerned,” Mason said.

“It’s plainly hearsay,” Drumm snapped.

“It is, of course, hearsay,” Judge Winters said. “But if it is a fact that will be established by other evidence, and there is no objection on the part of the defense to receiving it in this manner... well...”

“My question didn’t call for it,” Drumm snapped. “And if it did, I withdraw that much of the question. I prefer to establish my case in the regular manner.”

“Very well,” Judge Winters ruled.

“Now then, did you have any telephone conversation with the deceased in regard to your son?”

“I did.”

“When?”

“There were two or three conversations following the kidnapping.”

“And what did she say? What was the general gist of those conversations?”

“I’d prefer to have the testimony more specific,” Mason said.

“Very well. What did she say when she called the first time?”

“She said that she had my son; that she was willing to have some discussion with me about the custody.”

“About the custody of your son?”

“Yes.”

Judge Winters leaned forward, regarded the witness in frowning appraisal. “You mean she had some conversation about the custody of your son?”

“Yes.”

“Why would she confer with you about the custody of your son?”

“She was very much attached to the boy. She wanted to force me to agree that I would leave him with her a part of the time.”

“And did you so agree?”

“No.”

“What did you do?”

“I told her that if she didn’t return the boy to Mrs. Brockton, I would have her arrested for kidnapping.”

“What did she do then?”

“She hung up the telephone.”

Judge Winters settled back in his chair frowning thoughtfully.

“Then what happened?” Drumm asked.

“The next day,” she said, “Mildred Danville called me again and accused me of having stolen the boy from her custody.”

“You mean that she didn’t have your son anymore?”

“So she said. It was, of course, a subterfuge to keep from being arrested for the kidnapping.”

Judge Winters leaned forward once more. “Where is your son now?” he asked impatiently.

Helen Bartsler met his eyes. “I don’t know.”

“Have the authorities been notified of this?” Judge Winters asked.

“They have, Your Honor,” Drumm said. “Every effort has been made to locate the boy. So far those efforts have been fruitless. At the request of parties concerned, we have tried heretofore to keep from having this angle of the matter given any publicity.”

One of the newspapermen looked at the clock, then hurried from the courtroom. A moment later, other newspapermen followed.

“Most remarkable,” Judge Winters said.

“I think, if the Court please, that as the evidence along these lines develops, it will appear that in the disappearance of this son, the defendant was implicated in a plot with Mildred Danville and...”

“That,” Mason announced, “is objected to. It is prejudicial and it constitutes misconduct. There is no such evidence before the court”

“I was merely stating what the evidence would disclose,” Drumm snapped. “I have a right to state that in advance.”

“The time is past when you can make any opening statement,” Mason said. “And, furthermore, you haven’t any such evidence and can’t produce any such evidence. You are merely trying to make the most out of an unfounded inference you would like to have drawn from such evidence.”

“That will do,” Judge Winters announced. “If the prosecution has any evidence, it will put it on and the evidence will speak for itself. In the meantime, there will be no interchange of personalities between counsel. Proceed, Mr. Drumm.”

“Directing your attention to the twenty-sixth. Did you have any conversation with Mildred Danville?”

“I did.”

“How did that conversation take place?”

“Over the telephone.”

“And what did she tell you at the time of that conversation?”

“She told me that she knew where my son was; that I could have him back if’ I would cooperate with her and make some sensible agreement with her in regard to his custody.”

“Did she tell you where the boy was?”

“No.”

“Did she make any statement about coming out to your house to meet you?”

“No.”

“And what did you tell her?”

“The same thing that I had told her before — that if she didn’t have my son back, I would have her arrested for kidnapping.”

“And what did she tell you?”

“She told me that she thought she could get him and bring him back, that when I knew the entire circumstances she knew I’d be reasonable. She said that she had been double-crossed, but that her sole desire had always been to do what was best for my son.”

“When did she say she’d bring your son back?”

“That night.”

“At any particular time?”

“She said at approximately ten o’clock.”

“And did she say where she would bring him back?”

“Yes, to Ella Brockton, twenty-three twelve Olive Crest Drive.”

“So what did you do, if anything?”

“I left my house right after this call and went out to Mrs. Brockton’s residence and waited. I waited hour after hour until somewhere around midnight. Then I thought I might have misunderstood her, so I jumped in my car and drove to her apartment and rang the bell. There was no answer. By this time, I was frantic. I drove back to Ella Brockton’s and resumed my waiting. I stayed there until the officers came.”

“And you had no intimation that Mildred Danville had gone to your place at sixty-seven fifty San Felipe Boulevard?”

“No.”

Drumm said, “Now, your son’s name, please?”

“Robert Bartsler.”

“His father’s name was Robert Bartsler?”

“Yes.”

“His father is living or dead?”

“He is dead. He was killed on December seventh, nineteen hundred and forty-one.”

“And are any of your husband’s relatives surviving?”

“His father.”

“Have there been any arguments between you and your husband’s father over the son?”

Helen Bartsler tightened her lips. “Mr. Jason Bartsler, the boy’s grandfather, has been particularly mean to me ever since my marriage. He thought that I was an adventuress who married his son for money. He did everything that he could to break up the match.”

“Is all of this relevant?” Judge Winters asked, frowning at Drumm and glancing speculatively at Mason.

“I intend to connect it up,” Drumm said.

“You had better connect it up now then, so I can get some idea of why this testimony is supposed to be relevant.”

“I will ask you,” Drumm said, “whether you know now where the defendant in this case was employed during the last three or four weeks prior to the twenty-sixth, the date of the murder?”

The witness said in a loud, clear voice, “She was in the employ of Mr. Jason Bartsler.”

“Thank you,” Drumm said. “You may cross-examine, Counselor.”

Mason nodded, said, very casually, “Mrs. Bartsler, you are familiar, of course, with the rain water cistern attached to the house at San Felipe Boulevard?”

“Naturally.”

“You use this regularly?”

“Yes. I use it as a source of soft water for washing clothes and washing my hair.”

“Do you know the capacity of that cistern in gallons?”

“No, sir, I don’t.”

“Do you know whether or not it was nearly empty on the evening of the twenty-sixth?”

“I don’t know how much was in it.”

“You made no effort to gauge the water remaining in it?”

“None whatever. I simply used the rain water when I had occasion to use it, and all I know is there was water in it.”

“Now on the evening of the twenty-sixth when you saw that it was clouding up and that it was probably going to rain, you opened the drain faucet so that you could drain out the old water from last year’s rainy season, didn’t you?”

“That is objected to as improper cross-examination. It is incompetent, irrelevant and immaterial,” Drumm said. “It is entirely irrelevant and extraneous matter.”

“I don’t think it’s irrelevant or extraneous,” Judge Winters ruled, “but the question of whether it’s cross-examination is another matter.”

“I certainly don’t see how it can possibly have any bearing on the case,” Drumm argued.

“Of course,” Judge Winters pointed out, “I don’t want to be placed in the position of anticipating the course of counsel’s case, or the points he’s going to make, but it would seem to me from the testimony which has already been introduced and the photographs which have been received in evidence that the contention will be made by the prosecution that the murder was committed well after the rain had started and had softened up the ground.”

“Exactly,” Drumm said.

“Therefore,” Judge Winters went on, “if it should appear that sometime prior to the time it began to rain the cistern had been emptied, and the water from that cistern drained down into that low place in the back yard where the body was found, it might have some bearing upon the circumstantial evidence as to the time at which the murder was committed.”

“Well, it’s not proper cross-examination anyway.”

“On that score, I think I will be forced to sustain the objection,” Judge Winters ruled. “I think that as it now stands, this is a matter of defense to be brought out by the defendant.”

“Very well,” Mason said smiling, “perhaps I can get at it another way. I believe you stated on your direct examination, Mrs. Bartsler, that you left the house about six o’clock?”

“Very shortly after six.”

“And didn’t return until well after midnight?”

“That’s right. At that time I was taken back by the officers — thanks to someone who disabled my car so it wouldn’t run, and gave the officers information as to where I could be found.”

“Didn’t you want to see the officers?” Mason asked. “You surely weren’t avoiding them.”

“I would have preferred to have gone home under my own power.”

“But you didn’t go to your house, and weren’t anywhere near your house between six o’clock in the evening and sometime well after midnight?”

“That’s right.”

“You weren’t near the front of the house?”

“No.”

“When was the last time you were near the front of the house?”

“When I left, shortly after six.”

“When was the last time you were at the back of the house?”

“I don’t know, some time that afternoon.”

“Had you been near the drain at the cistern that afternoon?”

“Same objection,” Drumm said. “It’s still not proper cross- examination.”

Mason said, “If the Court please, the witness has been interrogated on direct examination as to when she left the house, and I certainly have a right to challenge that statement by a searching cross-examination dividing the premises into their component parts.”

Judge Winters smiled. “The objection is overruled.”

“When was the last time you were at the drain to the cistern?” Mason asked.

“At the drain?”

“Yes.”

“By that you mean the faucet at the bottom of the cistern that drains out the water?”

“Yes.”

“I haven’t been there for days. That is, I haven’t touched it, if that’s what you mean.”

“And the child, Robert, concerning whom you have testified, is the natural child of you and your deceased husband, Robert Bartsler, a posthumous child born some four months after your husband’s purported death?”

“Yes.”

“Had you ever advised Jason Bartsler that he was a grandfather?”

“Objected to as incompetent, irrelevant, and not proper cross- examination,” Drumm said.

“Sustained,” Judge Winters ruled. “Since the question quite evidently relates to some conversation that would necessarily have been held almost three years ago.”

“No, Your Honor,” Mason said, “the question is whether she ever advised her husband’s father of the birth of the son.”

Judge Winters’ face showed surprise. “Surely, Counselor, you don’t contend... Oh well, the objection is overruled.”

Helen Bartsler said in a clear, calm voice, “No, I never told him. He is a selfish, domineering, heartless parent. He’ had no love for his son, no love for me, and never recognized me as one of the family. I considered the birth of my son none of his business.”

Judge Winters leaned forward, asked incredulously, “You mean the man never knew he had a grandson?”

“I never told him he had one,” Helen said coldly.

Judge Winters shook his head. “Proceed,” he said to Mason, but his eyes remained on the witness.

“And after your son was kidnapped, did you get in touch with Jason Bartsler?” Mason asked.

“No.”

“And you had no information leading you to believe that Mildred Danville was going to be at your house at San Felipe Boulevard that evening?”

“No. I understood she was coming to the residence of Ella Brockton at twenty-three twelve Olive Crest Drive.”

“Thank you,” Mason said. “That is all.”

Judge Winters leaned forward. “The Court has a few questions. Mrs. Bartsler, do I understand that because you felt Mr. Jason Bartsler had never received you into the family, you undertook to revenge yourself by concealing from him the birth of your son?”

“No, Your Honor, I didn’t conceal it. I simply never told him about it. The child’s birth certificate was duly and regularly recorded.”

“But you never told him about it?”

“No.”

“In order to revenge yourself for the treatment he had extended to you?”

“No. I did it for the best interests of my son. His grandfather is a cruel man. He prides himself upon being cynical. He is cynical, sneeringly so. He has no knowledge of the finer emotions. He is always looking for an ulterior motive. I didn’t want Robert’s boy to judge his father by any such standards. I didn’t want him to know his grandfather — for the boy’s own good.”

“And that was your only reason?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

Judge Winters sighed. “Very well,” he said in a voice that showed he was far from convinced. “The prosecution will call its next witness.”

Drumm began to fill in time with routine witnesses, a ballistic expert who testified to firing test bullets from the revolver which had been introduced into evidence, comparing them in a comparison microscope with the fatal bullet which had been recovered from the brain of Mildred Danville. They were, he announced, identical. The fatal bullet had been fired from this revolver.

A fingerprint expert took the stand, testified to examining the revolver for fingerprints, showed enlarged photographs of fingerprints which had been found upon the weapon. “Fingerprints,” he announced, “which were all made by one person.” He then introduced photographs of the fingerprints of the defendant, and at long and tedious length, pointed out points of similarity. “There were,” he explained, “no fewer than seven clear fingerprints found upon the gun, each of which had so many points of similarity with those of the defendant that it was possible to state beyond any peradventure of doubt that those fingerprints had been made by the defendant. And as to certain smudged prints on the gun, while they could not be positively identified, there were enough points of similarity to indicate the strong probability that they also were those of the defendant, that there was no evidence whatever that would indicate they were made by any other person. In other words, that all of the fingerprints on the gun that could be identified had been made by the defendant, and those that could not be identified gave no indication of having been made by any other person.”

It was plain that Judge Winters was very much impressed by this line of testimony, and he carefully followed the tedious testimony through the long afternoon, checking the different fingerprints, and making his own comparison as to points of similarity.

At four-thirty, court adjourned until the next morning.

Mason, walking back to his office with Della Street, said, “Well, that’s the way it is, Della. We know good and well that Helen Bartsler is lying. She must have opened the drain on that rain water cistern. There’s no way of proving her a liar, particularly in view of the fact that the police flashlight photographs don’t show the background clearly enough to show whether that faucet is open, and water draining out or not. I might have trapped her into admitting she opened that faucet if Judge Winters hadn’t gone ahead and pointed out what I was getting at and the purpose of the question. That tipped her off and she’d never have admitted turning on the drain faucet after that.”

“Do you think she’s guilty of the murder?” Della Street asked.

“It’s hard to tell. We know she’s lying. She’s lying about the telephone conversation with Mildred Danville, lying about knowing that Mildred was coming out there for a ten o’clock appointment, probably lying about the time she left the house. And she is quite probably lying about the drain faucet on the rain water cistern in order to bolster up her other lies.”

“Why do people lie like that?” Della Street demanded indignantly.

“To save their own skins,” Mason said. “They do it many, many, many times in murder cases. You take Helen Bartsler, for instance. She may not have had anything to do with the murder of Mildred Danville; but she knew that Mildred Danville was to be out there at ten o’clock. Sometime around ten o’clock she went back to her house and found Mildred lying face down in the mud, and decided she had better get out of there and build herself an alibi. And there was something about that conversation which she and Mildred had over the telephone when the ten o’clock appointment was made that she wanted to keep out of the evidence. Therefore, she went out to her friend, Ella Brockton, and they fixed up an alibi. There’s just a chance we can break that alibi by trapping Ella Brockton. But it’s one chance in a hundred.

“Then there’s another angle. How did Lieutenant Tragg know a body was out there? It probably was an anonymous telephone call — but who placed it? And why? And what is the reason Mildred Danville became so attached to Helen’s son?

“What we’ve got to do is to find out what happened, and why it happened, and the only way we can do that is by detective work and logical reasoning. Otherwise, we’re just groping around in the dark, asking questions that have no particular purpose back of them, going up and down blind alleys.”

“I see what you mean,” Della Street said, “but how are we going to find out what did happen?”

“In the first place,” Mason said, “we’ve got to find out why Mildred Danville parked her car so long at that particular place. We’ve also got to find out why Diana’s account of how she sustained the black eye had such an effect on Mildred. Why do you suppose a black eye should have caused so much excitement?”

Della said, “It must have been because he was in Diana’s room, searching. That must have been the significant part... Something in there caused a lot of excitement.”

“But what?”

“Search me.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Tonight, we’ll try to get possession of that diary.”

“Chief, that’s dynamite!”

“I know it is, Della, but it’s got to be done. I know now how a doctor feels when he’s sitting by the bedside of a patient he’s powerless to save. After all, Della, a lawyer is sort of a doctor of justice. Hang it! If I could only reconstruct some of the things that happened the afternoon of the twenty-sixth I should be able to find some flaw in the prosecution’s case — or else convince myself my client is guilty.”

“Chief, can’t you do something with Helen Bartsler’s alibi? If Helen Bartsler knew Mildred was dead... Well, why did she go to the apartment?”

Mason said, “It must have been to try and see Diana, but she could have... Wait a minute!” Mason said frowning. “There’s one thing she could have done.”

“What?”

“Dropped that letter to Diana into the mailbox.”

“Of course!” Della exclaimed. “Perhaps that’s the only reason she went there at all. But why?”

“She wanted Diana to get the letter. But where did Helen get it, and how did she get it? Had Mildred given it to her...? Now wait a minute. That letter must have been written along in the afternoon before Mildred had talked with Diana on the telephone — and yet Helen must have put that letter in the mailbox at Diana’s apartment. Now why was it so important that the letter should be found in Diana’s mailbox?

“Hang it! That’s the disadvantage of groping around in the dark. We’ve simply got to get the case worked out between now and tomorrow morning. We’ve got to know what’s back of all of these various moves. We’ve got to reconstruct what was done. Come on, Della, let’s go start Paul Drake working.”