The Case of the Buried Clock

Chapter 11

Roxbury’s main street seemed strangely surreptitious with its unlighted neon signs, its shielded illumination, making the figures of pedestrians appear vague, shadowy and unreal.

Perry Mason, driving slowly along, counted the intersections to find the cross street that he wanted, turned abruptly to the right, ran his car for a block and a half, and stopped in front of a white stucco, red tile, pretentious house. The sign on the lawn which said “DR. JEFFERSON MACON” was hardly visible, now that the street lights had been extinguished.

Mason climbed a flight of short steps, found a bell button, and pushed it. A broad-beamed middle-aged woman with unsmiling countenance opened the door and said, “The doctor’s evening hours are nine to ten.”

Mason said, “I want to see him upon an urgent private matter.”

“Do you have a card?”

Mason said impatiently, “Tell him Perry Mason, a lawyer, would like to see him at once.”

The woman said, “Wait here, please,” turned on her heel and marched with slow, deliberate steps down a corridor, pushed open a door and banged it shut behind her, the explosive sound of the closing door conveying definite disapproval.

Mason had been standing for almost a minute when she returned, coming toward him with the same slow, deliberate steps — heavy-footed, wooden-faced.

She waited until she had assumed exactly the same position which she had been in when Mason first saw her — evidently her answering-the-door stance. “The doctor will see you.”

Mason followed her back down the corridor, through the door and into a small, book-lined room, near the center of which, in a huge black leather chair, Dr. Jefferson Macon was stretched out, completely relaxed.

“Good evening,” he said. “Please be seated. Pardon me for not getting up. The exigencies of my profession are such that I must ruin my own health safeguarding the health of others. If I had a patient who lived the life I do, I’d say he was committing suicide. As it is, I have been forced to make it a rule to relax for half an hour after each meal... Kindly state what it is you wish. Be brief. Don’t be disappointed if I show no reaction whatever. I’m training myself to relax completely and shut out all extraneous affairs.”

Mason said, “That’s fine. Go ahead and relax all you want. Did Milicent Hardisty spend all the night here last night, or just part of it?”

Dr. Macon jerked himself into a rigid sitting posture. “What — what’s that?”

He was, Mason saw, a man approaching fifty, firm-fleshed, steady-eyed, slender. Yet there was in the man’s face that grayish look of fatigue which comes to those who are near the point of physical exhaustion from the strain of overwork.

Mason said, “I wanted to know whether Milicent Hardisty spent the entire night here or only part of it.”

“That’s presumptuous. That’s a dastardly insinuation! That—”

“Can you answer the question?” Mason interrupted.

“Yes, of course. I can answer it.”

“Then what’s the answer?”

“I see no reason for giving you any answer.”

Mason said, “She’s been arrested.”

“Milicent — arrested? You mean the authorities think — why, that’s shocking!”

“You knew nothing of it?” Mason asked.

“I certainly did not. I had no idea the police would be so stupid as to do anything of the sort.”

Mason said, “There’s some circumstantial evidence against her.”

“Then the evidence has been misinterpreted.”

“Go right ahead,” Mason said, motioning toward the deep cushions of the chair. “Lie right back and relax. I’ll just ask questions. You keep on relaxing.”

Dr. Macon continued to sit bolt upright.

Mason said, “Everyone’s acted on the assumption that Hardisty’s death occurred early in the evening. Quite possibly ten or fifteen minutes before deep dusk. A report’s just come in from the autopsy surgeon. They held it up until they could make a double check, because it didn’t agree with what the police thought were the facts.”

Dr. Macon stroked the tips of his fingers across his cheek. “May I ask what the report indicated?”

“Death between seven and ten-thirty,” Mason said. “Probably, around nine.”

“Did I understand you to say probably around nine o’clock?”

“Yes.”

“Then that — then Milicent couldn’t possibly have been connected with it.”

“Why?”

“She was... she was home at that time, wasn’t she?”

“How do you know?”

Dr. Macon caught himself quickly and said, “I don’t. I was only asking.”

“What time were you up there?”

“Where?”

“Up at the Blane cabin.”

“You mean that I went up there?”

Mason nodded.

Dr. Macon said somewhat scornfully, “I’m afraid I don’t appreciate your connection with the case, Mr. Mason. I know who are are, of course. I would like to meet you under more favorable — and I may say, more friendly — circumstances; but I am afraid you are definitely barking up the wrong tree. I am, of course, enough of a psychologist to appreciate the technique of a cross-examination in which startling questions are propounded without warning to an unsuspecting witness and—”

Mason interrupted him to say, apparently without feeling, “I may be mistaken.”

“I’m glad to hear you say so.”

“Whether I am or not,” Mason said, “depends on the tires on your automobile.”

“What do you mean?”

“An automobile left tracks up at the Blane cabin. I don’t think the significance of those tracks has occurred to the police — as yet. The Los Angeles deputies took it for granted the tracks were made by the local authorities. It evidently hasn’t occurred to the local authorities to check up on them.”

“What about them?”

“They were the tracks of new tires.”

“What if they were?”

Mason smiled. “Perhaps in your position, Doctor, you haven’t as yet appreciated the seriousness of tire rationing, and therefore have dismissed it from your mind.”

“I’m afraid I don’t—”

“Oh, yes you do. You’re stalling for time, Doctor. You recently had two new tires put on the back wheels of your automobile. Undoubtedly you had to get those tires through the tire rationing board. There’s a complete record of installation, application for purchase, and all that. As soon as I saw the new tire marks, it occurred to me that I was dealing with a police car. When I found out it couldn’t have been a police car, I simply started running down the other angles. It isn’t everyone who could possibly have two brand-new tires on his automobile, you know.”

“And that investigation brought you to me?”

Mason nodded.

“I suppose you realize,” Dr. Macon said, with frigid formality, “that you are making a most serious charge.”

“I haven’t made any charge yet but I’m going to make one in a minute — as soon as you quit stalling around.”

“Really, Mr. Mason, I think this is uncalled for.”

“So do I. I’m trying to help my client.”

“And who is your client, may I ask?”

“Milicent Hardisty.”

“She has retained you?”

“Her father did.”

“She is — you say she is charged with—”

“Murder.”

“I can’t believe it possible.”

Mason looked at his watch. “You’ve got to start seeing people at nine o’clock, Doctor. Time’s limited. I took a short cut getting here. I saw the tracks of two new tires and jumped at conclusions. The officers will go at it more methodically. They can’t afford to play hunches. They’ll probably make a cast of the tire marks, check with the tire rationing board on all permits for new tires, check with dealers for sales, and eventually they’ll get here. I’m simply leading the procession.”

Dr. Macon shifted his position uneasily. “I take it that anything I may say to you will be entirely confidential, Counselor.”

“Guess again.”

“You mean it won’t?”

“That’s right.”

“But I thought you said you were representing Milicent Hardisty.”

“I am.”

“I—”

“I’m representing her, and no one else. Anything she tells me is confidential; anything you tell me is something I use or don’t use, depending on her best interests.”

“If she has an alibi for — well, from seven o’clock on until midnight, that would absolve her from any connection with the crime?”

“Probably.”

“I—” Dr. Macon’s voice dissolved into a somewhat dubious silence.

“Make up your mind,” Mason said.

Dr. Macon said, “I want to tell you a little story.”

“I’d rather you’d answer a little question.”

He shook his head impatiently. “You have to understand the preliminaries, the steps by which this thing came into existence.”

“Tell me about the thing that came into existence, and we’ll talk about the steps later.”

“No. I can’t do that. I must go about it in my own way, Mr. Mason. I insist.”

Once more Mason looked at his watch.

Dr. Macon said, “I will be brief. The modem physician, in order to serve his patients, must know something of their emotional natures, something of their backgrounds, something of the problems which confront them — the emotional crises, the—”

“I know all that,” Mason said. “Tell me about Mrs. Hardisty.”

“As soon as she came to me I realized there was some deep-seated worry, some lack of mental harmony. I suspected her domestic relations.”

“And asked questions?”

“Not at once. I first went about getting her confidence.”

“Then what?”

“Then I questioned her.”

“What did you find out?”

“That, Mr. Mason, is confidential. I can’t betray facts learned from a patient in making a diagnosis.”

“Then why mention them?”

“Because I want you to realize that my knowledge of Milicent Hardisty is much more complete than yours could possibly be.”

Mason settled down comfortably in a chair, lit a cigarette. “Because you investigated her mental condition in connection with your diagnosis?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t kid yourself,” Mason said. “A lawyer does just as much probing into minds as a doctor does. What’s more, a lawyer is better equipped and better trained to do it. You probably won’t admit that. It doesn’t make any difference whether you do or whether you don’t, particularly since I haven’t as yet had an opportunity to talk with Milicent Hardisty.

“Now you want to stall around for time, lay a foundation for impressing me, and put yourself in the position where you can tell me what you want to tell me, and hold out what you don’t want me to know. If you think you can get away with it, go right ahead. It’s going to take a little more time, but when we get done we’ll understand each other that much better. You go right on with your prepared speech, and when you get finished, I’ll do a little probing.”

Dr. Macon smiled. “I’m afraid, Counselor, that you underestimate the facilities at the command of a trained physician. I know Milicent Hardisty much better than you could ever hope to know her by what you lawyers call cross-examination.”

Mason gave himself to the enjoyment of his cigarette, made no comment.

Dr. Macon’s professional bearing gradually reasserted itself. With the manner of a physician telling the patient just what the patient should know for his own good, and withholding everything that was not necessary for the patient to understand, Mr. Macon said, “Milicent Hardisty became a patient of mine. She had implicit trust in me. She confided in me. I came to know her innermost secrets. I was able to do her some good. I can tell you this much without betraying any confidence. She had devoted too much attention to her career, to the serious things in life. That overemphasis on work left her with a secret hunger to be the center of attraction with some particular person — not a platonic attraction, but a sex attraction. For that reason she didn’t question, even in her own mind, the motives of Jack Hardisty when he began rushing her off her feet in a whirlwind, impetuous courtship. Even if she had questioned his motives, I doubt if a realization of his duplicity would have stopped her. She was too thrilled with the novelty of having some man woo her, making of his courting not an intellectual pastime but a violent emotional activity.

“Jack Hardisty was shrewd enough to realize all that. Milicent has a good mind. She had in the past tried to appeal to persons upon an intellectual plane. Jack Hardisty decided the way to impress her was to sweep her off her feet, to bring ardor and passion to his wooing. It succeeded admirably.”

Mason dropped ashes from the end of his cigarette into Dr. Macon’s ash tray, said nothing.

“I’ll tell you this — that after Vincent Blane established Jack Hardisty in business, Hardisty repaid his benefactor by embezzling money.” Dr. Macon paused, dramatically.

Mason merely nodded.

Dr. Macon was obviously disappointed that his information came as no surprise. He frowned for a moment, then said, “Oh yes, the father retained you. Naturally, he told you about that.”

“Go on,” Mason said.

Dr. Macon thought for a minute, then began talking again, this time with more swift certainty. “I knew that Mrs. Hardisty was approaching a very definite crisis in her life. I knew that she had been unhappy for a long time. She had kept on, merely to preserve a semblance of happiness, and because she hesitated to make public confession that Jack Hardisty’s interest in her had been financial. I think you will appreciate the feeling.”

Mason made no comment.

“Late yesterday afternoon, when she failed to appear at my office to keep an appointment for a treatment, I took steps to ascertain that she was all right. As a result of those steps, I found that her husband had gone to Kenvale, and from there up to a mountain cabin owned by Mr. Blane. I learned that Mrs. Hardisty had followed him. I feared that, under some emotional unbalance, Mrs. Hardisty might suffer a nervous shock which would permanently impair her nervous and emotional stability.”

“What did you do?” Mason asked.

“I started out to find Mrs. Hardisty.”

“What time?”

“I would prefer to tell this in my own way, Mr. Mason. Your questions can come later. I believe you mentioned you wanted to probe my mind,” and Dr. Macon’s smile was icy.

“Go right ahead,” Mason said, “pardon me. Simply because time is short I thought I could expedite matters. But if you want to rehearse your story as you make it up, so as to be certain it’s bomb-proof, go right ahead.”

Dr. Macon said, “I am not making up this story. Whatever slight hesitancy you may notice is because I don’t know exactly how much I can safely tell you without betraying confidential communications, and—”

“Never mind all that,” Mason interrupted. “Go on with the story. What happened?”

“I drove toward the cabin in search of Mrs. Hardisty, that’s all.”

“Find her?”

“Yes.”

“Go on,” Mason said. “Tell it your way.”

“I didn’t find Mrs. Hardisty at the cabin. I found her in Kenvale. She was, I believe, following her unmarried sister, who was driving in a car ahead.”

Dr. Macon paused for an appreciable interval. His face showed satisfaction; his eyes were triumphant. “I believe that about covers it... I found Mrs. Hardisty in a serious nervous and emotional state. I kept her with me until approximately ten o’clock in the evening, until her nerves had responded to treatment. Then I drove her back to Kenvale, administered a hypodermic just before she entered the house, and told her to go to bed at once and to sleep late.”

“That all of it?” Mason asked.

“That’s enough, isn’t it? I know that she was with me until after ten o’clock. I personally administered a hypodermic and know that immediately after taking that she would go to sleep and remain asleep for almost twelve hours.”

“Finished?” Mason asked.

“Yes, sir. I have finished.”

“All right,” Mason said. “Now we’ll start probing.”

“Go right ahead.”

“I believe you said you decided to go up to the cabin in order to rescue Milicent from an experience which would disorganize her nerves and emotions.”

“Substantially that. As usual with laymen, you have garbled the medical exactitude of expression; but we’ll let it stand.”

“And you found Milicent at Kenvale?”

“Yes.”

“What time?”

“Well... let me see... I should say that it was about — a man doesn’t consult his watch under such circumstances, you know, even though attorneys are very fond of asking for exact time.”

“Approximately what time?”

“Oh, it was sometime after six — perhaps around half past six.”

“As late as seven?”

“I don’t think so, yet it might have been.”

“And not before six o’clock.”

“No.”

“And when you left your office, looking for Milicent, you knew that she was up at the cabin?”

“Yes.”

“You mentioned that certain sources of information advised you on that point?”

“Well, yes. I secured that information.”

“How?”

“I can’t make any statement as to that.”

“Why?”

“It would be betraying a confidence.”

“Whose?”

“That’s beside the point.”

“A patient’s?”

Dr. Macon thought over the question. A little gleam flashed in his eye, then disappeared. “Yes. The information came from a patient.”

“And you realized that because Mrs. Hardisty was up at the cabin and because Jack Hardisty was up there, there was a certain element of danger involved.”

“What do you mean by danger? You must be more explicit, Counselor. You may mean danger to my patient’s health, or physical danger, or—”

“That it was dangerous to the health of your patient to be up at the cabin.”

“Yes.”

“Then,” Mason said with a smile, “how did it happen that immediately after you found her in Kenvale, in place of getting her as far away from the cabin as you could, you transported her right back up to that cabin?”

Dr. Macon’s lips tightened. “I didn’t say that.”

“I’m saying it.”

“I don’t think that’s a fair inference from what I said.”

“It’s not only a fair inference from what you said, but it’s definitely indicated by your tire marks. Your automobile was up at that cabin.”

“You haven’t identified my tire marks. You haven’t even seen my machine.”

Mason said wearily, “Quit stalling. Did you or did you not take your car up to that cabin? Did you or did you not take Milicent up to that cabin after you found her in Kenvale?”

“I don’t have to answer that question.”

“You don’t have to answer any of my questions,” Mason said. “But those questions are going to be asked you by the police.”

“There’s a good chance the police may not even come to me.”

“About one chance in a million.”

“I don’t agree with you.”

“It doesn’t make any difference whether you agree with me or not. You’re going to be called on to answer that question. You’re dead right in saying I have no authority to make you answer it. Does that mean you’re afraid to answer it here and now?”

“I simply refuse to answer that question.”

“Why? Because the answer might incriminate you?”

“I give you no reason. I just don’t have to answer that question, and I refuse to, that’s all.”

“No argument about that. Naturally, when you become afraid to answer questions, I am free to draw my own conclusions.”

Dr. Macon stroked his chin nervously. “I took Milicent up there for certain reasons — connected with her health. It was a part of the treatment I had worked out for her. And I think you will agree with me, Counselor, that the minute I say that, no authority on earth can make me divulge what that treatment was or why I knew it was indicated.”

“I don’t think your medical exemption is that broad,” Mason said, “but we’ll let the answer stand for the minute. It is, of course, predicated upon the fact that you are her physician and that you are making that statement in that capacity.”

“Certainly.”

“How long have you been in love with her?” Mason asked.

Dr. Macon winced perceptibly, then said, as he made an attempt to regain his composure, “I suppose there is no limit to the insinuating, insulting questions—”

“You are in love with her, aren’t you?”

“That is neither here nor there.”

Mason said patiently, “It’s very pertinent, Doctor. You tell a story which gets you into a position where you have to rely on your professional immunity to keep from answering interrogations. In other words, you have to show that what you did was done as a physician.

“Now, as the character of the physician merges into that of the lover, the immunity of the physician vanishes.”

“That is a matter we will leave with the police,” Dr. Macon said with dignity.

“All right,” Mason went on, “we’ll get back to your story and my probing. You state that you gave Mrs. Hardisty a hypodermic which would put her to sleep.”

“Yes.”

“How soon would it take effect?”

“Within a very few minutes.”

“Ten minutes?”

“An effect would be noticeable within that time, yes.”

“She’d be asleep within half an hour?”

“Definitely.”

“She couldn’t have pretended to go to bed and then got up, taken a good strong cup of coffee or a caffein capsule and—”

“Definitely not,” Dr. Macon interrupted.

“And you gave her that hypodermic just before she entered her house?”

“Yes.”

“Acting as her physician?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Not as her lover?”

“Mr. Mason, I’ll thank you to—”

Mason silenced him with an upraised hand.

“You don’t have to answer the question if you don’t want to, Doctor. Just don’t get steamed up about it.”

“It’s an insulting question, and I refuse to answer it on that ground — and on that ground alone.”

“All right. You gave that hypodermic while she was sitting in the automobile and before she entered the house.”

“Yes.”

“How long have you been practicing, Doctor?”

“Something over twenty years.”

“And during that time, have you ever given any other patient a hypodermic under similar circumstances?”

“What do you mean?”

“If you were acting as her physician, and solely in that capacity, you would naturally have gone into the house with the patient. You would have ordered her to prepare herself for bed. After she had got in bed, you would have administered a hypodermic. Then you would have waited a few minutes to make certain the hypodermic had taken effect, and then left the house, leaving instructions with whoever was in the house as to the care of the patient.”

Dr. Macon’s eyes avoided those of the lawyer.

“This business of sitting out in front of a house giving a woman a hypodermic, telling her to go in and put herself to bed, and then driving off, smacks of something furtive, something secretive, something that is highly irregular.”

“Under the circumstances, I thought it was best to administer the hypodermic in that way. I reached that decision as a physician because of her symptoms, and I refuse to be questioned on that point.”

“There was no reason why you weren’t welcome in Mr. Blane’s house?”

“Well... I don’t think Mr. Blane approved of me as a physician for his daughter.”

“Why?”

“I’m sure I couldn’t tell you.”

“It wasn’t because he had some doubt as to your professional qualifications?”

“Certainly not.”

“Then it must have been because of the personal relationship which was being built up.”

“I prefer not to go into that.”

“I can see that you might... Well, there you are, Doctor. There are enough holes in your story right now to start you sweating, and I can think up a dozen more angles of attack.”

“Then you don’t believe my story?”

“It’s incredible. It’s unconvincing. It’s contradictory. You can’t make it stand up. You can’t explain why you took her to the cabin, or why you gave her that hypodermic out in the car.”

“I don’t have to.”

“Not to me, perhaps, but if you’re telling a story to protect Milicent, it’s something that has to stand up.”

“What makes you think I am telling this to protect Milicent?”

“Because it’s a fair inference that you met Milicent; that you went back up to the cabin with her because you knew Hardisty was up there; that you and she wanted to submit some proposition to Hardisty; that Hardisty was killed with a bullet from Milicent’s gun, fired either by you or by Milicent; that you then extracted the bullet from Hardisty’s body so it couldn’t be traced to Milicent’s gun.”

“Absurd!”

“Well, we’ll try another angle, then. Milicent Hardisty went up to the cabin. She met her husband up there. They had an argument. She accused him of a lot of things and insisted that he turn over to her the money and negotiable securities he had taken from the bank. He refused. She threatened him with the gun. There was a struggle for the possession of the gun. Jack Hardisty got shot, but death was not instantaneous. Milicent, in a frenzy, started running down the road from the cabin, hardly knowing what she was doing. Her sister, Adele, met her on the road. Milicent, in a panic, concealed her gun somewhere, or threw it away. Adele saw where this was... Jack Hardisty was badly wounded. Milicent and Adele put him to bed. They then telephoned a frantic appeal to you. You dashed up to the cabin, examined Hardisty and found that he was dead. He had died between the time he was put to bed and the time of your arrival. You then, swayed by your love for Milicent, proceeded to try to fix things up so that the murder was hopelessly obscured. You ran Hardisty’s car over the grade. You removed the fatal bullet with your surgical instruments and took care to see that it would never be found. Adele may or may not have been in on the whole business. She probably was. You intended to deny any knowledge of what had happened, or that you had any connection with it. But the fact that I traced you through those automobile tires gave you a terrific jolt... Now then, Doctor, let’s hear what you have to say to that.”

Dr. Macon shifted his position, said nothing.

At that moment, knuckles tapped gently on the door. The woman who had let Mason in opened the door and said apologetically, “I beg your pardon for disturbing you, Doctor, but a Mr. Jameson and Mr. McNair want to ask you some questions.”

Mason said to Mr. Macon, “There it is. Jameson’s the resident deputy at Kenvale, and Thomas L. McNair is a deputy from the district attorney’s office. So you see, Doctor, you didn’t have as much time as you thought you had... Now let me tell you something. If Milicent Hardisty fired the bullet that killed her husband, either accidentally or in self-defense, or because he was just a rat who needed killing, now’s the time for you to say so, and I’ll see that she gets a fair break. But if you’re trying to cover it up; if you think you can match wits with the law and come out on top, you’re going to wind up by getting her convicted of first-degree murder... Speak up.”

Dr. Macon said, “I am not afraid of the law, Mr. Mason.”

The lawyer studied him. “That’s the worst of you doctors. Your training makes you too self-reliant. Just because you can advise patients on diet, you think you know how to advise ’em on everything. A lawyer wouldn’t think he could snip out an appendix. But you’re taking it on yourself to think out Milicent’s defense to a charge of murder — and I think it’s a lousy defense.”

Dr. Macon said, with calm, professional dignity, “I have nothing to add to the story I have told you, Mr. Mason, and nothing to retract from it. Show the gentlemen in, Mable.”

“Just a minute,” Mason said. “Just a minute! Come in here, Mable, and close that door.”

She hesitated a moment, then obeyed.

Mason said, “If those two find me here, they’ll crucify you. The mere fact that I’m talking with you will make them think Milicent or Adele sent me to you. Is there any other way out?”

“Not out of this room. Where are they waiting, Mable?”

“In the hallway — and I don’t think they’ll wait long.”

Mason said, “Tell them the doctor is busy with an emergency patient; that he’ll see them just as soon as he completes the dressings.” Then he turned to Dr. Macon. “Bandage up my head, Doctor. Leave one eye so I can see and that’s all. Put my arm in a sling, spill on some disinfectants, and time things so they’ll pass me in the corridor on the way in.”

Dr. Macon nodded to the housekeeper, said to Mason, “Loosen your necktie and open your shirt.”

The physician’s hands moved with swift, deft skill. He wound bandage around Mason’s head, placed his left arm in a sling, ripped wide adhesive tape into narrow ribbons, anchored the bandage with strips of tape, and sprinkled on antiseptic.

“All ready?” he asked Mason.

Mason’s voice, coming from beneath the bandage, sounded strangely muffled. “Okay, Doctor. I’m warning you for the last time — don’t try to cover up. You can’t get away with it.”

Dr. Macon was crisply confident. “I can handle this situation very nicely,” he said. “One of the things you fail to take into consideration, Counselor, is that a doctor is trained to keep his wits in an emergency.”

Before Mason could reply, Dr. Macon threw open the door of the little den, said in a loud voice, “Show the gentlemen in, Mable.”

Mason, his hat in his hand, walked out of the office, stooping slightly so as to disguise his figure.

Jameson and McNair passed him on the way in, keeping well over to one side so as not to brush against Mason’s arm. Apparently they gave him no second glance.

Behind him, Mason heard Dr. Macon say, “Good evening, gentlemen, what can I do for you?”

The housekeeper held the outer door open for Mason.

“Good night,” the lawyer muttered.

The woman made no answer, indignantly slammed the door as soon as Mason reached the porch.