The Case of the Buried Clock

Chapter 23

As court reconvened at two o’clock, Thomas L. McNair sat at the table reserved for counsel for the prosecution, his face wearing a smile which just missed being a smirk.

Judge Canfield said, “The Jurors are all present, and the defendants are in court, gentlemen. Are you ready to proceed, Mr. McNair?”

“Just a moment, Your Honor,” Mason said, getting to his feet. “At this time I wish to ask permission of the court to introduce some testimony out of order.”

“Upon what ground is the motion made, Mr. Mason?”

“Upon the ground that the evidence is, in its nature, perishable. It will not keep until I have an opportunity to put it on in regular order.”

“Why not?” McNair demanded truculently.

Mason turned to him with a little smile. “It’s rather difficult to explain that without going into the nature of the evidence, Counselor.”

McNair said sneeringly, “Go ahead and explain it. I’d like to know what evidence you have that is, as you so aptly term it, perishable.”

Mason turned back to Judge Canfield. “It is a clock, Your Honor. A clock which was found buried near the alleged scene of the crime. It—”

“And what does a clock have to do with it?” McNair interrupted sarcastically. “Good Heavens, Your Honor. Here we have a plain open-and-shut murder case, and counsel for the defendant comes into court with a clock which was buried near the scene of the crime. It’s incompetent, it’s irrelevant, it’s immaterial. It can’t possibly be introduced in evidence.”

Mason said, “Of course, Your Honor, I will connect it up at the proper time; otherwise, the jurors can be instructed to disregard it.”

“But what is perishable about a clock?” McNair demanded. “You’ve got the clock. I guess it will keep, won’t it? I never heard of a clock spoiling. You might pickle it in alcohol.”

There was a well-defined titter from the courtroom. A few smiles appeared on the faces of the jurors, and McNair grinned gleefully at these smiling faces.

Mason said, “The clock will keep, but the time shown on the dial of the clock won’t. If the Court please, I am advised that this clock is now exactly two hours and forty-four and one-half minutes faster than our Pacific War Time. And inasmuch as our Pacific War Time is advanced one hour, that makes the clock exactly three hours, forty-four and one-half minutes ahead of our sun time.”

Judge Canfield frowned. “And exactly what is the possible significance of that fact, Mr. Mason? In other words, why should that evidence be preserved?”

“Because,” Mason said, “as of this date, sidereal time is exactly three hours, forty-four minutes, thirty-nine and one-half seconds in the advance of civil time. It is, therefore, plainly apparent that this ordinary alarm clock has been carefully adjusted so that it is keeping exact sidereal time, and inasmuch as I understand it is a twenty-four-hour clock, unless it is received in evidence, and the jury given an opportunity to note the time shown on the dial, the clock will have run down, and this valuable bit of evidence will have been destroyed.”

“And what possible connection can the stars have with this murder?” McNair demanded.

Mason said, “That, Your Honor, is one of the things I will connect up when it comes time to put on my case. All I am asking at the present time is permission to identify this clock so that the testimony may be preserved while it is available.”

Judge Canfield said, “I will grant your motion.”

Harley Raymand, being duly sworn, testified that he had first found the buried clock on October first, the date of the murder. That at that time, the clock, according to his best recollection, was some twenty-five minutes slow. That he had again found it on October second. That he had thereafter made search for the clock and had failed to find it again until approximately eleven o’clock on the morning of the present day when he had happened to hear a ticking noise; that he had listened carefully, located the spot in the ground from which that ticking was heard, and had uncovered what appeared to him to be exactly the same clock, in exactly the same box. That at this time, however, the clock was some two hours and forty-five minutes fast, as compared with his own watch.

“What did you do with this clock?” Mason asked.

“I wrapped it up in a package, wrote my name across the wrapping at the suggestion of Mr. Paul Drake. I then delivered the package to Mr. Paul Drake who also wrote his name directly above mine.”

Perry Mason asked, “Open this package, which I hand you, and see if it is the same package which you so gave to Mr. Drake.”

The jurors were leaning forward in their seats.

“Your Honor,” McNair said, “not only do I object to the introduction of this evidence at this time as being out of order, but I object to it as incompetent, irrelevant and immaterial.”

Judge Canfield said, “The Court has already ruled on the motion permitting Mr. Mason to put on the evidence at this time, and out of order. The Court will reserve a ruling on the objection that it is incompetent, irrelevant and immaterial until the defendant presents his case. Or, to put the matter in another way, the Court will admit the evidence temporarily, subject to a motion on the part of the prosecution to strike it out in the event it is not properly connected up.”

“That,” Mason announced, “is all I ask, Your Honor.”

Harley Raymand unwrapped the package, took out a small wooden box. He opened this box and disclosed an alarm clock ticking competently away.

Mason made some show of taking out his watch and comparing it with the dial of the clock, then he turned to consult the electric clock at the back of the courtroom. “May we call to the attention of the jury at this time, that the clock is apparently two hours, forty-four minutes and forty seconds fast.”

Judge Canfield said, his voice showing the interest he was taking, “It will be so noted for the record.”

McNair, plainly irritated that the smooth progress of his case had been interrupted, said, “Your Honor, I would like to reserve my cross-examination of this witness until after the Court has finally ruled whether the evidence is admissible.”

“So ordered,” Judge Canfield said. “Has any test of this clock been made for fingerprints, Mr. Mason?”

Mason said suavely, “Apparently not, Your Honor. I would like very much to have the Court instruct the fingerprint expert from the sheriff’s office to make proper tests.”

“That will be the order,” Judge Canfield said. “Now, Mr. McNair, do you wish to proceed with your case?”

“Yes,” McNair said truculently. “Now that we have disposed of the horoscopes and the astrology, we might get down to brass tacks. I will call Mr. William N. Jameson as my next witness.”

Jameson, duly sworn, testified to finding the body of Hardisty in the cabin. Testified also to matters of technical routine, identifying maps, photographs, and presenting all the groundwork necessary in murder cases.

Gradually, however, having disposed of these details, McNair once more started building to a dramatic climax. “Did you,” McNair asked, “on the second day of October of this year, have occasion to go to Roxbury with me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And where did you go when you arrived in Roxbury?”

“To the place where the defendant, Dr. Macon, has his office and residence.”

“Did you see Dr. Macon at that time?”

“I did.”

“Who else was present?”

“You and Dr. Macon, that’s all.”

“And, following that interview, did you have occasion to examine Dr. Macon’s automobile?”

“I did.”

“Who was present at that time?”

“No one. You were talking with Dr. Macon. I slipped out and went through his car.”

“What did you find, if anything?”

“Dr. Macon’s surgical bag was in the back of the automobile. I looked through it. In a little leather medicine case which held a lot of small bottles, I found a bottle which seemed to be filled with cotton. I took out the cork and pulled out the cotton. Concealed in the cotton was a piece of paper.”

McNair looked at the clock. “Any writing on this piece of paper?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Would you recognize this piece of paper if you saw it again?”

“Yes, sir.”

McNair said, with a smile, “I am offering the paper at this time for identification. Tomorrow, I will introduce handwriting experts to show that the writing on the paper is in the handwriting of the defendant, Milicent Hardisty. In the meantime, purely for the purposes of identification, I wish to read into the record the message which is upon this paper.”

“No objection,” Mason said, as Judge Canfield regarded him with a puzzled frown.

McNair read:

McNair handed the paper to the clerk of the court with a flourish. “Please mark this for identification,” he said, “as the prosecution’s exhibit.”

McNair turned to Perry Mason, glancing triumphantly at the clock, to note that once more the papers would have an opportunity to record a dramatic finish to the afternoon session.

“Is that all of your direct examination of this witness?” Judge Canfield asked.

“Yes, Your Honor. It is approximately four forty-five, and—”

Judge Canfield ignored the hint. “Cross-examine,” he said to Mason.

For a moment there was a flash of consternation on McNair’s face. It was quite apparent he had hoped Judge Canfield would adjourn court, and there was a sympathetic glint in the eyes of His Honor as he glanced at Perry Mason.

Mason faced the witness.

“You worked up this case, Mr. Jameson?” he asked.

“What do you mean by that?”

“You endeavored to uncover evidence in it?”

“Yes.”

“You did everything possible to unearth significant facts which might be considered as clues?”

“Yes.”

“Did you look down in that canyon to see if you could find the weapon which the defendant, Milicent Hardisty, is said to have thrown down there?”

Jameson smiled. “That was hardly necessary.”

“And why not?” Mason asked.

“Because her gun was found — where she had tried to hide it after the murder.”

“I see,” Mason said. “Therefore, it wasn’t necessary to look for a gun she might have thrown down into the canyon.”

“That’s right.”

“In other words, having found Mrs. Hardisty’s gun, there was no use searching for any other.”

“That’s right.”

“You knew Mrs. Hardisty told her sister she had tossed her gun over an embankment?”

“She claimed that,” Jameson grinned.

“And as an officer looking up facts in the case, you checked that statement by looking in the place she had indicated?”

“No, by looking in the place she actually hid the murder gun.”

“You don’t know it was the murder gun?”

“Well... of course — it was the gun she must have used.”

“And you are willing to swear there is no gun lying on the steep slope where Mrs. Hardisty told her sister she had thrown a gun?”

“I couldn’t swear that, but I’d bet a million dollars on it.”

Judge Canfield said sternly, “The witness will answer questions and refrain from extraneous comments.”

Mason smiled. “You don’t know this is the gun that killed Hardisty. You don’t know Mrs. Hardisty put the gun where it was found, and, as an officer, you have never checked Mrs. Hardisty’s story that she had thrown the gun which was in her purse down that steep slope. Is that right?”

“Well, I — do you mean, Mr. Mason, that the defendant had two guns?”

“I don’t mean anything,” Mason said. “I’m merely asking questions. I am trying to find out what investigation was made.”

“Well, we didn’t look in the bottom of the canyon, or along the slope.”

“So, for all you know, Mrs. Hardisty may have thrown a gun in the bottom of the canyon.”

“Well, yes.”

“And that gun may have been the thirty-eight caliber revolver which fired the bullet which the witness Pringle states had been used to bring about the death of a dog.”

“Well... I wouldn’t say that.”

“The question is argumentative,” McNair objected.

“I think it’s within the bounds of legitimate cross-examination, however; bearing in mind that counsel is entitled to show bias of the witness,” Judge Canfield ruled, “the objection is overruled. Answer the question.”

“Well... I — oh, I suppose she could have shot a dog and buried it at Dr. Macon’s house, and then driven up to the top of the canyon and thrown the gun away,” the witness said, with an attempt at sarcasm.

“And,” Mason observed, “by the same token, she could have driven up a little farther, killed a dog near the cabin and thrown the gun away. Then Dr. Macon could have found the dog, carried it home and buried it near his garage, couldn’t he?”

“Well, I don’t think it happened that way.”

“Oh, you don’t think it happened that way?”

“No.”

“So what you want this jury to do is to return a verdict of guilty of murder in the first degree, predicated on the way you think the thing must have happened.”

“Well, not exactly that.”

“Pardon me. I must have misunderstood you. That was what I understood to be the effect of what you said, the position you had adopted.”

“Well, there wasn’t any dog up at the cabin.”

“How do you know?”

“Well, there was no evidence that a dog had been up there.”

“And just what would you expect to find in the line of evidence that would convince you a dog had been up there, Mr. Jameson. Speaking as a detective, what evidence would you say a dog might leave behind that would tell you he had been there?”

Jameson tried to think of some answer, and failed.

“Come, come,” Mason said. “It’s approaching the hour of adjournment. Can’t you answer the question?”

“Well... well, no dog was up there.”

“And how do you know?”

“Well, I just know he wasn’t.”

“What convinced you?”

“There’s no evidence a dog had been up there.”

“That,” Mason announced, “brings us right back to the point where you stalled before. What evidence would you expect to have found?”

“Well, there weren’t any footprints.”

“Did you look for footprints?”

“Yes.”

“For a dog’s footprints?”

Jameson smiled. “Yes, sir.”

“And that was before there had been any evidence connecting a dog with this case?”

“Well, I guess so, yes.”

“But you were looking for a dog’s footprints?”

“Well... well, not exactly.”

“Then you weren’t looking for a dog’s footprints?”

“Well, not for a dog’s. We were looking the ground over.”

“And did you notice any dog’s footprints?”

“No, sir.”

“How about a coyote’s prints? Is that what those tracks were?”

Jameson thought for a moment and said, “Well, now wait a minute... Now, come to think of it, I’m not going to swear there weren’t any dog’s footprints, Mr. Mason.”

“And you aren’t going to swear that there were any?”

“Well, no.”

“In other words, you didn’t look for a dog’s footprints?”

“Well, not particularly. Come to think of it, the footprints of a coyote are so much like — no sir, I’m not going to swear one way or another.”

“You have already sworn both ways,” Mason said. “First that no dog was up there, second that you looked specifically for a dog’s footprints, third that you didn’t look for a dog’s footprints, fourth, that a dog may have been up there... Now, what is the fact.”

Jameson said irritably, “Oh, go ahead, twist everything I say around—”

“The witness will answer questions,” Judge Canfield admonished.

“What,” Mason asked suavely, “is the fact?”

“I don’t know,” Jameson said.

Mason smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Jameson, and that is all.”

Judge Canfield glanced at the clock, then down at the discomfited McNair. “It appears,” the judge said slowly and deliberately, “that it has now reached the time for the afternoon adjournment.”