The Case of the Cautious Coquette

Chapter 25

Perry Mason., surveying the crowded courtroom, walked over to engage in a whispered conference with Paul Drake and Della Street.

“Hamilton Burger, the district attorney, is going to take charge of the preliminary personally,” Mason said in a low voice. “That means he’s gunning for me. He...”

The door from the judge’s chambers opened and Judge Osborn walked into the courtroom and took his place on the bench.

“People versus Lucille Barton,” he said. “This is the time fixed for the preliminary hearing. Are you ready, gentlemen?”

Hamilton Burger, big, ponderous, dignified, built like some huge bear, was on his feet, his voice suave, plausible, his manner radiating a synthetic impartiality, which was deadly in its effect on jurors.

“Your Honor,” he said, “we are ready. Now I am going to state to the Court frankly that the death of Hartwell L. Pitkin is to some extent shrouded in mystery, but at this preliminary hearing it is only necessary for us to show that a crime was committed and to show that there is reasonable cause to believe the defendant committed that crime.

“I am very frank to state to Your Honor that I am hoping the evidence in this case will clear up some elements of the mystery and I will further add that before the case is done, we will quite probably ask for a warrant to be issued for at least one other person.”

And Hamilton Burger turned meaningly toward Perry Mason.

“We’re quite ready to proceed, Your Honor,” Mason said. “All we ask is an opportunity to meet the issues and cross-examine the People’s witnesses.”

“I may say,” Hamilton Burger snapped, “that our investigation in this case has been somewhat handicapped by the fact that counsel for the defendant has apparently been active in this case from its inception, even before the murder of Hartwell Pitkin.”

“Go on with your proof,” Mason said. “Don’t try to prejudice the Court.”

“I’m not trying to prejudice the Court,” Burger snapped, his voice and manner showing the seething anger which raged within him. “I’m merely trying to explain to the Court that we have been handicapped in this case from its inception. Our witnesses have been unable to make proper identifications because of tactics used by counsel for the defense.”

“What tactics?” Mason asked in surprise.

“Refusing to stand up so that a witness could identify you, for one thing,” Burger said, raising his voice so that the volume of sound reverberated through the courtroom. “And following that, Your Honor, counsel permitted himself to be secreted in a packing case so that he could be spirited out of his office building through the freight exit in order to thwart the attempts of...”

“That’s not true,” Mason said cheerfully.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Judge Osborn said. “This is neither the time nor the place for such a discussion. If you have evidence, Mr. District Attorney, put it on.”

“He hasn’t any, and he can’t get any,” Mason said.

“Don’t tell me I haven’t and can’t!” Burger shouted, his face darkening. “I’ll show you whether or not I have any such evidence. You give me half a chance, and I’ll prove that you were spirited out of your office building in a packing case so a witness by the name of Carl Evert Goshen couldn’t identify you; that you then went to the Sleepwell Auto Court with a bodyguard, where you tried to hide until the witness found you and made an absolute identification.”

“Go ahead and prove it,” Mason said.

“And the minute I try to prove that in this case you’ll start objecting that it’s not within the issues,” Burger said contemptuously. “Our hands are tied, and you know it.”

Mason said, “If you have witnesses who can prove any such thing, I won’t make a single objection.”

“Come, come, gentlemen,” Judge Osborn said. “The Court has to be considered in this matter. We have a crowded calendar. This is merely a preliminary examination and...”

“If Your Honor will permit me to take up counsel’s offer,” Hamilton Burger said, “I’ll convince the Court that the time consumed by putting on that evidence is the most important time Your Honor has ever spent on the bench. I’ll blast the subterfuge of this scheming attorney wide open. I’ll show him in his true colors. I’ll...”

Judge Osborn’s gavel banged on the desk. “You’ll refrain from these insulting personalities, Mr. District Attorney.”

“I beg the Court’s pardon,” Burger said, controlling himself with difficulty. “I have been led to lose some measure of my self-control by the tactics I’ve encountered in this case. Counsel has made an offer. He’s made it publicly. I don’t think he dares to stand by that offer, but I would like to...”

“You go ahead and put on your proof,” Judge Osborn said. “The Court will not permit its time to be taken up with extraneous matters, but I think you know this Court well enough to know that any legitimate attempt to get at the truth will be welcome.”

“Very well,” Hamilton Burger sneered. “Counsel has stated he won’t object. I’ll lay the preliminary proof of the corpus delicti by showing that Hartwell L. Pitkin was employed by Stephen Argyle as a chauffeur and butler; that on the fifth of this month he was murdered, having been shot with a Smith and Wesson revolver, Number S65088. I’ll call Lieutenant Tragg as a witness.”

Tragg took the witness stand, testified to his official connection with the police and the fact that he was on the homicide squad; that on the fifth he had been called to a garage in the back of an apartment house at number 19 South Gondola; that there he had found the body of Hartwell L. Pitkin.

Tragg then went on to describe the body, the manner in which it had been found, and what had been done.

“There was a gun lying near the right hand of the body?” Burger asked.

“That’s right,” Tragg said. “It was a .38 caliber Smith and Wesson, number S65088. An attempt had been made to remove all the numbers but one number had been overlooked and was still intact. The cylinder contained five loaded shells and one empty shell.”

“Is this the weapon?” Burger asked, producing the gun.

“It is, yes, sir.”

“I ask that it be marked for identification, Your Honor.”

“Very well. It will be so marked.”

“Now, Lieutenant, you say this gun was found near the body?”

“Yes, sir, but a paraffin test showed the decedent had not fired a gun. Also there had been an extensive hemorrhage from a wound in the head. We found this gun lying on top of the pool of blood. There was no blood on the gun except on the underside. There were blood spatters on the hand of the decedent. There were no spatters on the gun and no fingerprints whatever on the outside of the gun.”

“How about the inside of the gun?” Burger asked.

“On the inside of the gun,” Tragg said, “we found a fingerprint which was subsequently identified as being the print of a man’s right index finger.”

“Whose finger?” Burger asked.

“Perry Mason’s finger,” Tragg said.

“You have those fingerprints here?”

“I have them here.”

“Your Honor,” Burger said apologetically, “this is perhaps the wrong way to introduce this evidence. I should technically have produced a photograph of the fingerprint and then prints of Mr. Mason’s fingers and compared them, but in view of the fact that there can’t be any question about the identification of the print, and in view of...”

“I’m not going to object,” Mason interrupted. “Go right ahead. Handle it any way you want to, Mr. District Attorney.”

“Thank you,” Burger said sarcastically. “Now, Lieutenant Tragg, if you have those fingerprints, we’ll introduce them in evidence. People’s Exhibit A, the fingerprint that was found on the inside of the gun. People’s Exhibit B, a print that was taken from Mr. Mason’s right index finger. Now, will you describe the circumstances under which you took that fingerprint of Mr. Mason’s right index finger?”

Tragg said, “That was on Thursday, the sixth. I went to Mr. Mason’s office with a Mr. Goshen...”

“His full name?”

“Carl Evert Goshen.”

“You had there some conversation with Mr. Mason?”

“Isn’t this entirely outside of the issues, Mr. District Attorney?”

“I think I can connect it up,” Burger said. “Mr. Mason is not objecting.”

“I understand Mr. Mason’s position. However, I don’t care to hear a lot of extraneous or hearsay evidence.”

“This isn’t hearsay. This gets right down to the gist of the case.”

“All right, go ahead.”

Burger said, “Mr. Goshen was there with you, Lieutenant Tragg. Who else?”

“The defendant in the case, Lucille Barton, a gentleman by the name of Arthur Colson, who had apparently been interested in the purchase of the gun, and a plain-clothes officer.”

“Mr. Mason permitted you to take his fingerprints?”

“Yes.”

“Did he make any comment about his fingerprint being on the inside of the gun?”

“He admitted that he had used a key which he said he had received in the mail to enter the apartment of Lucille Barton on the day of the murder...”

“Come, come, gentlemen,” Judge Osborn interrupted. “Despite the fact that there isn’t any objection from the attorney for the defense, I feel that...”

“But he admitted seeing the gun in the defendant’s apartment,” Burger said.

“A gun,” Mason corrected.

“Well, a gun similar to this gun,” Burger retorted. “That certainly is significant and it’s relevant.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Judge Osborn said. “Go right ahead.”

Lieutenant Tragg said, “At that time I pointed out to Mr. Mason that Mr. Goshen was a witness who had seen two people at the garage where the body was found at about the time the murder must have been committed. One of these persons Goshen had previously identified as the defendant. She was accompanied by a man who answered the description of Mr. Perry Mason. I asked Mr. Mason to stand up so that Mr. Goshen could see if he were the same person. Mr. Mason refused to do so.”

“You mean he refused to get up?” Mr. Burger said, his voice for dramatic emphasis showing a synthetic incredulity. “You mean that Mr. Mason, an attorney at law, refused to let a witness look at him to see if he could be identified as a man who had accompanied...”

“I think that question’s argumentative and has already been asked and answered in effect,” Judge Osborn said. “The Court is going to try to keep this examination somewhere within the limits of the legal rules. It is, of course, a peculiar situation where an attorney for the defense refuses to object.” And Judge Osborn frowned disapprovingly at Perry Mason.

“Your Honor,” Mason said, “quite obviously the district attorney is preparing to attack my reputation by insinuation and innuendo. He knows, of course, that the press is represented at this hearing. I am fully aware that by pretending to be balked by technical objections on my part he can leave the impression that I am fighting to suppress the real facts. Therefore, I am throwing the doors wide open. If he has any facts, I want them brought out.”

“Well,” Judge Osborn said, “I guess, on second thought, I can appreciate your position, Mr. Mason. However, of course, the court can’t be used as a place for trying personalities.”

“There aren’t personalities, Your Honor,” Hamilton Burger said. “This gets right down to the meat of the situation.”

“All right, go ahead, start carving,” Judge Osborn said.

“Now then, did you subsequently make an attempt to have Mr. Mason identified by Mr. Goshen?”

“I most certainly did.”

“What did you do?”

“I had Mr. Goshen in my car with me, waiting in front of the exit of Mr. Mason’s office building. I was working in co-operation with reporters who were also covering the freight exit of the building and who were prepared to signal me in the event Mr. Mason left the building by that entrance.”

“And what did Mr. Mason do?”

Tragg grinned and said, “He had himself put in a packing case and shipped out of the back door as merchandise.”

There was a ripple of merriment through the courtroom.

“Did Goshen subsequently identify Mr. Mason?”

“I wasn’t there at the time,” Tragg said. “One of my associates, Sergeant Holcomb, was there when that happened.”

“Cross-examine,” Burger said triumphantly.

Mason said smilingly, “How do you know that I left the building in a packing case, Lieutenant?”

“Well, now,” Tragg said hurriedly, “perhaps I should correct that. As a matter of fact, I only knew it from what I read in the papers and what I was told. I didn’t see you leave the building in the packing case. If I had...” He broke off and grinned.

“Did you talk with anyone who saw me in that packing case, Lieutenant?”

“No, sir.”

“You have any reason to believe I was in that packing case?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What makes you think so?”

“It was the only way you could have got out of the building without having been observed.”

“Permit me to correct you, Lieutenant. You probably don’t realize it, but as a matter of fact I was in Paul Drake’s office until late that evening, until long after the packing case had been shipped. If you had talked with the janitor of the building you would have found that I left and went down in the elevator with him, accompanied by one of Paul Drake’s men, a Mr. Jerry Lando, a man, incidentally, who is here in court and who can be questioned by you at any time.”

Tragg’s face showed surprise. “You mean...”

“I mean exactly what I say, Lieutenant. I’d suggest that you have a talk with Mr. Lando before you make any more accusations based on hearsay. Now, thank you very much, Lieutenant Tragg. I have no further questions on cross-examination.”

Tragg and Burger exchanged glances. Tragg stepped down from the witness stand, turned when he was halfway across the courtroom, and said, “Where is this Jerry Lando?”

“Right here,” Jerry Lando said, standing up.

“Never mind,” Hamilton Burger said, hiding embarrassment behind a new belligerency. “I’ll call Sergeant Holcomb to the witness stand and we’ll clear that matter up very rapidly.”

Sergeant Holcomb came striding forward, raised his hand, took the oath, and with a satisfied anticipatory grin, settled himself in the witness chair.

Hamilton Burger asked a few preliminary questions as to name, age, residence, occupation, and then plunged into the evidence. “Sergeant, where were you on the evening of the sixth — that was Thursday, you’ll remember.”

“I remember,” Sergeant Holcomb grinned. “I located Perry Mason at the Sleepwell Auto Court and got a witness by the name of Carl Goshen to accompany me. We went out to make an identification. We made it.”

Sergeant Holcomb grinned gleefully as he thought over the events of the evening.

“What happened while you were there and in your presence?” Burger asked.

“Well, we drove into the auto court and in some way the word got around to newspapers. A bunch of newspaper photographers were out there. They took pictures of us when we drove in. They did that before I could stop them.”

“And then what happened?”

“Well, when the flash bulbs started popping, Mason, who was in Cabin Number 6, evidently accompanied by this Jerry Lando because Jerry Lando had signed the register and given the license number of his car, well, Mr. Mason came running out, and when he saw all the newspaper photographers he put his hat up in front of his face to try and keep them from getting his picture; but they started shooting flash bulbs anyway. Then he saw he was trapped, so he turned around and walked back to the cabin.”

“Did you follow him into the cabin?”

“No, sir.”

“Why not?”

Sergeant Holcomb grinned and said, “Because it wasn’t necessary. I’d done all I wanted to do. The witness Goshen, who was with me, had seen Mason come out of the cabin, had seen him walk and run, had seen his size and build, and he identified him absolutely as the man he’d seen in front of that garage about the time the murder was being committed. He’d previously identified the defendant, Lucille Barton.”

“This is a highly irregular manner of receiving evidence,” Judge Osborn snapped. “The witness Goshen should speak for himself.”

“He will,” Hamilton Burger promised. “I’m simply taking up Mason’s challenge and proving that I had the evidence I said I had. The Court will observe that it has only taken some twenty minutes of the Court’s time.”

“Very well,” Judge Osborn said. “It is of course a most unusual situation, the defendant’s counsel permitting all this hearsay evidence without objection.”

Sergeant Holcomb said, “It isn’t hearsay, Your Honor. I was sitting right there when Goshen made the identification. I heard what he said.”

“That’s exactly what is meant by hearsay,” Judge Osborn said. “You don’t know whether the man at the garage was Perry Mason. You only know what the witness said. The witness should speak for himself.”

“Well, he will,” Hamilton Burger interposed hastily. “He’ll be my next witness, if the Court please.”

“Very well, finish with this witness,” Judge Osborn said.

“I’m finished with him now,” Burger announced triumphantly.

Sergeant Holcomb started to leave the stand.

“Just a minute,” Mason said. “I want to ask you a few questions about that identification at the Sleepwell Auto Court, Sergeant. Now, you’ve known me for some time?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You recognized me when I ran out of the cabin and you said to Goshen, There he is. There’s Mason now,’ or words to that effect?”

“I don’t think I had to say anything like that. He recognized you as soon as he saw you.”

“You may not have thought you had to say it, but you did say it.”

“I may have.”

“The man who ran out had his hat in front of his face?”

“You had your hat in front of your face, trying to keep people from taking your picture.”

“Then this man turned his back and walked back to the cabin?”

“That’s right. That’s exactly what you did.”

“How far did the man run from the cabin before he turned around and ran back?”

“Oh, some thirty or forty feet.”

“There were several newspaper photographers there?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How do you know they were newspaper photographers?”

“Well, I... I...”

“In other words, you just assumed they must have been newspaper photographers, is that right?”

Holcomb said angrily and sarcastically, “That’s right. I’m just a dumb cop, but when a newspaper gives me a tip, when I see a bunch of guys carrying press cameras with flash bulbs fixed in reflectors, I just get credulous enough to think they’re newspaper men. It’s careless of me!”

“Oh, so you had a tip from a newspaper?”

“Well, I used methods of my own.”

“How did you know I was there at this auto court?”

Holcomb grinned. “A little bird told me.”

“And when you got there, there were some half dozen photographers there?”

“Right.”

“Some of them took your picture?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Can you remember any of them? Would you know them if you saw them again?”

“Why, I don’t know,” Sergeant Holcomb said. “I...”

“If you can identify the man you saw running out of the cabin, why couldn’t you identify some of the photographers?”

“Well, as a matter of fact, that’s sort of hard to do when those flash bulbs are popping in your eyes. I...”

“Oh, so you were dazzled by flash bulbs?” Mason said.

“Not enough so I couldn’t recognize you,” Sergeant Holcomb shouted.

“I see,” Mason said, smiling. “The flash bulbs dazzled you so you couldn’t see any of the other men, but they didn’t dazzle you enough so you couldn’t see me.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Well, how about those other men — can you describe them?”

“I can describe some of them.”

“Well, go ahead.”

“Well,” Sergeant Holcomb said, “there was a photographer right next to me, the man who came up and took my picture at the first. He was wearing a black overcoat.”

“About how old?”

“I couldn’t tell how old he was from looking at him out of the corner of my eye. He was a youngish man.”

“About how tall?”

“Oh... fairly tall, perhaps about as tall as you are.”

“About how heavy?”

Holcomb looked Mason over thoughtfully and said, “Somewhat your build.”

“Did you talk with this man?”

“I don’t think so. I tell you I was looking at you when you ran out of the cabin. I had my headlights on and you ran right into those headlights and put up your hat to shield your face, and — acted just like a shyster lawyer caught in a web of his own trickery, and...”

“That will do!” Judge Osborn shouted, pounding with his gavel. “That is absolutely uncalled for, Sergeant Holcomb! You know better than that.”

Sergeant Holcomb said angrily, “Well, he’s trying to insinuate I couldn’t see him.”

“Nevertheless, these personalities are uncalled for. Now, while you’re in this court, Sergeant, you confine yourself to answering questions. Otherwise the Court is going to have to take some disciplinary action. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Sergeant Holcomb said sullenly.

“Now, you say this man who was standing next to you took your picture as you drove up?” Mason asked.

“That’s right.”

“What were you doing when the picture was taken? Do you remember?”

“I remember exactly,” Sergeant Holcomb said. “I was leaning forward to turn off the ignition, and also the switch on the dashboard which controlled the dash and panel lights, so this man Goshen could get a better view; that is, so he could look through the windshield without having lights in his eyes.”

Mason said, “I’ll show you a photograph, Sergeant Holcomb, and ask you if that’s the photograph which was taken of you at that moment by this photographer who was standing beside your car. You’ll notice it shows the witness Goshen sitting in the car and you’re leaning forward to...”

“That’s the picture,” Sergeant Holcomb said. “That’s the one that was taken at that moment.”

“That was the only time you leaned forward, when you turned off the ignition and the dash and panel lights?”

“That’s right. That’s the picture that was taken by that photographer who was standing right next to me.”

“And that flashlight didn’t dazzle your eyes?”

“Not mine,” Sergeant Holcomb said. “My eyes are good. I’m accustomed to driving a lot at night and headlights don’t bother me. I can look right past a glare and... No, sir, those flashlights didn’t bother me at all. They didn’t keep me from seeing everything that was going on.”

“Now, at about that time,” Mason said, “there was another photographer directly in front of the automobile who took a photograph right through the windshield, wasn’t there?”

“I believe so, yes, but you can’t mix me up by making the claim that those flashlight bulbs blinded us, because they didn’t.”

“No, no,” Mason said, “I’m not making that claim. I’m simply trying to identify the order in which the photographs were taken. Now, here is another photograph which shows you leaning forward in the automobile and apparently was taken immediately before, or immediately after the photographer who was on your left had taken his picture. This, however, is taken from the front of the car, looking through the windshield.”

“That’s right,” Sergeant Holcomb said. “That’s the picture.”

“That picture shows you, shows Mr. Goshen, and shows the photographer who had just taken this first picture. Is that right?”

“That’s right.”

“All right,” Mason said. “Let’s have these photographs marked for identification as Defendant’s Exhibit One and Defendant’s Exhibit Two.”

The clerk marked the photographs.

“Now, then,” Mason said, “at about that time, there were other photographers taking pictures of the man who ran out of the cabin?”

“You hadn’t run out of the cabin then,” Sergeant Holcomb said. “You can’t trap me that way, Mr. Mason. The photographers all clustered around and took our pictures when I first drove up. Then the flashing of those bulbs made you realize something was wrong. You broke cover and came dashing out of that cabin just like a rabbit breaking cover and running away. When you saw all that gang in front of you, you turned around and scuttled right back into the cabin, but not until Goshen had had plenty of opportunity to identify you.”

“And as that figure came running out, the photographers took pictures of him?”

“That’s right, pictures of you.”

“Holding his hat up?”

“That’s right, holding your hat up.”

“Now, then,” Mason said, “I’ll show you a photograph which I would like to have marked for identification as Defendant’s Exhibit Number Three, and which shows a figure running out from this cabin with a hat held in front of his face.”

“That’s the one,” Sergeant Holcomb said. “That’s a good picture. That shows you running out with a hat up in front of your face.”

“Exactly,” Mason said. “We’ll have that as Defendant’s Exhibit for identification Number Three. Now, I’ll show you Defendant’s Exhibit for identification Number Four, Sergeant Holcomb, and you will notice that that shows the running man, but slightly from a side view. It also shows the photographer who has just taken picture Number Three.”

Holcomb studied the picture, said, “That’s right. That seems to be the way the picture was taken. That’s it, all right.”

“But,” Mason said, “you will notice that in this picture which is marked Number Four for identification, Sergeant, the angle of the camera was a little to one side so that the features of the man are a little more plainly visible than this photograph Number Three.”

“Yes, I guess they are,” Holcomb admitted.

“Now, then,” Mason said, “I’ll show you a photograph, Exhibit Number Five, which shows the running figure with the hat held in front of his face, and also shows the photographers who took pictures in Three and Four.”

“That’s right,” Sergeant Holcomb said mechanically.

“That’s right?”

“That’s right.”

“Better take another look at that picture,” Mason said. “You can see the man’s profile in it quite clearly. Do you think that is my picture, Sergeant?”

Sergeant Holcomb suddenly grabbed at the picture, said, “Wait a minute. I’d better get my glasses on here.” He reached in his pocket, adjusted spectacles, studied the picture, said suddenly, “No, this isn’t you. There’s some sort of flimflam work here! That’s another man!”

“Exactly,” Mason said. “Now, if you will look at the photograph marked for identification as Exhibit Number Two, Sergeant, and look at the man standing with the camera just to the side of your automobile, the man who took picture Number One, just as you were leaning forward, you may recognize the features of that man.”

“Just a minute — just a minute,” Hamilton Burger said. “I want to see those pictures. What’s happening here?”

“Come up and take a look at them,” Mason invited.

Sergeant Holcomb, studying the picture, said suddenly, “That isn’t right. This is fake photography.”

Mason smiled. “What makes you think it’s fake photography, Sergeant?”

“Because that isn’t the way it happened. This is another one of your slick flimflams.”

Mason said, “Better be careful with your accusations, Sergeant. We have six reputable witnesses to testify as to what happened there. Now, do you see any signs on that photograph that indicate it’s a fake photograph?”

“I don’t know enough about photography to tell,” Sergeant Holcomb said.

“Then how do you know it’s a fake?”

“Because it isn’t — it isn’t the way things happened.”

“Oh, yes it is,” Mason said. “Now, as a matter of fact, Sergeant, let’s remember you’re under oath here. When you first drove up to that cabin, photographers came and clustered around the automobile and took a whole series of flashlight pictures of you, didn’t they?”

“I’ve told you they did.”

“And let’s remember our oath, now,” Mason said. “Isn’t it a fact, Sergeant, that the effect of those flashlights blinded your eyes so that you were temporarily incapable of seeing clearly — particularly objects in the semi-darkness on the side of the car?”

“Well, I tell you I wasn’t looking at those objects. I was looking at that house because right at that time the door popped open and... and...”

“Go on,” Mason said, smiling, “and remember you’re under oath, Sergeant, and that there are six reputable witnesses to testify what took place there.”

“Well,” Sergeant Holcomb said lamely, “the door popped open and this running man came out.”

“Holding his hat in front of his face?”

“Yes.”

“So you couldn’t see his face?”

“Well, I...”

“Did you or didn’t you see his face?” Mason asked.

“Well, I didn’t see his face, no.”

“Then how could you tell who he was?”

“Well, I... I thought I recognized him by his walk and the way he ran, and... Well, I’d been told Perry Mason was hiding in that cabin, and...”

“Exactly,” Mason said. “You expected me to run out. Therefore, when a figure ran out and acted as you expected I might act under the circumstances you...”

“Oh, Your Honor, I object to this,” Hamilton Burger said. “This is incompetent, irrelevant and immaterial. It’s argumentative. It’s not proper cross-examination.”

“Well, well,” Mason said, smiling. “Look who’s objecting now!”

“I think the pictures speak for themselves,” Judge Osborn said.

“Well, if the Court please,” Hamilton Burger announced, “this is manifestly an unfair advantage to take of a witness. It is quite on a par with the trickery for which counsel is noted. It’s...”

“Sure, it’s trickery,” Mason said, “but it’s a trickery which wouldn’t confuse an honest witness. As a matter of fact, Sergeant Holcomb’s eyes were blinded by those flash bulbs just as I expected they’d be. He isn’t frank enough nor honest enough to admit it, but he is sitting here under oath on this witness stand and he’s going to tell the truth or he’s going to be guilty of perjury. There are six witnesses who took these pictures and will identify them. Now, I want to know from Sergeant Holcomb right here and now and on cross-examination whether I was the person who ran out of that cabin, or whether I was the person standing within four feet of his left elbow holding a camera focused on his face and taking a flashlight picture. Now which was it, Sergeant?”

Sergeant Holcomb’s face was a picture of dismay.

“Oh, Your Honor,” Hamilton Burger said, “that’s an unfair question. That...”

“Objection is overruled,” Judge Osborn snapped. “Let the witness answer the question.”

“Which was it?” Mason asked, grinning cheerfully at the discomfited officer. “And remember we have both photographs and photographers to refute any false testimony.”

“I don’t know,” Sergeant Holcomb blurted.

“Thank you,” Mason said. “That concludes my cross-examination, Sergeant. And now I believe, Mr. District Attorney, you said you wanted to put Mr. Goshen on the stand as your next witness. Put him on. Let’s hear what Mr. Goshen has to say.”

Hamilton Burger said, “Your Honor, I dislike these personalities...”

“Counsel is merely repeating a promise which you made,” Judge Osborn said, fighting back a smile. “Of course, I will admit that his manner is perhaps more dramatic than the situation calls for, but... in any event, proceed with your case, Mr. Burger.”

Hamilton Burger said, “I would like to ask the Court at this time for a five-minute recess. I would like to confer briefly with one of my associates. This situation has take me somewhat by surprise.”

“And I submit, Your Honor,” Mason said, “that counsel has repeatedly promised to put the witness Goshen on the stand. I’d like to have him go on the stand now before there’s been any opportunity to coach him.”

“I resent that!” Burger shouted. “I have no intention of coaching the witness. He doesn’t need any coaching.”

“Put him on then,” Mason challenged.

“I have made a motion for a five-minute recess.”

“I’ve opposed it,” Mason said.

“The motion is denied,” Judge Osborn ruled. “The Court sees no reason for a recess at this time.”

“Very well, then, I’ll call Roscoe R. Hansom to the stand.”

“I thought you were going to call Goshen,” Mason said.

“I don’t have to follow your instructions or the instructions of anyone else in putting on my case. I can put it on any way I please!” Burger shouted.

Mason said, “You were hurling challenges at me a few moments ago, Mr. District Attorney, now I’ll hurl one right back at you. I dare you to put Mr. Goshen on the stand as you promised, and before you’ve had an opportunity to talk with him about this new development.”

Hamilton Burger sullenly said, “I asked for Roscoe R. Hansom. Mr. Hansom, will you come forward please?”

Mason grinned.

Judge Osborn clamped his lips together in a firm, thin line.

Hansom identified himself as the proprietor of the Rushing Creek Mercantile Company, told of selling the gun, and of the general description of the man who had purchased the gun. He then produced the gun register, and the signature of the man who had signed for that gun on the register. The gun, which had been previously marked for identification, was received in evidence as People’s Exhibit C.

“Have you subsequently seen that man?” Burger asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Who was he?”

“His name is Arthur Colson. I saw him at your office on the morning of the sixth.”

“Cross-examine,” Burger snapped.

“No questions,” Mason said, gleefully. “Do you want to call Mr. Goshen now?”

“Your Honor,” Burger said, “I resent this continual nagging by counsel.”

“You’ve invited it,” Judge Osborn said.

“Nevertheless, Your Honor, I feel that it is improper.”

“It is improper,” the Court said. “However, I can tell you this much, Mr. District Attorney. You can stall around if you want to. You’ve a perfect right to put on your case in any way that you see fit. But when it comes to a showdown, your proof is going to be addressed to the discretion of the Court. Now I take it there’s a matter of identification of this defendant by the witness, Goshen, which is material. Very material to your case.”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“And you promised, in fact, you threatened, I may say you bragged, that you were going to put this witness on the stand in order to prove certain statements you made in your opening address to the Court. Now the judge of this court wasn’t born yesterday, and I know that if you stall matters along until the Court takes its usual adjournment for recess that there’s a reason for doing it. And in the mind of the Court such tactics are going to greatly weaken the testimony of the witness Goshen. Now that’s plain talk, Mr. District Attorney, but it’s because of a situation which you yourself invited. I’m speaking my mind. There’s no jury here. This is a preliminary hearing. It’s a matter addressed entirely to the discretion of the Court and that’s the way the Court feels about it. Now proceed with your case.”

Hamilton Burger cleared his throat, stood for a moment undecided, then blurted out, “Carl Evert Goshen, take the stand.”

Goshen took the witness stand, and, after the preliminary questions, stated that he lived next door to the apartment house at 719 South Gondola. He had occasion to remember the evening of the fifth and in particular was annoyed by an automobile which had sputtered and backfired with a series of explosions which indicated the carburetor or the timing, or both, were badly out of adjustment.

“What did you do?” Burger asked.

“I opened the window, intending to call to the people across the way, asking them to shut off that motor, or do something about it,” Goshen said.

“Did you do so?”

“No, sir, I didn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because they shut off the motor at right about that time.”

“And did you see the car and the people?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How far away were they?”

“Well, they were across an alley which leads to the garage. Oh, I’d say they were perhaps seventy-five feet.”

“Were the figures illuminated?”

“Well, sir, the headlights were on on the automobile and I could see these figures moving around. They were looking in the garage and — well, I saw their backs and saw how they were dressed.”

“Now can you describe those figures?”

“Yes, sir. One of them was Lucille Barton, the defendant in this case. She was wearing a plaid coat and a black hat with a little red feather. A hat that was close-fitting and slanted down on her head over to the right. She had those same clothes on when the police showed her to me.”

“And the other figure?”

“Well, now,” Goshen said, crossing his legs and running his hand over the top of his partially bald head, “now you’ve got me guessing.”

The courtroom broke into laughter.

Hamilton Burger frowned, and said, “You have your two eyes, don’t you know what you saw?”

Goshen rubbed his head, “And I’ve got my two ears, and I know what I’ve just heard.”

Even Judge Osborn joined in the laughter which rocked the courtroom.

When order had been restored, Burger said, sullenly, “Well, tell us what you saw as best you can.”

“Well, I saw a tall man. I never did see his face. He was a tall, athletic looking fellow, apparently sort of young, from the way he moved, not real young, but moving around sort of easy like. He took long strides, had long legs, and he was wearing a gray hat and a tan overcoat.”

“Have you ever seen that man again? Can you identify him?”

“Well, now,” Goshen said, hesitating and rubbing his hand over his head, “I just don’t rightly know.”

The courtroom tittered and Judge Osborn pounded it to silence.

“But you can positively identify the defendant?” Hamilton Burger asked.

“Objected to as leading and suggestive, assuming a fact not in evidence, argumentative, and putting words in the mouth of the defendant,” Mason said.

“The objection is sustained.”

“Well,” Hamilton Burger said, “you definitely know how she was dressed?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And her height, weight, age, and general build?”

“Yes, sir.”

“All the same as this defendant?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And the man. Was he about the same height as anyone you are now looking at?”

“Objected to as leading and suggestive.”

“Objection sustained.”

“Well, how can you describe him?”

“Objected to as already asked and answered.”

“Objection sustained.”

“Cross-examine,” Hamilton Burger snapped, with exasperation.

Mason said, “You thought you saw that same person again, didn’t you?”

“I certainly thought I did, Mr. Mason, yes, sir. It was just the way Sergeant Holcomb has described it.”

“In other words, the figure you saw at the garage that night was a man of just about the same height, build, and wearing about the same colored garments as the man you saw emerging from the auto court?”

“That’s right.”

“But you never did see the man’s face?”

“No, sir.”

“When you saw him at the garage you saw only his back?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So all you know is that you saw a rather tall man with a tan-colored topcoat and a gray hat.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And any tall man of approximately the same build, wearing those garments, would look just about the same to you as the man you saw at that time?”

“Well, I... no I don’t think so. I think probably I could identify him.”

Mason said, “You did identify him, didn’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You heard the Sergeant’s testimony that you pointed out the man who ran out of that cabin.”

“Well, I guess I made a mistake there,” Goshen admitted, gulping in embarrassment.

“What makes you think you made a mistake?”

“Well, that man evidently was someone who had been planted there.”

“What makes you think you made a mistake?”

“Well... my gosh, Mr. Mason, you’ve just proved it wasn’t you.”

“In other words,” Mason said, “you had been told that the man you had seen at the garage was none other than Perry Mason?”

“Well, that’s what the police seemed to think.”

“You’d been told that?”

“Yes.”

“And when you saw that man run out of the cabin you said to Sergeant Holcomb, ‘that’s the man,’ didn’t you?”

“Well, I guess I did.”

“And you saw that figure running toward the headlights of an automobile, and you saw it turn around and run back?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You saw it as plainly as you saw the figure that you were looking at across the alley?”

“Well, I... as a matter of fact, those flashlights popping in my eyes certainly did make everything seem all sort of black to me, sort of hard to look at.”

“But you saw the figure well enough so that you were willing to identify him?”

“Well, yes.”

“And did identify him?”

“Yes.”

“And now think you were mistaken?”

“Well, I guess I must have been.”

“Simply because the figure was not that of the man police had told you you must have seen at the garage, is that right?”

“Well... I... I just don’t rightly know how to say it, Mr. Mason, but I guess I walked into a trap and... and I guess,” he added ruefully, “I’ve got my fingers caught.”

Even Judge Osborn smiled.

“And this woman whom you saw across the alley was with a man?”

“Yes.”

“And you saw her at the same time and place as the man?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Under the same conditions?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And if you can’t identify the man, how do you expect to identify the woman?”

“Well... well, I really could have identified that man if I hadn’t made a mistake.”

“You did identify a man?”

“Yes.”

“And now you think it was the wrong man?”

“It must have been.”

“And you saw the woman there at the garage no more distinctly than you saw the man?”

“Well, no.”

“Thank you,” Mason said. “That’s all.”

“And now,” Judge Osborn said, cocking a stern eye at Hamilton Burger, “the Court will take a ten-minute recess.”