The Case of the Crooked Candle

Chapter 16

Judge Newark presided at the preliminary hearing of Roger Burbank and Carol Burbank, and the crowded courtroom gave evidence that the public realized only too well the underlying significance and far reaching importance of this hearing.

Giving some indication of the importance which the district attorney’s office attached to the case, was the fact that Hamilton Burger, the district attorney, was present in person, assisted by Maurice Linton, one of the most able of the younger trial deputies.

Maurice Linton, a slim, fiery man with quick, nervous gestures and a gift for oratory, arose to make a brief opening statement.

“Your Honor,” he said, “while I realize that it is somewhat unusual to make an opening statement in a preliminary hearing of this nature, yet, inasmuch as much of our evidence will be circumstantial, and as it seems quite evident from the number of witnesses subpoenaed and the preparations made by the defense that an attempt will be made to throw this case out of court at the end of this hearing, I want the court to understand what we are trying to prove.

“We intend to prove that Roger Burbank had a violent altercation with the deceased on the night of the murder; that thereafter, the defendant, Carol Burbank, endeavored to give her father a false alibi by suborning perjury. We intend to show that at an auto court where a political meeting was claimed to have been held, a collection of empty bottles holds the fingerprints of Carol Burbank, of Judson Beltin, and of no one else. We will also prove that the defendant, Roger Burbank, a strong, powerful man, a trained boxer in his youth, inveigled the decedent to his yacht and there murdered him.”

The judge looked to Perry Mason, “Do you desire to make any statement, Mr. Mason?”

Jackson, seated at Mason’s left, leaned forward and whispered, “I think he’s impressed by that statement. You’d better say something.”

Mason merely shook his head. “We’ll wait until we see how the case develops, Your Honor.”

“Very well. The prosecution will call its first witness.”

The prosecution called Lieutenant Tragg, introduced evidence of the finding of the body of Fred Milfield, the identification of the body, the position in which the body was found, the place where the yacht was moored, virtually all of the elements necessary to establish a corpus delicti.

“You may cross-examine,” Linton announced.

Mason seemed elaborately casual in his cross-examination. “The murder was committed aboard a yacht?”

“Yes.”

“And where was the yacht anchored?”

“I think if counsel will wait a little while,” Burger said, “that question will be satisfactorily answered. We have some witnesses who will produce charts, photographs and maps.”

“Then,” Mason said, “I feel that I should be entitled to postpone my cross-examination of this witness until after those are introduced.”

“No objection,” Burger said.

Mason announced with a smile, “That’s all, Lieutenant.”

Burger next called a surveyor, introduced a chart of the estuary, showing the place where the yacht was anchored, showing diagrams of the ulterior of the yacht, a diagram of the deck, of the cabin, then announced triumphantly, “You may cross-examine.”

Mason said, “The yacht was anchored at the place you have marked with a cross on People’s Exhibit Number One. Is that correct?”

“That’s correct.”

“How deep was the water at that point?”

The surveyor smiled, “I don’t know. I located the yacht by triangulation, and superimposed the location upon a chart of the estuary.”

“Very interesting. And you don’t know how deep the water was?”

“No, I’m a surveyor — not a diver.”

The courtroom laughed.

Mason didn’t even smile. He said, “That’s all.”

The surveyor was followed by a photographer who introduced various photographs showing the interior of the cabin, the body of Fred Milfield sprawled on the floor, the yacht riding at anchor, a view of the starboard side of the yacht; then a view of the port side of the yacht; then one of the bow, and one of the stern.

“Cross-examine,” Linton said.

Mason said very quietly, “How deep was the water at that point?”

A titter ran through the courtroom.

The photographer said quickly, “I don’t know. I’m a photographer, not a diver.”

The titter swelled into audible merriment. The judge rapped for order.

Mason said casually, “That’s all.”

Jackson, somewhat concerned, leaned forward to whisper to Mason, “I think the audience in the courtroom is laughing at you.”

“Do you, indeed,” Mason whispered without even bothering to turn around.

Burger called Mrs. Daphne Milfield.

Mrs. Milfield, attired in black, her eyes still slightly swollen from weeping, took the witness stand.

“You are the widow of Fred Milfield, the decedent?” the district attorney asked with that sympathetic consideration which district attorneys always show for the widows in murder cases.

“Yes,” she answered in a voice that was hardly audible.

“Mrs. Milfield, are you acquainted with Roger Burbank, one of the defendants in this case?”

“Yes.”

“How long have you known him?”

“Ten years.”

“Do you know whether Roger Burbank asked your husband to meet him at any designated place on the day your husband met his death?”

“Yes. Mr. Burbank telephoned.”

“When?”

“About eleven-thirty that morning.”

“Who answered the telephone?”

“I did.”

“And did you recognize the voice of Roger Burbank?”

“I did.”

“The voice which you have known for some ten years?”

“Yes.”

“And what did Mr. Burbank say?”

“When he found Fred wasn’t there, he said he was very anxious to get in touch with him, that he wanted Fred to come aboard his yacht for a conference at five o’clock that afternoon. He said his yacht would be at the usual place, that the thing he wanted to see Fred about was a matter of greatest importance.”

“And you’re certain this was Roger Burbank with whom you were talking?”

“Yes.”

“Did you communicate this message to your husband?”

“I did.”

“When?”

“About twenty minutes after the call was received.”

“How?”

“My husband called up on the telephone to tell me he wouldn’t be home for dinner, might not get in until after midnight.”

“And you gave him this message from Roger Burbank?”

“Yes.”

“What did your husband say, if anything?”

“He said he bad already talked over the telephone with Mr. Bur...”

“Objected to,” Mason interposed, “as incompetent, irrelevant and immaterial, not part of the res gestae, and therefore hearsay.”

“Sustained,” Judge Newark ruled.

“You may cross-examine,” Hamilton Burger announced.

Jackson leaned forward to whisper to Mason, “That ‘knowing him for ten years’ business is a trap. He’s hoping you’ll walk into it and give her an excuse to get that old case in front of the court.”

Mason nodded, said to the witness, “You say you have known Roger Burbank for ten years, Mrs. Milfield?”

“Yes,” she answered in a voice that was hardly more than a whisper.

“Have you known him well?”

“Quite well.”

“Was he in Los Angeles all of that time?”

“No.”

“Where was he when you first got acquainted with him?”

“In New Orleans. I did some yachting, and Mr. Burbank was an enthusiastic yachtsman. We met that way. Actually, the first time I met him I was rowing a skiff out to a yacht, and Mr. Burbank in another rowboat started racing me.”

“You have known him longer than your husband?”

“Yes.”

“Was it through you that your husband got in touch with Mr. Burbank?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“There was an interval of some years during, which you hadn’t seen Mr. Burbank?”

“Yes.”

“And then you telephoned him?”

“I did.”

“You mentioned your old acquaintanceship?”

“Yes.”

A look of triumphant satisfaction began to manifest itself upon the district attorney’s face.

“Just what did you say to him, Mrs. Milfield?”

She flashed a glance at the district attorney, received in return what might have been a signal, said very rapidly, “I took pains to assure him that I would say nothing about the trouble he had been in New Orleans when he had killed a man with a blow of his fist.”

The judge frowned.

Mason, not changing his voice in the least, said, “But, notwithstanding that promise, you did tell your husband?”

“Well, I’d already told Fred.”

“And did you tell any of your husband’s business associates — Harry Van Nuys, for instance?”

“Yes, I told him.”

“Anyone else?”

“No, just these two.”

“And told them so they could go to Burbank and force him to finance them...”

“Absolutely not!”

“Then why did you tell them?”

“Just because I thought my husband had a right to know.”

“And how about Van Nuys? Did you think he had a right to know?”

“Of course,” Burger objected, “this inquiry is now going far afield, Your Honor.”

Mason said, “Not at all, if the Court please. The Court will have noticed the eager alacrity with which the witness rushed into the discussion of Burbank’s past. I am now showing bias, as well as asking her to elaborate on the answer she was so anxious to rush into the record.”

“It is only natural this witness should have a bias,” Burger snapped. “After all, this man murdered her husband.”

“And it is only fair that I have a chance to show the extent of that bias,” Mason said.

“Answer the question,” the judge instructed. “The question was whether you thought a certain Harry Van Nuys had a right to know about this former trouble Burbank had been in.”

“Well, he was my husband’s business associate.”

“And, therefore, entitled to know?” Mason asked.

“In a way, yes.”

“Because you considered the information a business asset?”

“No! Absolutely not.”

“But the information was used as a business asset, was it not?”

“By whom?”

“By your husband and Harry Van Nuys.”

“That calls for hearsay,” Burger objected. “This witness wouldn’t know about anything that took place between her husband and Burbank except through what her husband may have told her. Moreover it calls for a conversation between husband and wife.”

“The question was whether she knew,” the court said. “That calls for her own knowledge.”

“I don’t know — of my knowledge,” Mrs. Milfield said sweetly.

“But prior to this conversation you had with Burbank your husband had never met him?”

“No.”

“Nor Harry Van Nuys?”

“No.”

“But within a week or ten days after you told them of Burbank’s past they had met him and had arranged with Burbank to finance them in an extensive business venture?”

“I don’t think Mr. Van Nuys ever met Burbank.”

“Your husband handled all the business of getting the financing?”

“Yes.”

“Therefore Van Nuys had no reason to meet Mr. Burbank?”

“Well — no.”

“Therefore, the only reason your husband went to see Burbank was to get money?”

“Backing.”

“Financial backing?”

“Yes.”

“In the form of cash?”

“Yes.”

“Now then,” Mason said, pointing his finger at the witness, “did you remonstrate with your husband for taking advantage of a situation which you had disclosed to him, for blackmailing Roger Burbank into advancing him money, and...”

“Your Honor,” Burger objected, jumping to his feet, “this is incompetent, irrelevant and immaterial. Moreover, it calls for a privileged communication between husband and wife, it is far afield from any questions covered in the direct examination and I object to it specifically on the ground that it is not proper cross-examination.”

“The objection is sustained on the privileged communication point,” the judge ruled.

Mason said, “Now then, Mrs. Milfield, I’ll direct your attention to the Saturday when the body was discovered. You were in your apartment at that time, and I called on you there, did I not?”

“Yes.”

“You’d been crying?”

“Objected to as improper cross-examination,” the district attorney said.

“It may show bias,” Mason pointed out to the court.

“Overruled.”

“I called on you there?” Mason asked.

“Yes.”

“And you had been crying?”

“Yes.”

“And while I was there, Lieutenant Tragg of the Homicide Squad arrived, did he not?”

“Yes.”

“And I told you that Lieutenant Tragg was connected with the Homicide Squad and asked you if you knew anyone who had been murdered and you said, ‘It may have been my...’ and then stopped. Did you not so state?”

“Yes”

“And you had in mind that it was your husband?”

“Yes.”

“What made you think it was your husband, Mrs. Milfield?”

“Because... because he hadn’t been home all night, and because I knew he’d had trouble with Roger Burbank; and that Mr. Burbank had claimed my husband had been guilty of falsifying his accounts.”

“That’s all,” Mason said.

Burger’s re-direct examination was triumphant. “And,” he announced to the witness, “Mr. Mason, championing your cause just because Lieutenant Tragg happened to be downstairs, advised you to start peeling onions so that it would account for the tear-swollen appearance of your eyes, didn’t he?”

Mason said, “Certainly, I did.”

“Answer the question,” Burger told the witness.

“Yes.”

“Now why did Mr. Mason do that?”

The judge looked down at Mason and said, “I think this is objectionable, Mr. Mason, as not being proper redirect examination and calling for a conclusion of the witness — in case you care to object to it.”

“I don’t care to object to it,” Mason said. “I am quite willing to have it appear that I gave this young woman some gratuitous advice which would enable her to...”

“To save her face,” Burger sneered.

Mason smiled and said, “Not to save her face, Counselor, merely to account for its appearance.”

The courtroom burst into laughter.

The judge, smiling himself, pounded the courtroom into silence with his gavel. “Any further re-direct?” he asked.

“None, Your Honor.”

“Re-cross?”

“None,” Mason said.

“The witness is excused. Call your next witness, Mr. Burger.”

Burger said grimly, “Your Honor, I am going to call my next witness slightly out of order, but I think I can show a pattern which I can presently connect up with other evidence, if the Court will bear with me.”

“Very well.”

“J. C. Lassing,” Burger called.

Mr. Lassing, a stoop-shouldered man in the late fifties, with a dejected appearance, took the witness stand and painfully avoided meeting the eyes of either of the defendants.

“Your name is J. C. Lassing. You are an oil-drilling contractor, and you reside at sixty-eight forty-two La Brea Avenue, Colton, California?” Burger asked.

“Yes.”

“Now then, on the Saturday in question, when the body of Fred Milfield was discovered, you were in or near Santa Barbara, were you not?”

“Yes.”

“On the Friday night previous, you had occupied cottages Thirteen and Fourteen at the Surf and Sun Motel on the coast highway between Los Angeles and San Francisco?”

“Yes.”

“That is a short distance below Santa Barbara — between Ventura and Santa Barbara?”

“Yes.”

“And did you have any communication with anyone while you were there?”

“Yes.”

“A telephone communication?”

“Yes.”

“With whom?”

“Objected to,” Mason said, “incompetent, irrelevant and immaterial.”

“Sustained.”

“Was it with one of these defendants?”

“Yes.”

“Then I will ask you what this conversation was.”

“Same objection,” Mason said.

The judge frowned. “If it appears this conversation was with one of the defendants, Mr. Mason...”

Mason said, “If the Court please, it’s perfectly proper for Counsel to ask this witness if he recognized the voices of either of the defendants, and if either of the defendants made any admissions to him over the telephone. But as to anything this witness may have said to the defendants, it’s entirely incompetent, irrelevant and immaterial.”

“I think that’s right,” the judge ruled.

“But Your Honor,” Burger protested, “I want to connect this up. I want to show that because of the conversation, the defendants knew where this witness was staying, knew that he was at the Surf and Sun Motel.”

“What’s that got to do with it?” the judge asked.

“I’ll connect that up with my next witness.”

“Well,” the judge said somewhat hesitantly, “I’m going to admit it if you change your question so that it covers only that specific point.”

“Very well, Your Honor,” Mr. Burger said. “Mr. Lassing, I will ask you if you communicated with the defendant, or with his office and told him where you were staying?”

“Well, I communicated with his office.”

“With whom did you talk?”

“With Mr. Judson Beltin.”

“And who is Mr. Beltin?”

“He is the secretary of Roger Burbank — sort of a manager.”

“You know that, do you?”

“Yes.”

“Of your own knowledge?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve had business dealings with Mr. Burbank through Mr. Beltin?”

“Yes.”

“And what did you tell Mr. Beltin?”

“I asked Mr. Beltin if I could get those drilling contracts on the Skinner Hills property. I told him I was there at the Surf and Sun Motel and I was going to be there until noon and asked him to get in touch with me, if he had any definite answer to give me. He told me that...”

“I really see nothing to be gained by introducing the conversation of Mr. Beltin,” the judge ruled. “I presume Mr. District Attorney, it is your contention that Mr. Beltin subsequently communicated this information to one or both of the defendants, and that has some bearing upon the case?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“I will let the answer stand up to that point, but I don’t think that any conversation between Beltin and this witness is at all pertinent.”

“Very well, Your Honor. I will now ask you, Mr. Lassing, what time you checked out of the Surf and Sun Motel?”

“Right around ten o’clock in the morning.”

“When was this conversation you had with Mr. Judson Beltin?”

“Late Friday afternoon, about four forty-five, and also Saturday.”

“There were some people occupying the two cottages with you?”

“Yes.”

“Who were they?”

“Some of my associates — a driller and a geologist of my own, a man who gives me some financial backing at times, and another man who has an interest in my business.”

“You had been investigating the Skinner Hills oil field?”

“Yes.”

“How did you know that it was an oil field?”

“Well,” Lassing said, scratching his head, “I did know it, and I didn’t. I just happened to stumble onto it. I saw that Milfield and Burbank were getting together and buying up a lot of property. Well, us oil men sort of keep an eye on any large-scale movements in potential oil properties. They’d organized a Karakul Fur Company, but that didn’t fool me any.”

“So you went out and looked the ground over?” Burger asked.

“Yes.”

Burger said. “Now then, Mr. Lassing, I’m going to ask you a question. Did you have any conversation with one of the defendants concerning your occupancy of the Surf and Sun Motel some time after you had checked out?”

Lassing fidgeted, then said, “Yes.”

“With whom?”

“Carol Burbank.”

“What did you say?”

“I take it,” Judge Newark said, “the district attorney understands this question is not to call for extraneous matters, but only for some declaration which will have some bearing upon the case?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Answer the question.”

“Well,” Lassing said, “she asked me if I’d say that — well, if I’d just refuse to give the names of the people who occupied the cottages with me, just make it look as though I had something to conceal — just not give out any information about who they were.”

“And what did you do?”

“Well, I told her all right, I’d do that.”

“Is this,” Mason asked somewhat scornfully, “the grounds upon which you’re going to claim a subornation of perjury?”

“Yes,” Burger snapped.

Mason smiled, “She didn’t ask him to commit any perjury.”

“I think she did,” Burger said.

“Never mind the discussion between counsel,” the judge ruled. “Go ahead with your examination, Mr. Burger.”

“That’s all.”

“Any questions on cross-examination, Mr. Mason?”

Mason smiled, said, “Yes, Your Honor. Mr. Lassing, I will ask you if Carol Burbank, at any time, asked you to testify to anything that was false?”

“Well, no.”

“Did she ask you to make any statements whatever that were false in character?”

“Well, she asked me to just keep quiet.”

“Exactly. She asked you to keep quiet. She didn’t ask you not to make a true statement in the event you were called as a witness?”

“Well, no.”

“But just to keep quiet, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Not to divulge the names of the persons who occupied those cabins with you?”

“That’s right.”

“She specifically asked you to say her father was not there, didn’t she?”

“Why no.”

“She asked you not to mention the names of any person as having been in that motel with you, didn’t she? Or did I understand your testimony correctly?”

“That’s right. Yes sir.”

“And in your opinion any person would include her father?”

“Oh, I see what you’re getting at now! Well, she asked me to refuse to tell the name of any person who was there — to act as secretive as I could about the whole business.”

“Asked you to refuse to say her father was there?”

“To refuse to mention the name of anyone who was there.”

“To refuse to say her father was there?”

“Well, if you want to put it that way — I was to refuse to give out any name — any name at all.”

“To refuse to say her father was there?”

“Yes.”

“That’s all, Mr. Lassing. Thank you.”

Mason smiled triumphantly, looked over at the prosecutor’s table and said, “If that’s suborning perjury, I’ll eat it.”

Lassing left the witness stand.

“It certainly shows an attempt on the part of the defendant, Carol Burbank, to give her father some sort of a fictitious alibi,” the district attorney stormed.

“The witness didn’t say she asked him to declare her father was present. You can’t prove an alibi unless you swear someone was there. She asked him to refuse to say her father was there.”

“Well, even so, she wanted us to assume that her father was present.”

“Whatever one wants the district attorney’s office to assume,” Mason said, “is purely a personal and private matter. That’s certainly a far cry from suborning perjury.”

“I’m not going to bicker with Counsel,” Burger lashed out. “I’ll prove it before I’m done. I now want to recall Lieutenant Tragg to the stand. If the Court please, I used him only for the purpose of proving the corpus delicti in connection with the first part of his testimony.”

“Very well,” the court ruled.

Tragg returned to the witness stand.

“Did you,” Burger asked, “have any conversation on Saturday, the day the body of Fred Milfield was discovered, with Carol Burbank?”

“Yes.”

“Where did this conversation take place?”

“In a restaurant known, I believe, as the ‘Dobe Hut,’ between Los Angeles and Calabasas.”

“And who was present at that conversation?”

“Mr. Roger Burbank, one of the defendants, and George Avon of the Los Angeles police.”

“And what was said at that time?”

“The defendant, Carol Burbank, stated that her father had been attending a political conference; that under the circumstances he should no longer try to keep that conference a secret, but should tell us where he was and what transpired.”

“Did she say that conference took place at the Surf and Sun Motel?”

“Well,” Tragg said, “she implied it.”

“Can you remember her exact language?”

“Unfortunately, I can’t. I was more interested in Roger Burbank at the time.”

“Did Roger Burbank make any statement with reference to that?”

“He put his hand down in his pocket and took out a key to Cabin Fourteen at the Surf and Sun Motel.”

“And did he tell you he had stayed there?”

“Well, he certainly intimated that he had.”

“That,” Mason announced, “is a conclusion of the witness and should be stricken on that ground.”

“I think so,” the court ruled. “This witness is a police officer and he should be able to tell exactly what the defendant said.”

“Well,” Tragg said smiling, “he put his hand down into his pocket, took out a key to Cottage Fourteen at this motel, and handed that key to me.”

“And did the defendant, Roger Burbank, thereafter accompany you to the Surf and Sun Motel and identify a razor of his which was found?”

“He did.”

“And did Carol Burbank tell you that her father’s razor was to be found in Cottage Fourteen of the Surf and Sun Motel?”

“She did.”

“You may cross-examine,” Burger said.

Mason’s smile was suave. “Carol Burbank told you her father’s razor was there?”

“Yes.”

“Did she tell you that her father had been there?”

“Well, I can’t remember that she said so, in so many words, but she inferred it.”

“You mean that you inferred it from the fact that his razor was there?”

“Well, in a way, yes. If you’re going to put it in just that way.”

Mason smiled. “I want to put it in just that way. Now then, she told you that her father’s razor was there.”

“Yes.”

“And did the defendant, Roger Burbank, tell you his razor was there?”

“Yes, subsequently.”

“And pointed out the razor to you?”

“Yes.”

“And identified it?”

“Yes.”

“And was it his razor?”

Tragg seemed uncomfortable. “I don’t know.”

“Exactly,” Mason said dryly. “He told you his razor was there. His daughter told you his razor was there. You found the razor there. You have taken no steps one way or another to prove whether or not it was his razor, have you?”

“It was planted.”

“Never mind your deductions, Lieutenant. Have you taken any steps to show whether that was or was not the razor of the defendant, Roger Burbank?”

“Well, no. I assume it was his razor.”

Mason smiled.

“So Carol Burbank told you her father’s razor was at this motel. Roger Burbank admitted his razor might be there. You took him up there — and found his razor was there. Thereupon, you tried to browbeat him into admitting that he had been there — and he denied it, didn’t he?”

“He denied it half-heartedly, so I’d think he was lying, and I didn’t try to browbeat him.”

“But he denied it?”

“Half-heartedly, yes.”

“Half-heartedly, quarter-heartedly or three-quarter-heartedly, he denied it?”

“Yes.”

“I submit, Your Honor,” Mason said, “that the fraction, or percentage of the man’s heart that was in his statement is the conclusion of a prejudiced witness. The fact is what the man said.”

Judge Newark nodded. His eyes were twinkling. “Proceed, Mr. Mason. The Court is making due allowances.”

Mason turned to Lieutenant Tragg. “And the defendant, Roger Burbank, told you that if you asked him publicly whether he had stayed at the Surf and Sun Motel the night before, he would have to deny it. Is that right?”

“Yes. But when he said that, I took it as an admission he was there.”

“I see,” Mason said. “That was merely your own interpretation of what he said?”

“It was the way I understood his words.”

“Fortunately, Lieutenant, we are to judge the case by what he said not by what you understood.”

“His daughter, Carol, said he’d been there at the restaurant.”

“Pardon me,” Mason said, “I was present at that time. Didn’t Carol merely suggest that a political conference might have been held at the Surf and Sun Motel the night before, and then didn’t she tell her father that the time had come for him to speak up and tell you exactly where he had been, and not try to protect the political careers of a lot of Sacramento bigwigs; and didn’t the defendant then reach in the pocket of his coat and take out a key and put it on the table, and didn’t you forthwith grab that key and see that it was the key to Cottage Fourteen at the Surf and Sun Motel?”

“Well, yes.”

“The defendant, Roger Burbank, didn’t ever say in so many words that he had been there, did he?”

“Well, he produced that key.”

“And then, after he had produced that key, he looked you straight in the eyes and told you that if you asked him if he had been present at the Surf and Sun Motel the night before he would deny it?”

“Well, I don’t remember exactly how it happened.”

“And didn’t Carol Burbank say, ‘But Dad, your razor is there on the shelf,’ or words to that effect?”

“Well, yes.”

“And you took that as an admission by Carol Burbank that her father had been there?”

“Well, his razor was there,” Tragg blurted.

“Exactly,” Mason said. “His razor was there. I take it that you will agree, Lieutenant, it’s no crime for a man to put his razor any place he happens to choose?”

“Well, taken in connection with all the circumstances,” Tragg said, “the inference is obvious.”

“You may draw that inference if you want,” Mason said, “but I think a jury will prefer to try the case on the facts. And if you’re going to make any claim of perjury, you’ve got to prove a false statement, not that, as in this case, the person charged made a true statement in such a manner that the police in charge thought it was untrue. It’s what a man actually says that counts, and to be perjury it must be under oath.”

“The perjury is what they wanted Lassing to commit,” Tragg said.

Mason raised his brows. “Oh, did someone ask him to swear to a falsehood?”

“We’ve been all over that,” Tragg said.

“So we have!” Mason smiled. “Now, Lieutenant Tragg, you were called to the yacht of Roger Burbank on Saturday morning when the body was discovered?”

“Yes.”

“And made some examination there?”

“Yes.”

“And found the bloody imprint of a shoe on one of the treads of the companionway?”

“I’m coming to that,” Burger interposed hastily, “with another witness.”

“I’m coming to it now,” Mason said. “In fact, I’m already at it. Can you answer that question. Lieutenant?”

“Yes, certainly.”

“You did so find a bloody imprint on the tread of the companionway?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever ascertained...”

“If the Court please,” Burger interrupted, “this isn’t proper cross-examination. I’d like to put on my case in an orderly manner. I’d like to introduce in evidence a shoe belonging to the defendant, Carol Burbank. Then I’d like to show the bloodstain on that shoe. And then I would like to show the fact of the bloodstain on the tread of the companionway.”

“But if Mr. Mason wants to interrogate the witness on that point on cross-examination, I see no reason why he should be bound by the manner in which you choose to introduce your evidence or present your case,” the Court ruled. “This witness is a police officer. The defense certainly is entitled to cross-examine him in detail. Moreover, you should now bring out all he knows, not put on your case piecemeal.”

“I intended to prove the footprint by another witness, Your Honor.”

“But the point now is, does this witness know about that print?”

“He seems to.”

“Then let him tell what he knows,” the judge snapped.

“The Court wants to get on with the case, not have matters delayed so the prosecution can build to a dramatic climax. This witness is a police officer. On cross-examination, the defense will have the utmost latitude. The objection is overruled. The witness will answer the question.”

“Yes,” Tragg said defiantly, “such an imprint was left on the tread of the companionway, and it happens that I have the shoe with which that print was made.”

“Exactly,” Mason said. “Now let’s look at the photograph, People’s Exhibit No. Five. I call your attention to a candle which appears in that exhibit. Do you notice it?”

“I know there was a candle there.”

“Well, take a good look at this photograph,” Mason said, “and study that candle carefully.”

“Yes sir, I see it.”

“Is there anything about the appearance of that candle which impresses you as being at all unusual?”

“No, sir. It is simply a candle fastened to the top of a table in the cabin of the yacht where the body was found.”

“How much of that candle has been burnt?”

“About one inch, perhaps a little less.”

“And have you made any experiments to ascertain how long it took a candle of this nature to consume approximately one inch of its length when it was ignited under circumstances similar to those found in the cabin of this yacht?”

“No sir, I haven’t. I didn’t deem it necessary.”

“Why?”

“Because that candle doesn’t mean anything.”

“Why doesn’t it mean anything, Lieutenant?”

“Because we know when Milfield died and we know how he died. And he was dead long before it got dark, so that candle doesn’t mean a thing.”

Mason said, “You’ll notice that this candle is inclined somewhat from the perpendicular, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed that.”

“Have you taken a protractor, and measured the angle at which that is inclined?”

“No.”

“As a matter of fact, isn’t it inclined at eighteen degrees from the perpendicular?”

“Well — to tell you the truth, I don’t know.”

“It appears to you to be about eighteen degrees from the perpendicular?”

“It may be, yes.”

“And have you made any attempt to account for the angle at which this candle is leaning?”

Tragg smiled and said, “Only that if the murderer in his haste stuck the candle to the top of the table so that he could see to commit a murder by daylight, then he must have been in too much of a hurry to get the candle straight.”

“You haven’t any other theory?”

“What other theory could there be?”

Mason smiled and said, “That’s all, Lieutenant.”

Burger frowned across at Mason. “What’s that crooked candle got to do with it?” he asked.

Mason said, “That’s my defense.”

“Your defense?”

“Yes.”

Burger hesitated a moment, then announced ponderously, “Well, it won’t hold a candle to the theory I have.”

There was laughter from the courtroom.

Mason joined in the laughter, then, as it subsided, said quickly, “You’ve heard of candling an egg, Mr. District Attorney? Well, I’m candling your case. And it’s rotten.”

The judge pounded sharply with the gavel. “Counsel will refrain from these personalities and comments on extraneous matters. Call your next witness, Mr. Burger.”

“Mr. Arthur St. Claire,” Burger said.

The man who came forward to the witness stand and held up his hand to be sworn was a smiling, suave, self — possessed man in the late forties.

Della Street whispered to Perry Mason, “That’s the man who was in the taxicab with us. The one who did all the talking about San Francisco. You want to watch him. He’s clever.”

Mason nodded.

Arthur St. Claire took the stand, testified that he was a member of the police department of the City of Los Angeles in the plain-clothes division, and then looked attentively and courteously at the district attorney waiting for the next question.

“Are you acquainted with the defendant, Carol Burbank?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you see her on Sunday, the day after the body of Fred Milfield was discovered?”

“I did, yes, sir.”

“Where?”

“At several places,” the man said, and smiled.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I was assigned to shadow her. I followed her from her residence to several different places.”

“To the Union Terminal?” Burger asked.

“Yes, sir. Eventually she went to the Union Terminal, and then from there she went to the Woodridge Hotel.”

“Directing your attention to the Union Terminal,” Burger said, “did you see anyone join her while she was there?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Who?”

“Miss Della Street, the secretary of Perry Mason.”

“Ah, ha!” Hamilton Burger said, his tone containing the savage satisfaction of a cat purring over a freshly caught mouse. “And what happened after Miss Della Street joined Miss Carol Burbank?”

“They entered a taxicab and were taken to the Woodridge Hotel.”

“And where were you while they were in the taxicab?”

The man grinned. “I was right there in the same cab with them.”

“And did you hear their conversation?”

“I did.”

“And what did they do?”

“They went to the Woodridge Hotel.”

“And what happened when they arrived at the Woodridge Hotel?”

“Miss Street stated that she believed Mr. Mason had telephoned to make reservations for them, and the clerk said he had. She registered for both herself and Miss Burbank, using the initials of Miss Burbank, rather than her first name, and not prefacing it with either Miss or Mrs.”

“And then what?”

“Then Miss Street took from her purse an envelope addressed to Mr. Perry Mason, and started to hand it to the clerk, stating that Mr. Mason would call for it.”

“And then what?”

“Then I stepped forward and advised them that the district attorney wanted to see them, or that they were wanted at Headquarters or something to that effect.”

“And then what?”

“And then I took possession of the envelope.”

“And what did you do?”

“I opened it.”

“And what did you find inside of it?”

“I found a parcel check, one of the numbered slips of pasteboard issued by the checking counter at the Los Angeles Union Terminal.”

“Did you do anything to identify that pasteboard claim check so that you would know it if you saw it again?”

“I did.”

“What did you do?”

“I wrote my name on it.”

“You mean put your own signature on the back of it?”

“Yes.”

Hamilton Burger, with something of a flourish, said, “I show you a piece of pasteboard purporting to be a claim check issued from the Parcel Checking Service at the Los Angeles Terminal, and which contains the name written on the back of it in ink, ‘Arthur St. Claire,’ and ask you if that is your signature.”

“It is, yes, sir.”

“And is this the claim check that was in that envelope?”

“It is.”

“The claim check that Della Street then and there left at the Woodridge Hotel and in connection with which she stated Mr. Mason would call?”

“Yes, sir.”

“This was in an envelope which contained the name of Mr. Perry Mason on the outside?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I show you an envelope addressed in pen and ink handwriting, ‘Mr. Perry Mason, City,’ and ask you if that is the envelope in which this claim check was found.”

“It is.”

“That is the envelope which Miss Della Street handed to the clerk in the Woodridge Hotel at that time?”

“She started to hand it to him. I took it from her just before the clerk took possession of it.”

“And you went to the Los Angeles Terminal with that claim check?”

“I did, yes, sir.”

“And presented it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And what did you receive?”

“A package.”

“Did you open that package?”

“Not at the time. I took it to Police Headquarters and it was opened there.”

“But you were present when it was opened?”

“Yes.”

“And what was in it?”

“A pair of shoes.”

“Would you recognize those shoes if you saw them again?”

“I would, yes, sir.”

“Are these the shoes?” Burger asked, producing a pair of shoes.

The witness inspected them. “They are, yes, sir.”

“Did you make any examination of those shoes at that time for the purpose of determining whether there was any foreign substance on them?”

“I did, yes, sir.”

“And what did you find?”

“I found reddish stains which resembled dried blood between the sole of the shoe and the upper.”

“You don’t know whether those stains actually were blood or not?”

The witness said, “I was present at the time when the laboratory expert completed his examination and pronounced...”

“Never mind, never mind,” Burger interrupted with a fine show of impartiality. “Mr. Mason would object that this was hearsay evidence, and we’ll just do everything in a regular and orthodox manner. We’ll call the laboratory expert and let him testify as to what he found. All you can testify to is what you know.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And that’s all you know?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Cross-examine,” Burger said triumphantly.

Mason studied Arthur St. Claire for a few moments. The witness turned to face the defense lawyer with every exterior evidence of affable courtesy, showing an attentive interest in the questions Mason was about to ask.

“You were shadowing Carol Burbank?” Mason asked.

“Yes sir, that’s right.”

“And were you, or were you not alone on that job?”

The witness hesitated. “There was another man with me,” he said at length, and his voice had lost some of its assurance.

“Who was that man?”

“A detective.”

“From the Homicide Squad?”

“From the plain-clothes division.”

“What was his name?”

The witness glanced at Hamilton Burger. Burger said promptly, “I object, Your Honor. Incompetent, irrelevant, and immaterial — not proper cross-examination.”

“Overruled,” the judge snapped.

“What was his name?” Mason asked.

“Harvey Teays.”

“And he and you together shadowed the defendant, Carol Burbank, that Sunday?”

“Yes, sir.”

“He was present with you at the Union Terminal?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And where is he now?”

“Why, I don’t know.”

“When did you see him last?”

“I can’t remember that.”

“Now when you say that you don’t know where Mr. Teays is, what do you mean?”

“Exactly what I say. I don’t know where he is.”

“Yes? You mean you don’t know exactly where he is at this particular moment of your own knowledge, don’t you?”

“Well... Well yes, naturally.”

“Do you know whether Teays is still in the employ of the police department?”

“Well, I think he is.”

“Do you know that he is?”

“Not of my own knowledge, no.”

“As a matter of fact,” Mason said, “Mr. Teays left on his vacation, and told you he was going on his vacation, and he told you where he was going, didn’t he?”

St. Claire twisted uneasily in the chair. “Well... I don’t know what anybody tells me. I can only testify about things I know of my own knowledge.”

“But that’s a fact, isn’t it?”

“Objected to as incompetent, irrelevant, and immaterial,” Maurice Linton said. “The witness is absolutely right. Counsel has no right to call for hearsay testimony.”

Judge Newark said somewhat irritably, “Your objection comes too late. If you had objected before this witness had stated he didn’t know where Mr. Teays was, there might have been something to the point, but after the witness has stated positively that he doesn’t know where he is, Counsel certainly has a right to show what he meant by that answer, and the means of information that are available to the witness. Moreover, some of this shows possible bias.”

“I don’t see why,” Linton objected.

“It shows the animosity of the witness,” the judge snapped. “It would have been a very simple matter for the witness to have told Counsel that he didn’t know where Mr. Teays was, but did understand that Mr. Teays had left on his vacation. I don’t know the object of this cross-examination, but it’s quite apparent that Counsel is having to drag the information out of this witness. He shouldn’t have to do that on a pertinent fact — not from an officer of the law.”

“Do you know why Mr. Teays left on his vacation?”

“He wanted to get away from the routine of his work, the same way anyone wants to leave on a vacation.”

“Isn’t this rather an unusual time to take a vacation?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Do you know whether Mr. Teays intended to take a vacation Sunday when he was working with you on this case?”

“No. I don’t.”

“He didn’t say anything to you about it?”

“No.”

“Then suddenly he decided to take his vacation. Do you have any idea why?”

“I’ve told you all I know about that.”

“As a matter of fact,” Mason said, “didn’t Mr. Teays decide to take his vacation because he had picked up the claim check in question and because he had given it to Miss Street?”

“I don’t know.”

“But do you know that Teays did pick up the claim check and give it to Miss Street?”

“Well... I couldn’t swear that, no.”

“Why can’t you swear it?”

“I didn’t see the claim check — not closely enough to recognize it.”

Mason said with an air of dogged persistence, “Let’s get at it this way. You were shadowing Carol Burbank every minute of the time there at the Union Terminal?”

“Yes.”

“You saw her and Miss Street walk toward the taxi stand?”

“Yes.”

“You saw Miss Burbank open her purse and an oblong of pasteboard flutter out to the floor?”

“Well... Yes.”

“And you saw Mr. Teays pick that pasteboard oblong up and hand it to Miss Street?”

“She reached for it.”

“But Teays picked it up and handed it to her?”

“Yes.”

“And the only reason you now say you don’t know it was this same claim check is because you weren’t close enough to read the number on it? Is that right?”

“Well, I can’t swear it was this claim check unless I know it’s the same, can I?”

“It was a piece of pasteboard about this size?”

“Yes.”

“Approximately of this appearance?”

“Yes.”

“With perforated edges along one side?”

“Well... Yes.”

“And had a large number printed on it? You saw that much?”

“Yes.”

“How close were you to Teays when he picked it up?”

“Eight or ten feet.”

“Did Teays tell you he’d handed Miss Street that claim check?”

“Objected to as improper cross-examination, as incompetent, irrelevant, and immaterial and as calling for hearsay testimony,” Linton objected vociferously. “Mr. Teays isn’t on trial. Any statement Mr. Teavs made to this witness has no bearing on the case. He can only testify to what he saw.”

Judge Newark said, “I’m going to sustain that objection. Does the prosecutor’s office have any knowledge of why Mr. Teays happened to take his vacation at this particular time?”

“I believe he had two weeks coming,” Linton said.

“Do you know when the decision was reached that he would take his vacation now?”

“No, Your Honor, I don’t,” Linton said.

“Any further questions?” Judge Newark asked Perry Mason.

“None, Your Honor.”

Judge Newark frowned at the witness, started to say something, then changed his mind and said to the prosecutors, “Very well, call your next witness. That’s all, Mr. St. Claire.”

“Dr. Colfax C. Newbern,” Linton announced.

Dr. Newbern was a tall, self-possessed individual who took the stand and stated his full name, address and occupation in a low voice to the court reporter, his manner that of calm, professional competence.

“I will stipulate the doctor’s qualification as an expert, subject to the right of cross-examination,” Mason said.

“Very well,” Linton announced. “You are, I believe, attached to the coroner’s office, Doctor?”

“That’s right.”

“I show you a photograph and ask you if you recognize that photograph?”

“I do. That is a photograph of a body upon which I performed an autopsy.”

“When did you first see this body, Doctor?”

“I was present when the police boarded the yacht and saw the body lying on the floor of the cabin.”

“When did you next see it after that?”

“Sunday morning when I performed an autopsy.”

“What was the cause of death, Doctor?”

“The man had received a blow — a very severe blow on the back of the head. There had been a fracture of the skull and a very extensive hemorrhage. I’m trying to put this in common everyday terms so the layman will understand it.”

“Quite right, Doctor. Now just tell us a little more about the cause of death, and the time of death.”

“In my opinion,” Dr. Newbern said, “unconsciousness was an immediate result of that blow. The victim never regained consciousness and, judging from the extent of the hemorrhage and the conditions I found in the brain, I would say that death occurred within five minutes.”

“In your opinion then, the victim never moved from the time that blow was struck?”

“That’s right.”

“Now when you first saw the body, Doctor, where was it with reference to the surroundings shown in this photograph which I now hand you?”

“The body was over here,” the doctor said, indicating a point on the photograph. “It was way over on the right hand side of the boat. That is, what is referred to in nautical terms as starboard side. It is the right side when you face the bow. This photograph was taken looking toward the stern of the boat. Therefore, the position where the body was found would have been in the left hand portion of this photograph.”

“I’ll show you a photograph, People’s Exhibit C, which actually shows a body and ask you if that is approximately the position and location of the body when you first saw it.”

“That is exactly the position and location of the body, yes, sir. That is the body as it was lying when I first saw it.”

“Did you make any examination of the premises when the body was discovered?”

“Not when the body was discovered,” the doctor corrected with a smile, “but when the police arrived.”

“You did make such an examination?”

“Yes.”

“What did you discover?”

Dr. Newbern said, “I discovered the body lying in approximately this position which, you will notice, is face up on the starboard side of the yacht. I noticed that under the head there was a pool of blood indicating a rather extensive hemorrhage. I also noticed that at another point in the cabin, the carpet was saturated with blood. Do you wish me to point that out?”

“Please.”

“That was in approximately here.”

Mason, getting up to walk around behind the witness so he could see the point the witness fixed on the photograph, said, “If the Court please, for the sake of the record, the doctor is now pointing to a portion of the photograph, People’s Exhibit C, which is in the upper right-hand corner and immediately in front of the door way which enters the after cabin of the yacht. That’s right, Doctor?”

“That’s right,” the doctor said.

“Thank you,” Mason announced and returned to his seat.

“You noticed there was a pool of blood here?” Linton continued.

“Yes, sir. And there were a few small bloodstains at more or less regular intervals between these two spots.”

“Did you make any examination of the threshold between the main cabin and the after cabin?”

“I did, yes, sir.”

“What did you find?”

“I found that the threshold was raised approximately three inches, as is, I believe, usual in yacht construction. I found that the threshold was covered with brass, and that there were spots of discoloration on this brass. I made scrapings of those discolorations and determined that they were human blood. I typed the blood and found that it was of the same type of blood as that of the body which was found in the position which I have indicated on the floor.”

“The point at which you have testified the body was found was a distance of several feet from that threshold?” Linton asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Was there anything to indicate how that body might have been moved from the one spot, which we will refer to as position number one, to the other, which we will refer to as position number two?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What?”

“The force of gravitation could well have moved that body,” Dr. Newbern said smiling.

“Will you please explain?”

“When we boarded the yacht, it was almost low tide. The yacht had heeled way over until it was very difficult to keep one’s footing. The boat was tilted so that the starboard side was the low side, and so far as the medical evidence is concerned, it is quite apparent that as the tide had gone out the night before, the body had rolled over into approximately the position in which it was found.”

“The body could have done that without being touched by any person?”

“In my opinion the body would have done that without being touched if the period of low tide had preceded rigor mortis. If the body had been lying with the arms and legs outspread, and rigor mortis bad set in before the interval of low tide, it is quite possible the body would not have moved very much from its original position. But with a low tide intervening before rigor mortis set in, the body would very naturally have rolled over to the low part of the cabin.”

“When does rigor mortis set in?”

“As a rule, general stiffening will be well established within ten hours after death. Say ten to twelve hours to make a pretty fair average.”

“Rigor mortis had developed in the body at the time you saw it?”

“Oh yes.”

“And what time was that?”

“That was eleven-seventeen Saturday morning.”

“In your opinion, Doctor, what was the time of death?”

“The time of death,” Dr. Newbern said, “was from fourteen to eighteen hours before I first examined the body.”

“Can you fix that in terms of hours?”

“I examined the body at eleven-seventeen. I would, therefore, say that death occurred after five-seventeen the previous evening, and before nine seventeen. Any time within that four-hour limit would satisfy the conditions as I observed them.”

“The nature of the wound was such that it caused rather extensive hemorrhage?”

“Both external and internal, yes. There was a rather severe hemorrhage.”

“In your opinion, death was almost instantaneous?”

“I would say from the conditions which I observed that in this particular case unconsciousness followed immediately upon the blow, and death occurred within an interval of a few minutes.”

“Were there any other wounds on the body?”

“There was a contusion on the point of the jaw, just to the left of the point.”

“Indicating a blow?”

“Indicating a trauma of some sort. There was a well defined traumatic ecchymosis.”

“Any other wounds on the body?”

“None whatever.”

“Cross-examine,” Linton said. “He’s your witness.”

Mason slowly got to his feet, faced the doctor. “Then this wound, which we will describe as the fatal wound, is the only one which would have caused any hemorrhage?”

“That’s right.”

“Now then, Doctor, how long would hemorrhage from such a wound continue after death?”

“From this particular wound, I would say that any extensive hemorrhage would have ceased within a very few minutes after death.”

“What do you mean by a very few minutes?”

“Well, to be on the safe side, say ten or fifteen minutes.”

“On moving the body would there have been another drainage of blood?”

“Yes, sir. That’s right.”

“And how long would that have continued?”

“That would have continued for some time.”

“Then the pool which you found under the head of the body in the position in which you found it might have been the result of drainage from moving the body?”

“No, sir, I don’t think so. There were evidences of a true hemorrhage rather than mere drainage. And from the size, the nature and the extent of that stain on the carpet, I would say that it was the result of hemorrhage.”

“You aren’t, however, taking that into consideration in fixing the time of death?”

“In fixing the time of death,” Dr. Newbern said, “I am acting only upon the evidence which I found in my examination of the body itself. As far as my examination of the environment of the body, that is a matter for the detective. I am testifying here only as an expert medical witness. I am fixing the time of death from various evidences as to the body temperature, the onset of rigor mortis, and the state of progress of certain other very definite post-mortem changes. I am not engaging in any detective work or any speculation predicated upon the position of the body other than as that position has some medical significance.”

“I see. That is, of course, a very conservative and a very proper position for you to take, Doctor.”

“Thank you.”

“I take it, Doctor, that there was every evidence that the blow which caused death was a severe one?”

“The blow was very severe.”

“In your opinion, could that blow have been sustained by a man stumbling and falling back against the threshold?”

“I doubt it very much. In my opinion, that blow was very severe. If it was sustained when the head was thrown against that threshold, then the blow must have been more severe than would have been the case if it had been sustained in an ordinary fall occasioned through stumbling. The man must have been knocked back against that threshold with very considerable force.”

“A force which could have resulted from a blow?”

“That could have done it, yes — a blow struck by a very powerful man.”

“Then it is possible that the victim could have been struck on the point of the chin at the place where you saw that bruise, and the force of that blow would have thrown him back against the threshold and inflicted the injury which caused his death?”

“That’s objected to,” Linton said, “as incompetent, irrelevant and immaterial and improper cross-examination. It assumes a fact not in evidence, and is a frantic attempt by the defense to secure some peg upon which it can hang — a defense of manslaughter.”

“Objection overruled,” Judge Newark said. “The defense is entitled to cross-examine any witness upon any theory he sees fit, just so that theory is pertinent to the issues, and the questions cover matters which directly or by inference were touched upon in the examination in chief. Answer the question, Doctor.”

“That could have been the case.”

“It is possible?”

“It is possible.”

“That’s all.”

Linton said, “Just a minute, Doctor. Inasmuch as this element has been injected into the case, while you say that it is possible that the injury could have been received in such a manner, assuming for the sake of this question that it had been received in such a manner, what would have been the nature of that blow?”

“It would have been a very violent blow. The man must have been struck in such a manner that much of the force of that blow was transmitted to the impact of the head against the threshold. In other words, the head must have struck with greater force than would have been the result of an ordinary fall.”

“A blow that would have taken the injured person entirely off guard?”

“Well, a very violent blow.”

“Not a blow which would have been struck in a combat where the recipient was braced, but a blow which was struck in such a manner that the recipient was caught entirely off guard — is that right?”

“That isn’t at all what I said,” the doctor answered. “I am not an expert on fighting,” he added with a faint smile. “I am only an expert on medical matters.”

“But that seems to be a necessary inference to be drawn from your testimony,” Linton insisted.

“Draw it then,” the doctor announced in a dry, crisp voice. “It is an inference for you to draw. I am only stating the conditions as I found them.”

“But the blow must have necessarily been very violent?”

“It took a very great amount of force to cause the injury which I have described.”

“But can’t you tell us any more than that, Doctor?”

“I can only repeat that it was not the type of injury one would expect to find from the striking of the head caused in an ordinary fall such as is occasioned when a person loses balance. It was an injury that was caused by an impact occasioned by considerable violence. That is not exactly the way I wish to express it, either, Counselor. I will say that under the circumstances which we are now discussing, and the possibility which is being considered in my testimony, the head of the deceased must have struck the threshold with greater force than would have been the result of an ordinary fall. That’s as far as I care to go, and I think that’s as clear as I can make it.”

“In the event that force which contributed to the fall had been a blow, it would have been a heavy blow?” Linton asked.

“Yes.”

“A blow struck by a trained fighter?”

“I cannot swear to that.”

“But definitely a blow that was very violent?”

“In the generally accepted, popular meaning of the word, yes.”

“I think that’s all,” Linton said.

“That’s all,” Mason announced.

“Call your next witness,” the judge said.

“Thomas Lawton Cameron,” Linton announced.

Thomas L. Cameron turned out to be a weather beaten man in the late fifties, broad-shouldered, stocky, competent, with a face covered with a fine network of wrinkles from which steady eyes regarded the world in an intent scrutiny from under black, bushy eyebrows. He was, it transpired, a caretaker at the yacht club where Roger Burbank kept his yacht, and he answered questions in a low-pitched voice, wasting no words, most of the time answering questions in a frank, conversational manner.

Cameron testified that it was Burbank’s custom to take his yacht out over week-ends; that usually he left on Friday about noon; that on the particular Friday in question he had arrived at the yacht club about eleven-thirty; that he had boarded his yacht, cast loose the moorings, hoisted sail, jockeyed the yacht out into the channel and sailed around the point and up the lagoon or estuary, whichever you wanted to call it. That he had then, within an hour, returned in the yacht’s dinghy powered with an outboard motor, had tied the dinghy up and had been away all afternoon. That sometime around five o‘clock the witness had heard the noise of the outboard motor and had glanced out of the window of his cabin workshop. He had seen the yacht’s dinghy chugging down toward the main estuary. There was someone in the stern, but the witness wasn’t prepared to state this person was the defendant. He hadn’t seen the figure clearly enough to identify it.

“Are you acquainted with the deceased, Fred Milfield?” Linton asked.

“Yes.”

“Did you see him that Friday afternoon?”

“I did.”

“When?”

“He arrived at the yacht club about five-thirty and rented a rowboat from me.”

“You’re certain it was Fred Milfield?”

“Yes.”

“Was there some mark of identification on this row boat?”

“Yes, a number.”

“What was the number?”

“Twenty-five.”

“When did you next see this rowboat?”

“Almost twenty-four hours later. We found it Saturday afternoon where it had run aground after having been carried by the tide.”

“Where did it run aground?”

“Up the estuary, about half a mile below where Burbank’s yacht was anchored.”

“Below the spot where the yacht was anchored?”

“Yes.”

“So the boat must have been cast loose while the tide was running out — sometime after high tide?”

“Well... I guess that’s a matter of deduction.”

“Did you see Burbank any more after that?”

“Yes. I saw him come back in his dinghy about half or three-quarters of an hour after Milfield left. He tied it up to the mooring, went over to his car, and drove away.”

“Did you see him again later?”

“Well, I didn’t see him. It was when I was answering the phone; someone started an outboard motor. I beard the putt-putt as the boat went past, but I was busy talking, and I didn’t look out. After I finished my telephone conversation, I looked out and the Burbank dinghy was gone. It was getting dark when it came back, and so I never did see who was in it.”

“Then what happened to this dinghy?”

“Well, as near as I can tell, it remained tied up all night. I didn’t hear anyone start the outboard motor. If anyone had, I think I’d have waked up. I didn’t. I slept right through after I got to bed. That was around midnight. The dinghy was there when I went to bed, and it was there when I got up in the morning, around six o‘clock.”

“When did you next see Milfield?”

“That was after this sheepherder came rushing in...”

“Never mind the hearsay,” Linton interrupted. “I just want to know when you next saw Mr. Milfield.”

“Saturday morning.”

“That was the day following the occurrences of which you have just testified?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And where was Mr. Milfield?”

“His body was lying aboard Roger Burbank’s yacht.”

“Were you alone at the time you saw him?”

“No, sir. Lieutenant Tragg was with me, and a couple of other gentlemen whose names I have forgotten.”

“Police officers?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“Was Mr. Milfield alive or dead?”

“He was dead.”

“You may cross-examine,” Linton announced to Perry Mason.

“Did you actually see Roger Burbank return to the club in that dinghy?” Mason asked.

“Yes, sure.”

“Talk with him?”

“No.”

“See him get in his car and drive away?”

“Yes.”

“Saw him clearly?”

“As clearly as you could see a man at that distance.”

“How far was it?”

“Oh, perhaps a hundred and fifty feet.”

“You were wearing your glasses at the time?”

“Yes, sure.”

“Know it was Burbank in that dinghy as soon as you saw him?”

“Well, to tell the truth — I sort of took it for granted when I first saw the man that it was someone else.”

“Milfield?”

“Yes.”

“Now how far away was this?”

“Like I told you, it was right around a hundred and fifty feet, or two hundred feet.”

“Where were you?”

“In my little cabin, down there.”

“What were you doing?”

“Cooking dinner.”

“Have your glasses on?”

“Yes.”

“Looked out through a window?”

“Yes.”

“And saw this man?”

“Yes.”

“There may have been some steam on your glasses — from the cooking?”

“Well there may have been. It’s a chance.”

“And,” Mason said, pointing his finger to give added emphasis to his words, “at the time, you thought this man was Fred Milfield, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did.”

“When did you first realize that it wasn’t Fred Milfield?”

“When I saw Milfield dead there in Roger Burbank’s yacht.”

Mason said, “And you first told the officers that Milfield came back in the yacht’s dinghy. It was when the officers pointed out to you that it was an impossibility for Milfield to have done so, because Milfield was lying dead on Roger Burbank’s yacht, that you decided the man whom you had seen in the dinghy was Roger Burbank. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, sir. I guess when you come right down to it, that’s right.”

Mason said, “It was Roger Burbank’s habit to take his yacht out Friday at noon?”

“Yes, sir. He used his yacht just to get away from people.”

“Did Fred Milfield join him on occasion?”

“Well, yes, Mr. Milfield did, and perhaps once or twice during the year Mr. Beltin would come out, but only when there was something terribly important. Mr. Burbank didn’t like it.”

“How do you know he didn’t?”

“He told me so. He told me he’d got that yacht so that he could get away from everything. He said that now he couldn’t get gasoline, he had this sailboat, and he’d sail out just a mile or so up the estuary and anchor on the mud flats. He said the minute he got out of sight of the yacht club, he felt like a new man. He felt as though he was off all by himself.”

“You say he anchored on the mud flats?”

“Yes. He liked to spear sharks.”

“Would he keep the boat anchored on the mud flats?”

“No, sir. He’d just anchor it there a couple of hours before high tide, and keep it there for maybe a couple of hours after high tide.”

“Why?”

“Well, out on those mud flats the water gets pretty shallow around low tide, and a boat would go on the ground if you left it there during low tide.”

“That wouldn’t necessarily hurt anything, however?”

“No, sir. Not unless a wind came up. If a wind came up a boat could get a nasty pounding there.”

“Even in such shallow water?” Mason asked.

The witness smiled and said, “Shallow water would give it the worst pounding. You see, the waves would build up enough so the crests would pick it up off the mud, and then when the troughs of the waves came along, the boat would slam down on the mud. A boat that’s slap aground in no water at all is all right. A boat that’s floating is all right. But you take a boat that’s aground in shallow water where waves can build up, and that boat’s going to take a terrific beating.”

“Well then, where would Mr. Burbank go during periods of low tide?”

“He’d anchor out in the channel just fifty or a hundred yards away from the place where he usually speared his sharks.”

“Now on this Friday night, do you know when the tide was low?”

“Yes, sir.”

“When?”

“Well now, I can’t give you the exact hour and minute, but it was high tide right around five-forty, somewhere around there. It might have been five-forty-one or perhaps five-forty-five, but that wouldn’t miss it a minute or so. Make it five-forty, and you won’t miss it two minutes either way.”

“That was high tide?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And when,” Mason asked, “was low tide?”

“Low tide was at three minutes past midnight on Saturday.”

“Then,” Mason said, “if anyone had been going to move the yacht away from those mud flats, the yacht would necessarily have been moved within two hours of high tide? And that would mean by seven-forty in the evening?”

“Well, not necessarily. I’d say you could have got off — well, say up until eight o’clock. That would be the limit.”

“And if you didn’t get off by eight o’clock you wouldn’t get off?” Mason asked.

“That’s right. Not until a couple of hours before the next high tide.”

“And when was the next high tide?”

“Six-twenty-six a. m. Saturday morning.”

“And when was the next low tide after that?”

“Twelve-forty-five Saturday. That’s how the body came to be discovered.”

“You might tell me a little more about that,” Mason said.

“Well, it was along about ten o‘clock in the morning. I guess it was. And the boat had begun to settle a little on the mud bank. Maybe around ten-thirty.”

“Now by the boat, you mean the yacht?” Mason asked.

“That’s right. Roger Burbank’s yacht.”

“All right,” Mason said. “Go ahead. The yacht had begun to settle on the mud, and what happened?”

“Well, it seemed some man by the name of Palermo had an appointment with Milfield, and...”

“This is all the rankest sort of hearsay,” Linton interrupted.

“Do you want to object to it?” Mason asked.

“I don’t wish to be put in the position of objecting to anything so trivial.”

Mason said to the judge, “Some of this is probably hearsay. Your Honor, but I’m simply trying to get a picture of what happened, and get it in the most expeditious manner.”

“But we’re going to call Frank Palermo, the witness who discovered the body,” Linton argued. “You can ask Palermo what he saw.”

“I’m not going to ask this man about what Palermo saw,” Mason said. “I’m going to ask him about when he met Palermo and what Palermo said. And I’m simply asking him about these other matters so that we can clarify the situation and have a clear picture before the court. I want to present a chronological sequence of events.”

“And why do you want to clutter up the record with a lot of testimony about what Palermo was doing after he discovered the body?” Linton asked.

“Because,” Mason said, smiling, “I might uncover some fact that was favorable to the defense.”

Linton said sarcastically, “This witness doesn’t know anything favorable to the defense, and no other witness who gets on the stand and tells the truth will know anything that’s favorable to the defense. No one knows anything favorable to the defense.”

“If he did,” Mason observed, “he’d probably be taking his vacation.”

A roar of laughter was silenced by Judge Newark’s gavel. “Counsel will refrain from these side comments. Do you wish to make an objection, Mr. Linton?”

“No, I’m not going to be put in the position of objecting to this testimony, Your Honor.”

“If Counsel for the People doesn’t object, the Court will hear enough of it to get the general background,” the judge ruled. “Go ahead and answer the question.”

“I’ll put it this way,” Mason said. “You were the first person to talk with the man who had discovered the body?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“Tell us exactly what happened.”

“Well, it was Saturday morning around ten-thirty, I guess. I didn’t look at the time. And I saw this boat coming up the estuary with a man standing up sculling.”

“Anything that directed your attention to this boat particularly?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“The way the man was sculling.”

“And what about it?”

“All this is incompetent, irrelevant and immaterial. It has no bearing whatever on the case,” Linton objected.

“Overruled.”

“Well, there aren’t very many people that can make a really good job of sculling a boat, and this man was sculling right along. That boat was really cutting through the water. And another thing that interested me was the type of boat.”

“What sort of a boat was it?” Mason asked.

“It was a folding boat — one that is made to be folded and carried in an automobile.”

“And who was the man in the boat?”

“When he came closer, he started to talk — all excited — a lot of foreign accent — said his name was Frank Palermo, that he was from up in the Skinner Hills district, and that he had an appointment with Milfield on a yacht, and...”

“This is all hearsay,” Linton pointed out.

“Are you objecting to it?”

“Yes, Your Honor, I’m going to object to this as hearsay evidence, and as not proper cross-examination. This man is...”

“Sustained,” Judge Newark ruled.

“All right,” Mason said to the witness, “just confine yourself generally to what you did.”

“Well, this man made some statements to me about what he’d found, and as a result of those statements, I communicated with the police.”

“Now what did you tell the police?”

“Same objection,” Linton said.

“Overruled,” the judge snapped. “Witness is now being cross-examined as to something he said and did himself.”

“Well, I telephoned Police Headquarters and told them...”

“Never mind what you told them,” Linton said.

“On the contrary,” Mason announced, “I’m interested in what the witness told the police. I believe this is part of the res gestae, and in any event, it will show possible bias.”

“The objection is overruled.”

“Well, I told the police that I was caretaker and watchman at the yacht club, and that some crazy foreigner was claiming that he had an appointment with Milfield...”

“Your Honor,” Linton protested, “this is exactly the same matter which the Court refused to permit the witness to testify to earlier.”

“Oh, no, it isn’t,” the judge said. “At that time he was testifying as to what Palermo had told him. Now he’s testifying as to what he told the police. The defense is certainly entitled to cross-examine this witness as to what he said and did in connection with this matter — if it wants to show bias.”

“But Counsel is going to get it all in just the same,” Linton protested, “because this man is now about to relate his conversation with the police over the telephone.”

“Let him relate it then,” Judge Newark said. “The objection is overruled.”

“Go ahead,” Mason said, “answer the question.”

“Well, I told the police that this man Palermo was there in a boat; that he said he’d had an appointment on Burbank’s yacht with Fred Milfield; that when he went out there to where Milfield had told him the yacht would be, he found it heeled well over on its side, aground on a mud bar. He sculled his boat around it and shouted a couple of times...”

Linton said desperately, “I want the witness to understand that he is only to testify as to what he told the police and not what Palermo told him.”

Cameron said, “I’m telling about what I told the police Palermo told me. Isn’t that all right?”

Judge Newark smiled, “That’s all right. Go right ahead.”

“Well, I said that Palermo said he’d sculled around the yacht a couple of times and then he’d boarded it and called out to find if anyone was aboard. And when he received no answer, he slid back the hatch and went down into the cabin and found Fred Milfield lying dead.”

“Any further conversation?” Mason asked.

“That was about all.”

“Any conversation between you and the police about Palermo?”

“Well, a little. Yes. It seems the police knew who I was and wanted to know if Palermo had rented a boat from me.”

“And what did you tell them?”

The witness smiled. “I told them just what Palermo told me when I asked him where he got the boat.”

“And what was that?”

“Palermo don’t seem to believe in squandering money. He said he knew that he was going to have to row out to a yacht on the estuary; and since he already had this folding boat for use on the Skinner Hills Lake in taking out duck-shooting parties, he saw no reason to pay some city slicker fifty cents or a dollar for boat rental, so he simply loaded his folding boat into his automobile and used that to go out to the yacht.”

“I don’t see what possible bearing this has on the case,” Linton said.

Mason smiled, “It might be a fact favorable to the defense.”

“Well, I don’t see it.”

“That,” Mason announced with mock sympathy, “is the result of a legal astigmatism.”

“Come, come, gentlemen, let’s get on with the case,” Judge Newark said.

“Did you,” Mason asked, “tell the police anything that Palermo told you about the time he had left his residence in Skinner Hills in order to keep his appointment?”

“He told me something about that, but I didn’t tell the police.”

“Then the witness obviously can’t testify to it,” Linton said.

“And the witness obviously isn’t being asked about it,” Mason announced.

“Proceed,” Judge Newark said, somewhat tartly.

“You rent rowboats?” Mason asked.

“Yes, sir. That’s right.”

“Is there any other place nearby that rents rowboats?”

“No, sir. I think mine is the only place at present where boats can be rented.”

“Now then, did you rent any boats on the Friday night when the murder was committed?”

“That also is objected to as not being proper cross examination.”

“Overruled.”

“Answer the question, Mr. Cameron.”

“I rented one rowboat.”

“Only one?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What period of time are you including in your answer?”

“From four o’clock in the afternoon on until after the body was discovered.”

“To whom was this boat rented?”

Cameron smiled. “The man’s name was Smith. He put up a deposit of five dollars and rented the boat to make some studies of the nocturnal habits of sharks. At least, that’s what he said he wanted to do.”

“And what time was this boat rented?” Mason asked.

“The boat was rented at right around nine o’clock in the evening.”

“For how long was it rented?”

“He returned it at exactly twenty minutes past ten, about one hour and twenty minutes later. I remember there was some discussion about the length of time he’d been out, and I told him to call it an hour and let it go at that because I couldn’t remember whether it had been right on the dot of nine o’clock when he started out or not.”

“Wasn’t an hour rather a short time to make a study of the nocturnal habits of sharks?”

“It depends on how many habits you want to study — and how many sharks.”

There was laughter in the courtroom.

“After all,” Linton pointed out, “the witness isn’t an expert on the subject of sharks.”

Cameron coughed deprecatingly. “It happens,” he said, “I am an expert on sharks. I’ve studied them.”

Judge Newark became interested in this phase of the testimony. “You don’t know who this gentleman was?” he asked, leaning forward. “You only knew that his name was Smith?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you report this to the police?”

“Well... I don’t believe I did. I don’t believe they asked me.”

“That’s the only rowboat that was rented the night of the murder?”

“Yes.”

“From what time did you say?”

“From four o‘clock in the afternoon. I rented another boat at three o’clock, but it was back by five.”

“To whom was that rented?”

“A woman who was also a stranger.”

“A woman who was unaccompanied?”

“That’s right. She was doing some fishing, however. I rent quite a few boats for fishing.”

“And this man Smith,” the judge asked, “can you describe him?”

“Yes, sir, I can. He was a young man, rather dark, very slender, and very much of a greenhorn with a boat. I remember noticing that because it impressed me that...”

“I don’t think the witness’s impressions are pertinent,” Linton objected.

“Perhaps not,” the judge agreed irritably. “However, the Court is interested in this phase of the witness’s testimony. You say that he didn’t know much about handling a boat?”

“That’s right, Your Honor.”

“Wasn’t that rather unusual for a man who had taken an interest, even if only an academic interest, in the habits of sharks?”

“That,” Cameron replied, “is what I was trying to say when this lawyer stopped me. It impressed me as being strange that a man...”

Judge Newark smiled, “I don’t think we need your impression now Mr. Cameron. Can you describe the appearance of this man in any greater detail? How was he dressed? What did he weigh?”

“Well, he was bundled up in an overcoat, and that was another thing that was — well, not exactly strange, but out of place.”

“In what way?”

“Well, Your Honor, a person who is going to row a boat will wear a good heavy jacket — a Mackinaw, or a leather coat, or something of that sort, and trousers and shoes or boots. It’s very seldom that a man who’s around rowboats much wears an overcoat — particularly an overcoat that has any class to it.”

“Why?”

“Well, you see rowboats leak — all boats leak some, and usually the bottoms of the boats are more or less messy with fish bait and things of that sort. And an overcoat in a rowboat drags down on the bottom of the boat and gets dirty. You just can’t keep an overcoat from doing it. The way a rowboat is constructed, the seat is so low that when a person sits on it, the skirt of the overcoat will drag on the bottom of the boat and in any water that’s there.”

“Yes, yes. I see your point,” Judge Newark said, quite plainly interested now. “And this man was wearing an overcoat. Can you describe the overcoat?”

“It was a light-colored overcoat, sort of a light gray, but it was a good heavy coat.”

“Any pattern in it?”

“No, Your Honor.”

“And you say he was around thirty?”

“I would say he was right around thirty — probably not over thirty.”

“And what about his appearance?”

“Well, I noticed he was rather slender with a dark complexion, and he had a sort of a stoop. I can’t describe what I mean exactly, but when you’re around the waterfront, if you’ll notice people who have worked around yachts or boats, they’re nearly always deep-chested. And you take a person who’s hollow-chested and he sort of stands out. You notice him.”

“I see,” Judge Newark said. “Now this man rented the rowboat at about nine o’clock and returned about ten thirty?”

“Yes, Your Honor, that’s correct.”

“Did he say anything about where he’d been?”

“Just out on the flat studying sharks. He had a flash-light with him.”

“Any notebook?”

“Not that I could see. I don’t know what he had in the pocket of his overcoat.”

“Did he ask any questions about the location of the mud flats?” Mason asked.

“No, sir, he didn’t. He seemed to know right where he was going. He got in the boat and started out. But you could tell that he was a greenhorn from the way he handled the boat.”

“How so?”

“Well, his stroke wasn’t regular, and he caught a crab now and then. Sometimes his oars would go down deep in the water and sometimes they’d just be breaking through the surface. He didn’t — well, he just didn’t make any headway. He didn’t handle the boat. He didn’t seem to know anything about water or about boats.”

“And that’s the only boat you rented that night?”

“That’s right.”

“And you’d recognize this man if you saw him again?”

“Yes, sir. I think I would.”

“That’s all,” Judge Newark said to Mason. “Proceed, Counselor.”

“Now then,” Mason went on, abruptly changing the subject of his cross-examination, “you were waiting for the police when they arrived, is that right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And did you volunteer to take them out to the yacht?”

“Yes, sir. They asked me if I knew where the yacht would be, and I told them. I knew right where Mr. Burbank customarily anchored.”

“You got out there to the yacht at about what time?”

“Oh, around eleven-fifteen, I guess.”

“That was almost at dead low tide?”

“That lacked just about an hour and a half of being dead low tide. That’s right, yes, sir.”

“And by that time the boat was aground?”

“I’ll say it was aground.”

“Tilted pretty well over?”

“Tilted way over. You could hardly stand on the thing.”

“And that tilting had perhaps disarranged some of the evidence?” Mason asked.

“Well, I don’t know about that. I’m not making any statement about the condition of the evidence.”

“How far was the boat heeled over?”

“It was heeled way over.”

“About how far from the perpendicular?”

“It must have been somewhere around twenty-five to thirty degrees.”

“And it was hard to keep your footing under those circumstances?”

“I’ll say it was.”

“The body was lying on the floor?”

“Yes.”

“In the position shown in this photograph?”

“That’s right, yes, sir.”

“Now then,” Mason said, “if the murder took place along in the evening there must have been one other intervening dead low tide. That is, the low tide which occurred at three minutes past twelve on Saturday morning, is that right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And one intervening high tide?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What time would that have been?”

“Six-twenty-six a. m. on that Saturday morning.”

“You remember the tides?”

“That’s my business — part of it. I remember them.”

“Now in this photograph,” Mason said, “the position in which the body is shown is over on the side of the cabin, with the head lying down against the low corner as shown in the photograph.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And isn’t it quite possible that the body could have rolled from a position at the other end of the cabin?”

“It is, yes, sir.”

“During the period of dead low tide which occurred at three minutes past midnight the night before?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So that the fact that the position of the body as shown in the photograph might be exactly the same as the position in which it was when the body was discovered, would not preclude the possibility that the body had rolled during the night, during the low tide which occurred three minutes after midnight.”

“I’d say that that body was pretty apt to have rolled,” the witness said.

“He’s not an expert on bodies,” Linton objected.

“He’s an expert on boats,” the judge snapped.

“You take a list like that,” the witness explained to the judge, “and you’re going to find things at the low side of the cabin. Now on this particular boat, the way she was listed, the starboard side was the low side. The body could have been clean over on the other side of the cabin when the murder was committed, but that dead low tide at twelve-o-three would have rolled her over.”

Mason took from his pocket a protractor, walked up to the judge’s bench and said, “The Court might care to do a little armchair detective work.”

“Thank you,” the judge said, smiling. “I was just thinking of that.”

“I don’t understand this interchange between Court and Counsel,” Linton objected.

Judge Newark placed the protractor on the photograph and said, “I think it‘s — ‘It’s elementary, my dear Watson.’ ” he added with a smile.

The courtroom broke into audible merriment which the judge made no effort to control.

The discomfited deputy district attorney said, “I think, if the Court please, I’m entitled to an explanation.”

“The Court,” Judge Newark said, “is doing a little amateur detective work along the lines indicated by Mr. Mason’s testimony. You will notice that this candle shown in the photograph is placed on an incline.”

“Well, what of it?” Linton asked.

“The protractor shows that the angle of that candle is approximately seventeen degrees from perpendicular.”

“All right, what if it is?” Linton said. “Whenever a murderer hastily puts a candle into position, he doesn’t use a plumb bob, or a square to make certain that he’s got it lined exactly straight up and down.”

“What I think you overlooked,” Judge Newark said, “and the point which I’m quite certain is in Mr. Mason’s mind, is that the wax which has run down from this candle seems to be quite evenly distributed on each side of the candle.”

“Well, what’s that got to do with it?” Linton demanded. “The wax would run down on both sides equally, wouldn’t it?”

“Not if the candle were on a slant,” Judge Newark said with a smile. “The candle itself is mute testimony of the fact that when it was burning the candle was in a perpendicular position.”

“But how could that be?” Linton said. “You can look at that photograph and it shows the candle well out of the perpendicular.”

“Exactly,” Judge Newark said. “And I think Mr. Mason’s point is, that because the candle is out of perpendicular, it is very good evidence as to the time when the candle was lit. That is your point, Mr. Mason?”

“Exactly,” Mason said. “That’s why the evidence in connection with these tides is so important.”

Judge Newark studied the photograph for a few moments, then said, “It’s approaching the hour of five o‘clock, and the Court is going to take its evening adjournment. Court will reconvene at ten o’clock tomorrow morning. And in the meantime, the Court suggests that the officers check their theory of the case with the evidence of this tilted candle and the evidence Mr. Mason has brought out concerning the time of the tides. It is a very important clue.

“Court is adjourned.”