The Case of the Golddigger’s Purse

17

Mason, Della Street and Paul Drake sat at lunch in a little restaurant near the courthouse where they ate frequently when trials were in progress. The proprietor knew them and kept reserved for them a small private dining room.

Paul Drake said, “You’re doing okay, Perry. You’ve got Judge Summerville interested.”

“It’s a break for us that we drew Judge Summerville,” Mason admitted. “Some judges like to get preliminary hearings over with as quickly as possible. They adopt the position that there’s nothing very much to worry about because the defendant is going to have a trial before a jury anyway, so go ahead and bind ’em over and let it go at that. Judge Summerville has different ideas. He realizes that the function of the courts is to protect the rights of citizens at all stages of the proceedings, and believes that the function of the police is to investigate and perpetuate evidence while it’s fresh. I happen to know from talking with him off the bench, and in casual conversation, that he is fully aware of the habit the police have of investigating a case until they pick on some person as the guilty one, and then disregard any evidence that doesn’t coincide with their own opinions.”

“Just what can you do?” Della Street asked. “Do you dare to put on all of this evidence, calling these witnesses as your own witnesses?”

“I don’t dare to do anything else,” Mason said.

“Well,” Drake observed, “as I get the sketch, Sally Madison is lying. Her written statement contains falsehoods. She’s lied to the police and she’s lied to you and she’s still lying to you.”

Mason said, “Clients are all human — even the innocent ones.”

“But that’s no reason why they should be permitted to double-cross their own lawyers,” Drake said with feeling. “Personally, I wouldn’t have nearly such a broadminded attitude toward her.”

Mason said, “I’m trying to keep an open mind, Paul. I’m trying to visualize what must have happened.”

“Well, she’s lying about one thing. She didn’t get that money from Genevieve Faulkner.”

“I didn’t say that she said she did,” Mason observed, his eyes twinkling.

“Well, you didn’t need to say so for me to draw my own conclusions,” Drake observed dryly. “She got that money from that satchel, and there’s another twenty-three thousand dollars salted away somewhere.”

Mason said, “While we’re looking at discrepancies, let’s look at some of the other discrepancies. I can’t imagine why Mrs. Jane Faulkner waited in her automobile for Sally Madison and me to show up unless she had been tipped off that we were coming. And no one could have tipped her off we were coming except Staunton. As a matter of fact, Paul, I’m well pleased with the way things are going. Medford played right into my hands. He’s fixed it now so that I can put Staunton or any of these other hostile witnesses on the stand as my witnesses, and ask them leading questions, and Judge Summerville will permit it. That’s going to give me a chance to examine Staunton about that phone call.”

Drake said, “Well, even if you could prove that Jane Faulkner had been in the house before, discovered the body, and then had gone out and sat in her automobile and waited for you to come, so that she could go through all the motions of being surprised and hysterical, I still don’t see that you’re going to get anywhere.”

Mason said, “If I get the opportunity to crucify her, I’m going to do it. You know as well as I do she’s lying about having spent the evening with Adele Fairbanks. She pulled the wool over Sergeant Dorset’s eyes there. She pretended to be ill and suffering so greatly from shock and she simply had to have a girl friend come down to stay with her. She summoned the girl friend whom she knew she could depend upon to back her up in anything she said. And while Dorset was chasing around to Staunton’s place with Sally Madison, Jane Faulkner and Adele Fairbanks were hatching up their cute little alibi about having been together and having gone to a movie. Lieutenant Tragg would certainly never have let Mrs. Faulkner slip one over on him like that.”

“I’ll say he wouldn’t,” Drake said. “That certainly was a raw deal.”

Mason said, “Of course, Paul, someone must have been in that room with that corpse at least two or three hours after the murder was committed.”

“On account of the one live goldfish?” Drake asked.

“On account of the one live goldfish,” Mason said.

“It might have been one that happened to light in a low place in the bathroom floor where the water would collect in a little puddle and give him an opportunity to get just a little oxygen out of the water — just enough to keep him alive.”

“It could have been,” Mason said, and then added, “I consider the chances of that about one thousand to one.”

“So do I.”

“You take the fact that someone must have been in that room, coupled with the fact that we know Jane Faulkner was waiting around the corner where she could see us drive up to the house, and there’s only one answer.”

“I don’t see what good it’s going to do if you could prove that she was lying about having been in the room with the body,” Drake said. “In any event, her husband must have been dead at that time.”

Mason said, “They’re pinning a murder on my client simply because she told a few fibs. I’d like to prove someone else was telling lies as well. It all gets back to Staunton and the fact that he must have telephoned Mrs. Faulkner we were coming.”

Drake said, “I’ve got someone working on that, Perry. I won’t burden you with details, but it occurred to me there was only one way to check Staunton’s phone call.”

“How was that?”

“Through his wife. And in doing that I found out a few incidental facts.”

“Go ahead,” Mason said. “What did you find and how did you do it?”

“There was only one way of going at it,” Drake said. “That was to plant some good operative in the house who would take the part of a servant and who could pump Mrs. Staunton. I’ve got an operative right there in the house who’s checking up on things. Mrs. Staunton is tickled to death. She thinks this girl is the best all around maid she ever had.” Drake grinned and went on, “What Mrs. Staunton doesn’t realize is that she’s getting maid service from a twelve-dollar-a-day detective and that the minute this girl gets the information she wants, she’ll dust out of there, leaving Mrs. Staunton with a sink full of dirty dishes.”

“Any reports on the phone call?” Mason asked.

“Nothing on that as yet,” Drake said.

“Keep after it,” Mason told him. “That’s an important angle in the case.”

Drake looked at his watch, said, “I think I’ll give her a ring right now, Perry. I’m supposed to be her boy friend. Naturally, Mrs. Staunton is so tickled with the service she’s getting, she makes no objection whatever when the maid’s boy friend rings up. Of course, this girl may not be able to talk with me, but I have an idea she may be there all alone today. Staunton is hanging around, waiting to be a witness in this case, and there’s a pretty good chance Mrs. Staunton is out. Let me give her a ring.”

Drake pushed back his chair and went out into the main part of the restaurant where there was a phone booth.

Mason said to Della Street, “You know, Della, if it weren’t for the time element in this case, we could bust it wide open.”

“What do you mean?”

“The way the district attorney follows every move Faulkner made up to the time of his death. They pick him up at five o’clock when he went to the bank, and carry him right on through from there. From the bank to the pet shop, from the pet shop to the consulting chemist, from the consulting chemist to his home, and leave him just time enough to get his coat and shirt off when the call to the man at the banquet place is put through, and then Faulkner is heard ordering Sally Madison out. At that time he’s in a hurry to get dressed and shaved, and go to that banquet. He’s evidently been in that house not over five or six minutes. He’s partially undressed, turned hot water in the bathtub, has lathered his face, shaved and put the razor on the shelf. Hang it, Della, if it weren’t for that fingerprint on the satchel. How I would like to prove that someone entered that house right after Sally Madison went out and pulled the trigger on that gun!”

Della Street asked abruptly, “Do you suppose Sally really got that bullet?”

“She must have. I had doped that out even before I talked with her in jail. I felt certain that she must have been the one who dredged that bullet out of the fish tank.”

“You don’t think she got it for Carson?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because Carson didn’t know that anyone had taken the bullet out of there.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Because,” Mason said, “Carson must have been the one who made that final desperate attempt to recover the bullet by syphoning the water out of the tank and turning the tank upside down. And he must have done that on the night Faulkner was murdered. Hang it, Della, let’s go at this thing in an orderly way. Let’s quit letting ourselves be confused simply because we’re representing a client who is lying to us and who has got us into a jackpot. Let’s quit being exasperated and use our brains as reasoning machines.”

“No matter how you reason,” Della Street said, “you always come back to the same focal point in the case that no matter how much others may have been mixed up in it, Sally Madison was the one who opened that satchel and took out the money, the one who threw the empty satchel under the bed, the one who was found in possession of a part of the money.”

Mason started drumming with the tips of his fingers on the white tablecloth.

Paul Drake pushed open the door to enter the private dining room.

“Anything new, Paul?” Mason asked.

“This operative of mine is alone in the house, just as I thought. She’s been there all by herself ever since nine o’clock. Naturally, she’s been busy!”

“Prowling around?”

“That’s right. She’s stumbled across some interesting sidelights but nothing particularly startling.”

“What are the sidelights?”

“Apparently Faulkner had been financing Staunton in some sort of a mining activity.”

Mason nodded. “I had assumed all along that Faulkner must have had some hold on Staunton; otherwise he wouldn’t have taken the fish out there and told Staunton what to do — you know the fact that Staunton handled insurance business for the real estate corporation isn’t anything that would give Faulkner such a leverage. Of course, Staunton might have mentioned that when I was talking with him, but he probably thought it was none of my business and simply mentioned the insurance matter.”

Drake said, “One thing my operative told me has me stumped.”

“What?”

“Talking with Mrs. Staunton last night, she found out that on the night of the murder the telephone in the house had been out of order. Only the telephone in Staunton’s study was working.”

“Is she sure, Paul?”

“That’s what Mrs. Staunton told her. Mrs. Staunton said she had to go to the study that night when she wanted to telephone. She mentioned it because she doesn’t like the fish and didn’t like to go in the room where the fish were. She said they gave her the creeps, staring at her with those queer, protruding eyes. But that her telephone had been out of order all afternoon and that the company didn’t get it fixed until the next day; that the one in the study was a separate line and was working.”

Mason said, “Hang it, Paul, do you suppose Staunton was smart enough to know what I was doing when I casually walked over and pulled the drapes back and stood looking out of the window?”

“I don’t know,” Drake said. “How long did you watch outside of the house after you went out, Perry?”

“It must have been four or five minutes. Staunton came back and stood looking at the fish. He seemed to be thinking of something — turning it over in his mind. Then he went back and switched out the light. We waited there a few minutes after he’d turned out the light. Of course, he could have deliberately fooled us. I felt certain that if he had been going to telephone somebody, he’d have done the telephoning right then.”

Drake said, “Well, we know that Mrs. Faulkner was out there watching. And you must be pretty certain that she upset that bowl of goldfish within, say, ten or fifteen minutes of the time you got there.”

Mason said, “Of course, the other goldfish were dead, Paul. Only the one that I picked up had just a little life in him.”

“All right, have it any way you want,” Drake said. “The one goldfish was alive. Someone must have put that one goldfish on the floor.”

Mason said thoughtfully, “There was a curved segment of the broken fish bowl that still had a little water left in it. I remember noticing that at the time, and I noticed it on one of the photographs this morning. Now, I’m wondering if that one fish couldn’t have been in that segment that had a little water in it, and then flopped out.”

“That, of course, would mean that the goldfish bowl could have been knocked over a long time before,” Drake said. “Perhaps when Faulkner was murdered, right around eight-fifteen or eight-twenty.”

“I wonder if a goldfish could live that long in such a small amount of water.”

“Darned if I know,” Drake said. “Want me to get a goldfish and try it?”

“I have an idea you’d better,” Mason said.

“Okay. I’ll phone my office and ask them to make the goldfish experiment.”

Perry Mason looked at his wrist watch, said, “Well, I guess we’ve got to go back and take it on the chin some more. Lieutenant Tragg will probably be on the stand this afternoon, and Tragg is a smooth worker. How much of a mining deal was it that Staunton had with Faulkner, Paul?”

“I don’t know, Perry,” Paul Drake said, holding open the door of the dining room. “I may get a little more information later on in the afternoon.”

“I don’t imagine I’d have cared to have Faulkner as a partner in a mining deal,” Della Street said.

“Or in anything else,” Drake observed fervently.

They walked slowly back to the courthouse, and as Judge Summerville reconvened court at two o’clock, Ray Medford, with every indication of smug virtue, said, “I want the record to show that at this time we are turning over to counsel for the defense, for his inspection, three magazines which were found on the floor of the bathroom where the murder was committed. By carefully observing photographs which were taken and using a magnifying glass to bring out details, we are able to state that the magazines as now handed to counsel for the defense are in the order in which they were found on the floor.”

Mason took the proffered magazines and said, “Calling the attention of the Court to the fact that the magazine which was on top, and which bears a peculiar semi-circular ink smear, is a current issue, while the bottom two are older numbers.”

“Do you think there’s some significance in that?” Medford asked curiously.

“I do,” Mason said.

Medford started to ask some question, then caught himself in time and regarded Mason with thoughtful speculation as the attorney opened the magazine and riffled the pages.

“Our next witness will be Lieutenant Tragg,” Medford said, “and...”

“Just a moment,” Mason interrupted. “I call the attention of Court and counsel to a check which I have just discovered in the pages of this magazine which was on the top of the pile, a blank check which has not been filled in any way, a check bearing the imprint of the Seaboard Mechanics National Bank.”

Judge Summerville showed his interest. “That blank check was in the magazine, Mr. Mason?”

“Yes, your Honor.”

Judge Summerville looked at Medford. “You have noticed the check, Counselor?”

Medford said, casually, “I think somebody did mention something about a book mark in one of the magazines.”

“A book mark?” Mason asked.

“If it is a book mark,” Judge Summerville said, “it might be interesting to note the place in the magazine where it was found.”

“On page seventy-eight,” Mason said, “which seems to be a continuation of a romantic story.”

“I’m quite certain it has no significance,” Medford said easily. “It was simply a blank check which had been used as a book mark.”

“Just a moment,” Mason said. “Has any attempt been made to get fingerprints from this check?”

“Certainly not.”

“Your Honor, I want this check tested for latent fingerprints,” Mason said.

“Go ahead and test it, then,” Medford snapped.

Mason’s eyes showed that he was excited, but with the ring generalship which had been learned from many courtroom battles, his voice showed no trace of emotion, only that clear resonance which enabled him to hold a courtroom completely spellbound without seeming to raise his voice.

“I call your Honor’s attention,” he went on, “to the fact that in the lower left-hand corner of this check there is a peculiar triangular point of paper adhering to the body of the check. In other words, the check was torn out of a checkbook along a line of perforations, but at the extreme bottom of the check the line of cleavage left the perforations, and a small triangular tongue of paper is adhering to the check.”

Medford said sarcastically, “That happens about half of the time when I tear checks out of a book. It merely means that the check was torn out in a hurry and...”

“I think counsel doesn’t get the significance,” Mason interrupted. “If the Court will notice the checkbook which has been introduced in evidence, and which has the stub showing an amount of one thousand dollars, and the name ‘Tom’ and then the three letters ‘G-r-i’, the Court will notice that in the lower right-hand corner of that stub, there is a little triangular piece of paper missing. It occurs to me that it might be well to compare this check with that stub and see if this isn’t the check which was torn from that stub.”

Medford’s face showed consternation.

“Let’s see that check,” Judge Summerville said abruptly.

Mason said, “May I suggest, your Honor, that the check be handled very carefully and only by one corner so that if there are any fingerprints remaining...”

“Quite right. Quite right,” Judge Summerville said.

Mason, holding the check by one corner carried it up to Judge Summerville’s desk. Judge Summerville took the checkbook which had been introduced in evidence from the clerk of the court, and while Medford and Mason leaned over his shoulders, the judge carefully placed the check against the perforations of the checkbook. There was no mistaking the keen interest on the judge’s face.

“It fits,” he said in a tone of finality. “That’s the check.”

“Of course,” Medford started to protest, “that merely means...”

“It means that there is less than one chance in ten million that the jagged, irregular lines of that torn piece of paper would coincide with the place which was torn from the check stub unless that was the check that was torn from the book,” Judge Summerville said sharply.

“Therefore,” Mason interposed, “we are faced with a situation where the decedent evidently started to fill out the stub of a check showing a payment made to Tom Gridley of one thousand dollars, but tore the check which was attached to that stub out of the book and placed it within the leaves of this magazine. It is, therefore, quite apparent that the decedent never intended to fill out the check, but only to fill out a check stub, leaving it to appear that he had made a check to Tom Gridley.”

“What would be the object in doing that?” Judge Summerville asked Mason.

Mason smiled. “At the moment, your Honor, the prosecution is putting on its case, and I will therefore leave the answering of that question to the prosecution. When the defendant puts on her case, she will endeavor to explain any evidence that she introduces. And in the meantime, I suggest that the prosecution explain the evidence it introduces.”

“I haven’t introduced it,” Medford said testily.

“Well, you should have,” Judge Summerville told him sharply, “and the evidence is going to be introduced if the Court has to do it on its own motion. But first we’re going to turn that over to a fingerprint expert and see whether any latent fingerprints can be developed.”

“I would suggest,” Mason said, “that the Court appoint its own expert. Not that the police are at all incapable, but they may be somewhat biased.”

“The Court will appoint its own expert,” Judge Summerville announced. “The Court will take an adjournment for ten minutes, during which time the Court will get in communication with an expert criminologist and see what fingerprints can be developed on this check. In the meantime, the clerk will keep this check in his custody. I suggest that we run a pin through this corner and that the check be handled in such a way that any fingerprints which may remain on it will not be disturbed.”

There was just enough accent on the words “which may remain” to make it apparent that Judge Summerville was expressing judicial irritation that the evidence had not been given proper consideration by the police at a time when there would have been a chance of developing latent fingerprints.

Judge Summerville retired with dignity to his chambers and left Medford free to engage in a whispered conference with Sergeant Dorset and Lieutenant Tragg. Dorset, quite plainly, was angry and irritated. But Tragg was puzzled and cautious.

Della Street and Paul Drake came up to stand beside Mason.

“Looks like a break, Perry,” Drake said.

“It’s about time,” Mason told him. “It certainly has been a hoodooed case.”

“But what does it mean, Perry?”

“Frankly,” Mason said, “I’ll be darned if I know. I guess there’s no question but what that was Faulkner’s handwriting on the check stub.”

“I understand there’s a handwriting expert who will swear to it,” Drake said.

“A good one?”

“Yes.”

“What I can’t understand,” Della Street said, “is why the man should write out the stub of a check and then tear the check out. Of course, Faulkner was equal to anything, and he may have intended to have it appear he had given Tom Gridley a thousand-dollar check.”

“But it wouldn’t make any difference if his books had shown he’d given Gridley twenty one-thousand dollar checks. Not until Gridley cashed the check would there be any actual payment of money. There’s something a lot deeper here than appears on the surface. And I’ve really overlooked a bet.”

Paul Drake said, “I’ve just found out something, Perry. I don’t know whether it will help or not, but somewhere around eight-thirty, the night of the murder, someone rang up Tom Gridley. He said he wanted to talk a little business, but wouldn’t give his name. He said he wanted to ask just one or two simple questions. He then went on to say that he understood Gridley was having a dispute over some money matters with Harrington Faulkner and that Faulkner had offered Gridley seven hundred and fifty dollars for a settlement.”

Mason’s eyes were alert with concentration. “Go on, Paul. What did Gridley say to that?”

“Said he didn’t know why he should discuss his affairs with a stranger, and the man’s voice said he wanted to do Tom a favor, that he’d like to know if Tom would settle for a thousand.”

“Then what?”

“Then Tom, being sick and irritable, said that if Faulkner had a check for one thousand dollars in his hands before noon of the next day he’d settle, if it meant anything to anyone, and slammed up the phone and went back to bed.”

“To whom has he told this?” Mason asked.

“Apparently to the police. He hasn’t held anything back with the police and they’re giving him what breaks they can. They tried for a while to fit that conversation in with the thousand-dollar check stub. Their best guess was that someone was acting as intermediary and had already got the thousand-dollar check from Faulkner and was trying to clean things up.”

“But why?” Mason asked.

“Search me.”

“And that conversation was around eight-thirty?”

“There we run into a snag. Tom Gridley had been in bed with fever. He was terribly nervous and all worked up over his dealings with Faulkner, and Faulkner buying the pet store and all that stuff. He had been just dozing off, and he didn’t notice the time. A while later, after he’d thought things over a bit, he looked at his watch, and it was then around nine ten. He thinks the call was around a little more than half an hour before he looked at his watch. That’s a poor way to fix time. It might have been right around eight-twenty, or it may have been quite a bit later. The point is that Gridley swears it wasn’t before eight-fifteen because he’d looked at his watch at eight o’clock and then had been awake for several minutes before he dozed into a light slumber.

“That’s the story, Perry. The police didn’t think much of it after they found they couldn’t tie it in with the check for one thousand dollars, and particularly since Tom wasn’t certain of the time.”

“It wasn’t Faulkner, Paul?”

“Apparently not. Tom said it was a strange voice, the voice of a stranger to him. The man seemed rather authoritative, as though he knew what he was doing, and Tom had thought it might have been some lawyer Faulkner had consulted.”

“It could have been, at that,” Mason said. “Faulkner had those lawsuits which demanded attention. But why wouldn’t any lawyer have come forward? Hang it, Paul, the conversation must have taken place right about the time Faulkner was murdered.”

Drake nodded, said, “On the other hand, it may have been someone who thought he had a chance to settle things, someone whom the wife had consulted, or perhaps someone Carson had asked to get things straightened out.”

“I prefer the wife,” Mason said thoughtfully. “It sounds like her. By George, Paul, it must have been someone the wife consulted! I’d certainly like to know where she really was the night of the murder.”

Drake said, “I’ve had men nosing around, but we can’t find a thing. Sergeant Dorset gave her the chance to frame that alibi, and the police are taking it at its face value.”

“I’ll bet Tragg smells a rat,” Mason said.

“If he does, he’s keeping his nostrils from quivering even the least bit,” Drake replied. “He isn’t going to stir up any stink in the department merely because Sergeant Dorset let a woman pull the line that she was going to have hysterics and so get a chance for a frame-up. You know, Perry, if Mrs. Faulkner had said she wanted to go out and see her girl friend before Dorset questioned her, they’d have given her the merry ha-ha, and then really given her a third degree. But she says she feels ill, goes out to the back porch, goes through the motions of being sick, and then starts having hysterics, and Dorset is so anxious to get her out of the way until he’s finished his investigation that when she says she wanted to have one of her girl friends come over and stay with her, Dorset practically jumps down her throat telling her to go ahead.”

Mason nodded, said, “I’m beginning to get an idea, Paul. I think that... Here’s the judge coming back to the bench. Looks as though he had really taken things into his own hands... Bet he’s going to give us the breaks from now on. He’s certainly mad enough at the cops.”

Judge Summerville returned to the bench, once more called court into session and said, “Gentlemen, the Court has arranged over the telephone with one of the best consulting criminologists in the city to take charge of that check and see what can be done toward developing latent fingerprints on it. Now do you gentlemen wish to go on with the case? I am frank to state that in view of the peculiar development, the Court will be inclined to give the defense an adjournment in case the defendant wishes it.”

“I think not,” Mason said, “not at the moment, anyway. Perhaps as the evidence progresses...”

“I don’t think I’d like that,” Medford interrupted. “In other words, the counsel for the defense is adopting the position that we’ve got to go on putting on our case and showing our hand and then, at any moment, when the defendant wants to, the defendant can call for an adjournment. I think if there’s any question about it, we should adjourn the case until after the fingerprints have been developed on that check.”

Judge Summerville said crisply, “The Court’s offer was made to the defense. I don’t think that the prosecution is entitled to ask for an adjournment when a valuable piece of evidence, I may say a most valuable piece of evidence, has been permitted to all but slip through its fingers, and would have gone entirely unnoticed if it hadn’t been for counsel for the defense. Proceed with your case, Mr. Medford.”

Medford took the Court’s rebuke with the best grace he could muster. “Of course, your Honor,” he said, “I am merely presenting the case as developed by the police. It is not the function of my office to...”

“I understand, I understand,” Judge Summerville interrupted, “The fault undoubtedly lies with the police, but on the other hand, gentlemen, it is quite evident that it is not the function of the attorney for the defendant to come into court and point out evidence, the significance of which has been entirely overlooked, both by the police and the prosecution. However, that is neither here nor there. Mr. Mason says that he does not care for an adjournment at this time. The Court will state frankly that it will be inclined to give Mr. Mason a reasonable adjournment whenever it is made to appear that it would prejudice the defendant’s case to go on with the examination before all of the evidence is in on that check. Call your next witness, Mr. Medford.”

“Lieutenant Tragg,” Medford said.

Tragg had never been in better form than when he got on the witness stand. In the manner of an impartial, skillful police officer who is only doing his duty and has no personal interest or animosity in the matter, he began to weave a net of circumstantial evidence around Sally Madison, and then, when he testified to the occasion of picking up Sally Madison on the street and finding the gun and the two thousand dollars in bills in her purse, he sprang the bombshell which Ray Medford had been so carefully preparing.

“Now then, Lieutenant Tragg,” Medford said, “did you examine that weapon for the purpose of developing any latent fingerprints?”

“Certainly,” Tragg said.

“And what did you find?”

“I found several latent fingerprints which retained sufficiently distinct characteristics so that they could be positively identified.”

“And whose fingerprints were they?”

“Four fingerprints were those of the defendant.”

“And the others?” Medford asked in a voice that held just a note of conscious triumph.

“The other two fingerprints,” Lieutenant Tragg said, “were those of Miss Della Street, the secretary of Mr. Perry Mason, and the one who, at the request of Perry Mason, had taken Miss Sally Madison to the Kellinger Hotel in an attempt to keep her from being questioned.”

Medford glanced quickly at Mason, not knowing that Paul Drake’s detectives had already tipped Mason off to this point in the evidence, and thinking that he would encounter some expression of dismay.

Mason merely glanced casually at the clock, then looked inquiringly over at Medford.

“Have you finished with the witness?” he asked.

“Cross-examine,” Medford snapped.

Judge Summerville held up his hand. “Just a moment,” he said. “I want to ask your witness a question. Lieutenant Tragg, are you quite certain that the fingerprints you found on that weapon were actually those of Miss Della Street?”

“Yes, your Honor.”

“Showing that she had touched that weapon?”

“That is quite right, your Honor.”

“Very well,” Judge Summerville said in a voice that showed his appreciation of the gravity of the situation, “you may cross-examine, Mr. Mason.”

Mason said, “You’ll pardon me, Lieutenant Tragg, if I perhaps review some of your testimony, but as I understand it, you have made a very thorough check of the movements of Harrington Faulkner on the afternoon of the day he met his death?”

“From five o’clock on,” Tragg said. “In fact, we can account for every move he made from five o’clock until the time of his death.”

“And he went to the Rawlins pet store sometime after five o’clock?”

“Yes. He went to the bank, got the money and then went to Rawlins pet store.”

“And he was there some time taking inventory?”

“Around an hour and forty-five minutes.”

“And while he was there he noticed this revolver?”

“That’s right.”

“And put it in his pocket?”

“Yes.”

“And then, according to your theory of the case, when he went to his home he took the gun out of his pocket and put it down — perhaps on the bed?”

Tragg said, “The gun was in his hip pocket. He went home, took off his coat and shirt and started to shave. It’s only natural to suppose that he took the gun out of his pocket.”

“Then,” Mason said suavely, “how does it happen that you didn’t find any of Mr. Faulkner’s fingerprints on the gun?”

Tragg hesitated a moment, said, “The murderer must have wiped all fingerprints off the gun.”

“Why?”

“Obviously,” Tragg said, smiling slightly, “to remove incriminating evidence.”

“Therefore,” Mason said, “if the defendant had been the one who committed the murder and had thought enough of the problem of fingerprints to have wiped all fingerprints off the gun, she would hardly have gone ahead after that and left her own fingerprints on it, would she?”

Tragg was obviously jarred by the question. He said, “Of course, you’re assuming something there, Mr. Mason.”

“What am I assuming?”

“You’re assuming that I know something of what was in the defendant’s mind.”

“You’ve already testified to what was in the mind of the murderer,” Mason said. “You have testified that the murderer wiped the fingerprints off the weapon to remove incriminating evidence. Now then, I am asking you if that theory is consistent with the theory that Sally Madison committed the murder.”

Lieutenant Tragg obviously realized the force of Mason’s suggestion. He shifted his position uncomfortably.

“Isn’t it far more likely that she is telling the truth, and that she picked up the gun in order to remove it from the scene of the crime, knowing that it was Tom Gridley’s gun?”

“I’ll leave that up to the Court,” Tragg said.

“Thank you,” Mason announced, smiling. “And now, I want to ask you a couple of other questions, Lieutenant Tragg. It is the theory of the police, I believe, that Harrington Faulkner was writing this check stub and was about to write the name Tom Gridley in the check stub when he was shot?”

“That’s right.”

“The fact that he had written only the first three letters of the last name, and the fact that the checkbook was found where it had fallen on the floor, are the things on which you predicate your conclusion?”

“That, plus the fact that the fountain pen also fell on the floor.”

“Don’t you think that something else might have interrupted the deceased?”

“Such as what?” Tragg asked. “I’d be glad to have you mention something that would cause a man to stop writing in the middle of a name that way.”

“Perhaps the ringing of a telephone?” Mason asked.

“Not a chance in the world,” Tragg said. “That is, if you want my opinion.”

“I’m asking for it,” Mason said.

“If the telephone had rung, the decedent would certainly have finished the name ‘Gridley’ before he answered the telephone. And he wouldn’t have dropped the checkbook on the floor and wouldn’t have dropped the fountain pen on the floor.”

“Therefore,” Mason said, “the thing that prevented the decedent from finishing writing the name ‘Gridley’ was the fatal shot?”

“I think there’s no other conclusion.”

“You have talked with a gentleman named Charles Menlo?”

“Yes.”

“And, without anticipating Mr. Menlo’s testimony, I believe you know that Mr. Menlo will state that he was talking with the decedent on the telephone at the time when someone, apparently the defendant, entered the house and was ordered out by Mr. Faulkner?”

“This, of course, is very irregular,” Medford interposed.

“I think counsel is simply trying to save time,” Judge Summerville said. “Do you want to object to the question?”

“No, I think not. There’s no question about Mr. Menlo’s testimony.”

“That’s right,” Lieutenant Tragg said.

“Therefore,” Mason went on, “if it had been the defendant who entered the house at that time...”

“She admits that she did,” Tragg said. “Her own written statement covers that point.”

“Exactly,” Mason went on. “And if she found the door open and entered, encountered Harrington Faulkner in the bedroom, talking on the telephone, and if Faulkner then tried to eject her and she snatched up the gun and shot him, she could hardly have shot him while he was writing a check stub in the bathroom, could she?”

“Wait a minute. How’s that again?” Tragg asked.

Mason said, “It’s quite obvious, Lieutenant. The police theory is that Faulkner was telephoning when Sally Madison came into the room. Faulkner still had some lather on his face. He was running water in the bathtub. He ordered the defendant out. There was a struggle. She saw the gun lying on the bed and picked it up and shot him. Now then, if she had shot him while he was struggling with her in the bedroom, she couldn’t have shot him while he was writing that check stub in the bathroom, could she?”

Tragg said, “No,” and then after a moment added, “I’m glad you brought up that point, Mr. Mason, because it makes the murder a deliberate, cold-blooded murder instead of one committed in the heat of rage.”

“Just how do you reason that out?” Mason asked.

“Because Faulkner must have gone back to the bathroom and picked up the checkbook and started writing the check stub when she shot him.”

“That’s your theory now?” Mason asked.

Tragg said, smiling, “It’s your theory, Mr. Mason, and I’m now beginning to think it’s a good one.”

“And when Faulkner fell as the result of that shot, did he upset the table containing the bowl in which the goldfish were swimming?”

“He did.”

“But,” Mason said, “there was an agateware container and one goldfish in the bathtub. How do you account for those?”

“I think one of the fish must have fallen into the bathtub.”

Mason smiled. “Remembering, Lieutenant, that at that time Faulkner was drawing hot water for a bath. How long do you think the fish would have lived in hot bath water and how do you think the agateware container got in the bathtub?”

Tragg frowned, thought for a few seconds, then said, “I’m not a mind reader.”

Mason smiled courteously. “Thank you, Lieutenant, for that concession. I was afraid that you had been trying to qualify as such. Particularly in regard to your comments as to the fingerprints of Della Street on the gun. For all you know, those prints might have been put on the gun before the murder.”

“Not the way you’ve explained it,” Tragg said. “The murderer must have wiped all fingerprints off the gun.”

“Then, the murderer could hardly have been Sally Madison.”

Tragg frowned. “I want to think that over a bit,” he said.

Mason bowed to Judge Summerville. “And that, your Honor, is the point at which I will terminate my cross-examination. I would like to let Lieutenant Tragg think it over a little bit — think it over a whole lot.”

Judge Summerville said to Medford, “Call your next witness.”

“Louis C. Corning,” Medford announced. “Please come forward, Mr. Corning.”

Corning, the fingerprint expert who had lifted the fingerprints from the various objects in Faulkner’s house, testified in detail as to the fingerprints he had found, and paid particular attention to a fingerprint of Sally Madison which had been found on the handle of the satchel under the bed — a fingerprint which was introduced in evidence and marked, “F. P. No. 10.”

“Cross-examine,” Medford said to Perry Mason, as soon as the witness had positively identified that particular fingerprint.

“Why,” Mason asked on cross-examination, “did you use the so-called lifting method?”

“Because,” the witness answered defiantly, “that was the only method to use.”

“You mean that you couldn’t have used any other?”

“I mean that it wouldn’t have been practical.”

“What do you mean by that?”

The witness said, “Attorneys for the defense always try to hold a field day with an expert who has lifted fingerprints. But when you’re called on to investigate a crime of that sort, you have to lift the fingerprints, and that’s all there is to it. Lifting enables you to make a complete examination and a careful examination, and to avoid the mistakes which are sometimes made by the use of too much haste — such as when a person is trying to examine and classify a lot of latent fingerprints in a short time.”

“It took you some time after you had lifted these prints to examine them?”

“I worked on them for a good many hours, yes.”

“You found a fingerprint of the defendant — the one that has been introduced as the People’s Exhibit F. P. No. 10 on the handle of the satchel, which has also been introduced in evidence?”

“I did.”

“How do you know you found that fingerprint there?”

“How do I know anything?”

Mason smiled.

Judge Summerville said, “Answer the question.”

“Well, I knew it because I took an envelope, wrote on the outside of it, ‘Fingerprints taken from satchel,’ and I then proceeded to dust the satchel and wherever I found a latent I pulled it off and dropped it into this envelope.”

“And what did you then do with the envelopes?”

“I put them in my brief case.”

“And what did you do with your brief case?”

“I took it home that night.”

“And what did you do with it then?”

“I worked on some of the fingerprints.”

“Did you find F. P. No. 10 that night?”

“No, I didn’t find that until late the next morning.”

“Where were you when you found it?”

“At my office.”

“Did you go directly from your house to your office?”

“I did not.”

“Where did you go?”

“At the request of Lieutenant Tragg, I went out to the residence of James L. Staunton.”

“What did you do there?”

“I took some fingerprints from a fish tank.”

“By the lifting method?”

“By the lifting method.”

Mason said, “And what did you do with those fingerprints?”

“I put them in an envelope marked ‘Prints lifted from fish tank at residence of James L. Staunton.’ ”

“And that envelope was also put in your brief case?”

“Yes.”

“Is it possible that you made a mistake and that one of the fingerprints of the defendant which was actually lifted from this tank was placed inadvertently in this envelope labeled ‘Fingerprints taken from satchel’?”

“Don’t be silly,” the witness said scornfully.

“I’m not being silly,” Mason said, “I’m asking you a question.”

“The answer is an unequivocal, absolute, final and emphatic no.”

“Who was present when you were taking these fingerprints?”

“No one except the gentleman who had admitted me.”

“Mr. Staunton?”

“That’s right.”

“How long did it take?”

“I would say not over twenty to thirty minutes.”

“Then you went back to your office?”

“That’s right.”

“And how soon after that did you finish checking the fingerprints and find this exhibit F. P. 10?”

“I would say about three hours afterwards.”

Mason said, “That’s all.”

As the witness left the stand, Mason said, “Now, your Honor, I think I would like to request that recess which the Court has previously suggested might be in order. I would prefer to know the result of the examination of that blank check for fingerprints before I go on with the cross-examination of witnesses.”

“The Court will adjourn until tomorrow morning at ten o’clock,” Judge Summerville said promptly. “And, for the benefit of counsel, it will be noted that the Court has advised the criminologist who is examining the blank check for fingerprints to notify both counsel immediately upon the completion of his examination. Until tomorrow morning at ten o’clock.”

Sally Madison, without the slightest change of her facial expression, said in a low voice to Perry Mason, “Thank you.” Her voice was as calmly impersonal as though she had been expressing her gratitude for the lighting of a cigarette or some similar service. Nor did she wait for the lawyer to make any reply, but instead arose and stood waiting to be escorted from the courtroom.