The Case of the Half-Wakened Wife

Chapter 20

Detaching themselves from the crowded spectators, Mason, Della Street, and Paul Drake went into a whispered huddle over their cigarettes in the crowded hallway.

Drake said, “Perry, you’ve always been the one to take the lead, the one to give me advice, and the one to be right. Now I’m going to reverse the role. I’m going to give you advice. This is the time to bail out.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. We’re stuck. You’re defending a guilty client, and the minute her guilt is ascertained you’re left wide open to that suit by Ellen Cushing. Right now I think we can make some kind of a settlement and get out from under.”

“You can’t get out from under when you’re representing a client,” Mason said.

“Perry, she’s guilty as hell.”

“I still don’t think she is.”

“How do you account for that bullet having been found in the man’s spinal cord?”

Mason drew thoughtfully on his cigarette. “I don’t account for it, Paul — yet.”

“And you never will,” Drake said. “You know just as well as I do, Perry Mason, the way that composite photograph showed up, there is absolutely no chance on earth of faking the thing. That bullet was fired from that revolver.”

Mason nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, it was fired from the revolver, all right.”

Drake said, “All right. You’re doing a swell job of cross-examining those witnesses. It looks right now as though you’re holding your own. But after a while people will quit thinking about the courtroom gymnastics and get down to brass tacks. Here was the woman lying there asleep, according to her story, with the gun on the dresser. The telephone rings and her husband says he’s in the bow of the boat. Now obviously he couldn’t have been in the bow of the boat and still have talked to her over that telephone. So that’s a lie right there.”

“Perhaps a lie on the part of the husband.”

“All right. A lie on the part of the husband,” Drake said. “But try to sell that to the jury. It was the wife who saw that telephone up in the bow when Parker Benton was showing them around. She immediately decided that she could use that telephone in her business. She had her murder planned, all carefully arranged, and all she wanted was an opportunity to put it into effect.”

Mason said impatiently, “Even if she is guilty, I can’t quit.”

“Perhaps you can’t quit, but you can get out from under. The D.A. may be willing to let you plead to second-degree murder. Then we can settle with Ellen Cushing. You go on past this point and you’ll be in a fight with everyone concerned. You won’t be able to cop a plea. Ellen Cushing will go ahead with her suit for damages and we’ll both be stuck.”

Mason said nothing but smoked in silent concentration.

Drake went on, “According to her own story, she saw her husband, apparently struggling with someone. He fell overboard and she heard the sound of a shot. She looked down in the water, recognized him. He was moving. He called her name, then he was swept back by the current under the overhang of the ship.

“Now you know just as well as I do, Perry, that with a bullet smashing into the spinal cord between the first and second cervical vertebrae, there’d be an instant paralysis. The man never moved from the minute that bullet hit him.”

Della Street said, “Look, Paul, couldn’t some murderer have been waiting in the water, some murderer who was a good swimmer?”

Drake was grinning now. “All right, Della. What gun did the murderer use in shooting him?”

“Why... Let me see...”

Drake grinned. “Let you see is right! The murderer must have used the gun that was in the hand of the defendant!”

Mason scowled thoughtfully.

“The unfortunate part of that theory from our standpoint,” Drake said, “is that Marion Shelby was the only one who had the gun.”

“After a while she gave it to Parker Benton and then Parker Benton gave it to the officers,” Della Street interpolated...”

“That was long after the murder,” Drake said.

Della Street met Drake’s eyes. “How do you know?” she asked.

Mason pinched out his cigarette, said, “Wait a minute, Della. I think you’ve got something there!”

Drake said sarcastically, “Go ahead and be a sap! You mean Shelby was hiding under the bow and...”

“Or under the stern,” Mason said. “There’s an overhang there.”

“Nuts!” Drake exclaimed.

“Court!” a bailiff shouted. Instantly spectators began crowding through the doors in a milling stream of humanity.

“Court... Jury... Counsel,” the bailiff shouted.

Mason whirled and walked rapidly toward the door of the courtroom. Drake, almost running to keep up, said, “Perry, don’t be foolish. There isn’t any theory you can take in front of a jury. Let’s bail out while the bailing is good.”

“I’ll talk it over with you tonight.”

“Tonight will be too late. They’re going to put Ellen Cushing on the stand. If you antagonize her, she never will settle. For the love of Mike, Perry, handle her with gloves.”

Mason pushed his way through the door of the courtroom, walked rapidly down the aisle, and took his place at the counsel table just as Judge Maxwell entered the courtroom, waited for silence, and then said, “The jury are all present, gentlemen. The defendant is in court. Mr. District Attorney, call your next witness.”

“Ellen Bedson Cushing,” the district attorney said, “who is now Ellen Cushing Lacey.”

Ellen Cushing Lacey, chin up, eyes sparkling in anticipation of the battle of wits which was to come, took the witness stand. She had evidently spent considerable time in a beauty parlor and chosen her wearing apparel with great care. Even Mason was forced to admit to himself that she was a well proportioned, vivacious, fully matured woman who knew her way around and who was going to make a devastating impression on that jury.

She held up her right hand and was sworn. She seated herself in the chair on the witness stand, crossed her legs, made the conventional gesture of pulling her skirt down over her knees, fidgeted slightly as though to get herself established in a comfortable position, then looked at the district attorney and smiled.

The district attorney hurried through the preliminary questions, then began to bring out the relationship, the fact that Scott Shelby had an office in the same building, that he had first taken notice of the witness some six months earlier, that he had gradually taken more and more notice, that he had begun to throw little things her way, opportunities to make commissions, business tips, and then finally had come the matter of the oil lease.

“You bought that oil lease?” the district attorney asked.

She turned and faced the jury, said, “Frankly, I did.”

“Why?”

She said, “I’m going to tell you the truth. I knew that there was a sale pending. I felt absolutely certain that the lease hadn’t been taken into consideration by the purchaser and I thought there would be an opportunity to get a very good cash settlement.”

“Did you tell Mr. Shelby that?”

“I did not.”

“Why?”

She said, “I knew Mr. Shelby was a married man and I knew he was taking an interest in me. I knew there wasn’t anything platonic about that interest, and I knew he was using the little things he was throwing my way as bait for a proposition that would be made afterwards. I didn’t feel that I owed Mr. Shelby anything. He was a businessman and I was a business woman. I had to make my living and he had to make his. He offered me this oil lease thinking it was absolutely valueless.”

“And you bought it?”

“I bought it.”

“What did you pay for it?”

She smiled archly and said, “The consideration was purely nominal. In fact, Mr. Shelby considered it as so much waste-paper. He told me that if I wanted to make the back payments to reinstate it I could have it.”

“And what did you do?”

“I drew up an assignment and a declaration of trust, had Shelby sign it, then got a man to act as my agent, and in the name of Scott Shelby make a tender of five hundred dollars to Jane Keller.”

“You were willing to gamble five hundred dollars...?”

She smiled and said, “I didn’t even have to gamble five hundred dollars. I knew very well that Jane Keller couldn’t afford to take it. If she had taken the money, she would have laid herself wide open on that sale. I was playing it safe all the way along the line.”

“Were you in love with Mr. Shelby?”

“I certainly was not.”

“Was Mr. Shelby in love with you?”

“He was not. He was looking on me purely as a possible biological adventure. I was in love at the time.”

“With your present husband?”

“Yes.”

“Go on,” the district attorney said. “Tell us what happened after that.”

Mason shifted his eyes from the witness to study the faces of the jurors. There could be no doubt that this was making a tremendous impression, that anything she said was destined to dominate the whole case. She was attractive enough, lively enough, and sophisticated enough to appeal to these jurors. There were whimsical smiles on the faces of some of the older men on the jury, smiles that showed a sympathetic understanding and a certain admiration. Ellen Cushing Lacey wasn’t avoiding the issue. She was putting the cards fairly on the table. She was a business woman, and a playboy had been trying to get himself in solid by giving her little tips, small commissions, an oil lease which he thought was absolutely worthless. Ellen had taken it all in her stride. She had kept her head, had played the game knowing exactly what was at stake and very coolly and calmly intending to win.

In a more brazen woman that would have been gold-digging. In a less frank woman it would have been hypocrisy. In a woman who didn’t have the witness’s attractive personality it would have been selfish exploitation. But with Ellen Cushing Lacey’s trim figure, her ready smile, her alert manner, her undoubted individuality, what she had done was, in the minds of the jurors, simply outwitting a man whose interest in her had been purely selfish. The man had baited traps and she had stolen the bait without getting caught. It was a game which both parties played with their eyes open and Ellen had won.

The jurors settled down in their chairs. Their eyes were tolerant, their lips smiling. They were going to enjoy this. Mason turned his attention back to the witness.

The district attorney went on suavely asking questions which gave the woman on the stand an opportunity to present herself in the best possible light to the jurors. She had the gift of relating conversations so that the characteristics of the other persons were vividly portrayed. The jurors began to get a clear picture of Scott Shelby, a man who had been twice married, divorced, and then remarried, a man who was restless, a man who was quite frankly on the prowl, who regarded his domestic life as a mere convenience which entailed no perceptible obligations on his part. Because he was a man, however, he had entertained a fatuous idea of his own intellectual superiority in business, and while he undertook to play the part of the rich benefactor he was enough of a four-flusher so that the benefactions which he showered upon the recipient of his attentions were the husks of the business world, things from which all possible profit had already been squeezed, and Scott Shelby relied upon his glib-tongued salesmanship to make them seem attractive to the person to whom he gave them.

Then Ellen Cushing Lacey went on to tell about how she had taken the oil lease, how she had discovered that obscure provision of the oil lease, and how she had injected that into the deal for the sale of the island, the interest that had been aroused, and Mr. Mason’s call to Scott Shelby asking for an interview.

Then Scott Shelby had suddenly become a changed person. He had realized for the first time that the thing he had so generously offered to Ellen, in place of being merely an expired oil lease, was a property of great potential value. Then almost immediately he had begun to show himself in his true character. He had become greedy. He wanted to get the lease back. He had tried one excuse after another, but Ellen had been firm. At length they had settled on an understanding by which Ellen Cushing, the real estate agent, would appear in the matter only as a witness, at least at first, and negotiations looking to a compromise would be carried on by Scott Shelby, who would receive one quarter of whatever he was able to get.

Shelby had at this point been kicking himself for letting a very profitable transaction slip through his fingers, and once his pocketbook was touched he had dropped his mask of the genial benefactor. He was a combination of the thwarted wolf and the outwitted sharpshooter.

Hamilton Burger was shrewd enough to give the witness every opportunity to relate conversations which showed this drama unfolding before the jurors. Then he introduced in evidence the oil lease, the assignment, and the declaration of trust.

“The purpose of these documents?” the Court asked, glancing down at Mason as though anticipating an objection.

“The purpose is to show the motive on the part of the murderer.”

“I don’t see exactly how this connects a motive with the defendant,” the Court said.

Hamilton Burger said, “If the Court please, it shows the reason for this gathering aboard the yacht.”

“I’m willing to agree with you there, Counselor, but what I am interested in is just how these documents and the testimony of this witness show a definite motive on the part of the defendant in the present case.”

“Well, Your Honor,” Hamilton Burger said, “I think that it explains the background in the light of that which is to come out later on in testimony. It will explain the statements made by the defendant. Perhaps I should have introduced the statements of the defendant at this time. I think it is pertinent to take into consideration the atmosphere aboard that yacht, the tension, the hatreds.”

“But why?”

“Because it was against this background that the defendant felt that the time was right to strike. She had evidently contemplated this murder for some time and was awaiting only a favorable opportunity. It is the purpose of this testimony to show that such an opportunity existed and the extent of that opportunity, an opportunity which was, so to speak, made to order, an opportunity which the defendant could not afford to pass up and which she did not. Moreover, Your Honor, there is no objection from the defense.”

Judge Maxwell looked over his glasses at Perry Mason. “There is no objection, Mr. Mason? Is that correct?”

“That is correct,” Mason said. “Let’s get the facts before the jury. Let’s get the entire picture. I want the whole thing.”

Hamilton Burger smirked. “That’s exactly what we want, Your Honor.”

“Very well,” Judge Maxwell said crisply. “The documents will be received in evidence and marked as appropriate exhibits. Do you have many more questions of this witness, Mr. Burger?

The Court notices that it’s approaching the hour of the afternoon adjournment.”

“Just a few more questions, if the Court please, and then I will be finished.”

“Very well, go ahead.”

“Now you and counsel for the defense occupy adversary positions on a matter of considerable importance to you?”

Judge Maxwell glanced down at the district attorney. “What is the object of that question?” he asked.

“I merely want to show the bias of the witness.”

“You mean that the witness is biased in favor of the defense?”

“No, Your Honor. She might be biased against it.”

“Then that is a matter for the defense itself to bring out.”

“I know of no rule of law which says so, Your Honor,” Hamilton Burger said. “It is a fact in the case. The bias of a witness is always an important factor which may be shown. I have been accused by indirection of suppressing some evidence in this case. I don’t intend to suppress any more.”

“The defense can bring out any matter of bias if it so chooses,” Judge Maxwell said.

“Certainly it may, Your Honor, but I don’t know that there is any rule of law which provides that the facts of the case which are in favor of the defense can only be brought out by the defense and those which are in favor of the prosecution be brought out only by the prosecution. If that is the ruling of the Court, then I want the jurors to understand that there can be no possible censure upon the district attorney’s office because the prosecution waited for the defense to bring out these facts concerning the glancing bullet — that is, the alleged glancing of the bullet.”

“The situation is somewhat different there,” Judge Maxwell said. “I think it would hardly be expedient for counsel to raise that question at this time. In the one case the facts are known to the defense, which has the opportunity to bring them out if it desires. In the other case the facts were apparently in the exclusive control of the prosecution.”

“But the defense nevertheless discovered them and brought them out.”

“Due to skill on the part of the interrogator,” Judge Maxwell snapped. “The present question is different. I don’t think there is any distinct analogy.”

“I contend that it is exactly the same in the eyes of the law.”

Judge Maxwell looked down at Mason. “What is your position on this, Mr. Mason?”

“I haven’t any, Your Honor.”

“You mean you consent to the question?”

“No, sir. I do not. I am simply willing to let the record speak for itself.”

“Of course, if you raise no objection to the question, that is another matter.”

“I am not objecting and I am not consenting, Your Honor. I believe that the control of the examination of the witness is in the discretion of the Court.”

“But where no objection is made the Court is not called upon to make objections for one of the parties, subject, of course, to the fact that the proof must be kept within reasonable limits of relevancy.”

Hamilton Burger said, “Your Honor, I would like to read to the Court an excerpt from Jones on Evidence, Second Edition, page one thousand and fifty, where the author says as follows: ‘It is always competent to show that a witness is hostile to the party against whom he is called, that he has threatened revenge, or that a quarrel exists between them. A jury would scrutinize more closely and doubtingly the evidence of the hostile than that of an indifferent or a friendly witness...’ ”

“Exactly,” Judge Maxwell said. “There can be no question of that. That is elemental law. The Court needs no authority on that point. This question is entirely different.”

“If the Court will permit me to go on reading, I think that the authority covers this very question,” Hamilton Burger said. “I read that portion of the law in order to make certain that there could be no confusion in the minds of my listeners as to that which was to follow, inasmuch as there is no confusion on the part of the author of the text. In other words, the author was careful to keep the two points segregated.”

“Go ahead,” Judge Maxwell said impatiently. “What follows?”

“There follows this statement,” Hamilton Burger said, pausing to read impressively, “ ‘hence it is always competent to show the relations which exist between the witness and the party against, as well as the one for whom he is called.’ ”

Hamilton Burger sat down.

“Let me see that book,” Judge Maxwell demanded.

Hamilton Burger took the law book forward to the bench. “An old edition, Your Honor, but one that is most suitable for carrying in court. I prefer it to the more voluminous...”

“No apology necessary,” Judge Maxwell said. “Jones on Evidence is a standard authority. Let me read that. I... yes... there’s a citation... two citations... very well, in the absence of objection on the part of the defense I will permit the evidence to be introduced.”

Hamilton Burger smiled triumphantly. “Answer the question, Mrs. Lacey.”

“I am suing Mr. Perry Mason and Mr. Paul Drake for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars for defamation of character because they claimed to the officers that I had had a man in my bedroom, that I was shielding Scott Shelby after his murder and that the man was not actually dead, whereas in fact I hadn’t seen him for more than twelve hours prior to the time of his death.”

“You may cross-examine,” Burger said triumphantly.

“Ah, yes,” Mason said. “On that last question, Mrs. Lacey, the ‘accusation’ I believe was that because a wet blanket and a pair of men’s shoes that were soaking wet with water had been found in your garage the officers should investigate to see if perhaps some man who had been in the water had not been riding in your automobile.”

“Your Honor,” Hamilton Burger said, “I object to that as not being proper cross-examination. Counsel can show bias if he wants to but this case certainly is no place to try the merits of the suit for defamation of character.”

“I am not asking to try the case on the merits,” Mason said. “I am merely asking the witness as to the grounds of the communication made to the officers and the nature of that communication. Obviously there cannot be as much resentment for a communication that was founded upon fact as for one which was made up of whole cloth.”

“That is the danger of this thing,” Judge Maxwell said irritably. “The inquiry has the tendency to go far afield. I have permitted, over my better judgment, counsel for the prosecution to prove that a witness testifying for the prosecution is biased against the defense. Now then, under cross-examination, counsel for the defense certainly should be entitled to go farther into the question of bias than if counsel for the defense had been the one to bring it out. In that case, if the witness had made an answer which had shown bias, there would have been no necessity for further questions; but in view of the fact that this was brought out on direct examination counsel for the defense now has the right to a most searching inquiry.”

“Exactly, Your Honor,” Mason said. “Which was why I didn’t object to the question which the prosecution asked, although I thought that it was rather irrelevant.”

“I still think it was irrelevant,” the judge said. “But I have permitted it, and in view of the fact that it was permitted on direct examination I see no alternative but to give you every latitude on cross-examination. However, it is approaching the hour of the evening adjournment, gentlemen.”

“If the Court will bear with me just another five or ten minutes,” Mason said, “I think perhaps we can conclude this phase of the examination.”

“Very well.”

“Can you answer that question?” Mason asked.

She said, “I don’t know what you told the officers.”

“But you do allege in your complaint that you know.”

“That allegation is on information and belief,” Hamilton Burger said.

“But the witness does know that there actually was a wet blanket, a soaking wet blanket, found in the garage.”

“She’d used it to carry ice in,” Burger said irritably.

“Would you mind holding up your right hand?” Mason asked the district attorney.

“What do you mean?”

Mason smiled. “If you’re going to testify in place of this witness, I’d like to have you sworn.”

There was a titter in the courtroom. Hamilton Burger’s face turned red.

“Proceed, gentlemen,” the Court said. “Counsel will refrain from personalities but on the other hand the witness will be permitted to answer questions without interpolation by counsel.”

“There was such a wet blanket in your garage?” Mason asked.

“Yes. I used it to wrap ice in,” the witness said angrily.

“And a pair of men’s shoes that were also soaking wet?”

“My husband’s shoes,” she said. “I guess a woman has the right to have her husband’s shoes in her garage if she wants.”

“He was your husband at that time?”

“No. We were married four days later.”

“Exactly. But you do admit that a soaking wet blanket and a pair of men’s shoes that were also soaking wet were found concealed in a corner of your garage the morning after the murder?”

The jurors were leaning forward now, their eyes sharp with interest and perhaps a faint trace of suspicion. Hamilton Burger, distinctly uncomfortable, shifted his position and the swivel chair squeaked a protest. As the witness hesitated, the district attorney half arose as though preparing to make an objection, but then subsided and settled back in his chair as he could think of no appropriate manner of coping with the situation which had developed.

The witness said angrily, “If you want to know the facts instead of making a lot of nasty insinuations, Mr. Mason, I’ll tell you the facts.”

“Go right ahead,” Mason invited.

“Your Honor,” Burger protested, “I think this is most improper.”

“I don’t,” Judge Maxwell said. “The witness testifies to bias on direct examination. Counsel now on cross-examination is questioning a witness who is admittedly and concededly hostile, not only from an academic, technical standpoint, but from a most real one. Inasmuch as the cause of that hostility and bias was deliberately brought out by the prosecution on its direct examination, I see no reason for curtailing the defense in its cross-examination on that point.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Mason said. “I feel personally that I am entitled to have these facts brought out.”

“I’m the one who is entitled to have them brought out,” the witness said angrily. “I went on a picnic with the man I was going to marry. I went out shortly after noon of the day of that yacht trip and I stayed out until four or five o’clock that afternoon, and I have pictures here to prove it.”

“Indeed?” Mason said, “I’d be interested in those pictures.”

“If the Court please!” Burger protested.

“Oh, let’s have the pictures. Let’s get it over with,” Judge Maxwell said impatiently. “You opened the door for all this, Mr. Burger, and I’m not going to slam it in the face of the witness on the one hand, or the counsel for the defense on the other; not after the manner in which you deliberately opened it. Go ahead. Let’s get the whole story.”

Mason gravely took the pictures which the witness handed him.

“You can see in those photographs,” the witness said, “that my husband — the man shown in this picture — is standing on a raft. He got his feet wet getting on and off that raft. It was something that he made himself out of a board and some sticks. And here’s the blanket with the ice on it. We carried the ice in a blanket and carried it over in the blanket to the place where we were having a picnic.”

“Why in a blanket?” Mason asked.

“Did you ever try to carry ice in your bare hands, Mr. Mason?” the witness asked acidly.

There were smiles in the courtroom.

“And after your picnic?” Mason asked.

“After the picnic I was with my husband.”

“For how long?”

“Until I had to go to the train to meet my mother. And my mother stayed with me the entire night.”

Mason glanced at the clock. “I take it that the Court now wishes to adjourn until tomorrow morning?”

Judge Maxwell nodded. He was plainly angry with the district attorney for the manner in which he had introduced the bias of the witness in an attempt to arouse the sympathies of the jury and equally irritated at Perry Mason for the manner in which he had exploited that blunder on the part of the district attorney. He said, “Court is about to take a recess. Tomorrow is Saturday, and there will be no session of the court until Monday morning at ten o’clock. The jury will remain in the custody of the sheriff and will not converse about this case, discuss it in any way among themselves, or permit others to discuss it in their presence. They will refrain from forming or expressing any opinion as to the guilt or innocence of the defendant until the case is finally submitted to them. Court is adjourned.”

The judge got up and stalked angrily away into chambers.

Burger glowered across at Mason. “Satisfied, I trust?” he said sarcastically.

Mason grinned at him. “Go ahead and open doors and I’ll stick my foot in them,” he promised.

“You’ve got your foot in it now,” Burger said angrily, started to say something else, then got up and stormed out of the courtroom.

Mason said to the deputy sheriff who had Marion Shelby in charge, “Just a minute before you take her back. I want to ask her a couple of questions.”

The deputy sheriff nodded, withdrew a few paces.

Mason leaned forward, said in a low tone to Marion Shelby, “The answer to this may be very, very important. Are you absolutely certain that the man you saw fall overboard was your husband?”

“Absolutely.”

“Did you see his features?”

“Not when he was falling, but after he was in the water.”

“You are certain it was your husband?”

“Absolutely positive.”

“There was enough light so that you could see plainly?”

“Yes.”

“You heard his voice?”

“Yes.”

“It was your husband’s voice?”

“Yes.”

“Now then, be very careful about this. Was your husband moving?”

“Yes. He was moving. He was struggling in the water in a peculiar way.”

“Lying on his back or on his stomach?”

“Lying on his back.”

“So you couldn’t see the back of his neck?”

“No, only his face.”

“And you’re certain he was moving?”

“Of course he was moving. He was making fighting motions with his hands and legs, kicking and struggling, not the way a man would who was strong and healthy but as though he had been... as though he’d been hit on the head. I think that blow on the head really has something to do with it.”

“And he was alone down there in the water? There was no one with him?”

“No one with him. No.”

“But there was an overhang to the bow of the yacht. You couldn’t see what was under the bow?”

“No, I guess not. My husband was swept underneath that overhang by the current and out of sight. I thought he was drifting down the starboard side. He seemed to be heading in that direction. But when I ran down that side — well, you know, he’d gone down the port side.”

“And you had heard the sound of the shot before you reached the bow of the boat and looked down into the water?”

“Yes. That shot took place just after my husband fell or was dragged overboard.”

“You think he may have been dragged overboard?”

“There was something very peculiar about the way he was standing and swaying back and forth. It was as though something was pulling him from down in the water, some force that he seemed to be struggling against. He was wrestling... wrestling with an invisible antagonist.”

Mason said, “It might help your case a lot, Mrs. Shelby, if the facts of the matter were that your husband was not struggling when you saw him in the water after that shot was fired. Perhaps he was just lying limp but the current was moving his arms and legs so that it appeared there might have been some gentle motion.”

“It wasn’t a gentle motion. He was kicking. He was trying to fight.”

Mason said, “You realize the obvious implications of having the fatal wound caused by a bullet fired from this gun?”

“Of course, I do.”

“Well,” Mason said, “think it over. You don’t have to go on the stand yet.”

“You want me to change my testimony, don’t you, Mr. Mason?”

Mason said somewhat wearily, “I want you to tell the truth, that’s all. But if you are lying, I warn you that the lie is very apt to send you to the death cell.”

“I can’t help it. I’m not going to change my story. I told the truth and I’m sticking with it. The truth is the truth, and that’s all there is to it.”

“If it’s the truth, that’s all there is to it,” Mason said, and his voice showed that he was suddenly tired. “Now let’s find out a little more about that gun. It’s your husband’s gun?”

“That’s right.”

“How long had he owned it?”

“I don’t know. He’d had it ever since I knew him.”

“Did he carry it?”

“He didn’t, at first, but the last couple of months he’d been carrying it.”

“Know why?”

“No.”

“Some new enemy perhaps?”

“I don’t know.”

“Was he carrying it with him that last day — the twelfth?”

“Yes. It was in his hip pocket when he went to bed. He took it out of his pocket and put it on the top of the dresser.”

Mason thought that over. “And he asked you to pick up the gun and bring it to him when he telephoned?”

“Yes.”

“Then, since he’d been carrying it, there must have been someone he feared?”

“I guess so, yes. One other thing Mr. Mason, he’d shot the gun the day before... no, two days before.”

Mason’s eyes showed quick interest. “How do you know?”

“It was empty when he took it out of his pocket on the night of the tenth. He opened a drawer, took out a box of shells and reloaded it.”

“The deuce he did! Did you ask for an explanation?”

“No. I never asked him for explanations. I’d got over that.”

Mason frowned. “Suppose he was practicing?”

“I suppose that must have been it.”

“All six chambers were empty?”

“Yes. He reloaded them all.”

“Then he must have fired one more shot after that. There was one empty shell in the gun when you picked it up off the bedside stand.”

“Yes — that is, I don’t know there was an empty shell in there then. The police say there was an empty shell in the gun.”

Mason thought that over. “I wish we knew more about your husband’s life, his friends, his enemies.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Mason. I can’t help you a bit. We had no social life at all. He was very secretive. I hardly know a thing about him... his business, his interests, his associates.”

There was another period of thoughtful silence.

“How do things look, Mr. Mason?” she asked at last.

“I can’t tell you yet,” he said.

She laughed nervously. “That’s because you don’t want to tell me, isn’t it?”

“They don’t look any too good, I’ll tell you that,” Mason conceded.

She sighed. “Well, do the best you can, Mr. Mason. Good night.”

“Good night,” he said and picked up his brief case, leaving the courtroom without once glancing back.