The Case of the Half-Wakened Wife

Chapter 22

Saturday morning Mason entered his office with his hat tilted back on his head, the old, carefree, boyish grin twisting his lips. “Hi Della, what’s new?”

She said, “The deposition of Ellen Cushing Lacey is set for ten o’clock, you remember?”

“Uh huh.”

“The court reporter will be here. There’s a notary public on this floor, who’s ready to come in and swear the witness any time we’re ready.”

“Heard anything from Paul Drake?”

“I’m afraid Paul had rather a bad night. He got hold of Attica on the phone, tried to sound the old shyster out about a figure for a compromise.”

“Get anywhere?”

“Attica said the compromise figure would be two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, and slammed the phone up.”

Mason frowned. “Naturally he would. You can see what a sweet spot he’s in, now that he represents both Ellen Lacey in her suit and Marion Shelby in the murder case. He isn’t going to let anything adverse happen. One will now back up the other. He’ll go ahead with Ellen Lacey on Monday, making Scott Shelby out the biggest heel in the state.

“After all, Attica can now...”

The telephone rang. Della Street picked up the receiver, said, “It’s Paul. He just came in.”

Mason took the telephone, said, “Hi, Paul.”

“Don’t say ‘high’ to me. I was high last night. This morning I’m lower than an income tax exemption. I feel as though my plumbing had stopped up and somebody was running a pneumatic riveter inside my skull.”

“That bad?” Mason asked.

“Worse.”

Mason said, “Pursuant to stipulation we’re taking the deposition of Ellen Lacey this morning at ten.”

“That so?”

“You hadn’t forgotten about that case had you?”

“Forgotten about it?” Drake exclaimed. “That was the trouble. I kept on drinking just trying to forget about it. And not getting anywhere.”

Mason said, “Think about it some more, Paul. You have a couple of newspaper reporters who have been pretty friendly with you and given you some tips, haven’t you?”

“Yes, why?”

“Nothing,” Mason said, “only it occurs to me that this deposition of Ellen Cushing Lacey might be news. Some of the boys might like to get in on it.”

Drake said, “By gosh, Perry. You’re right at that! It’s a swell tip. Gosh, I’m glad you called me about it. I’d never have thought about it.”

“Well, give your friends a buzz,” Mason said. “We have room for only a couple of people. Get two of the boys who have been giving you tips. This will be your chance to do them a good turn.”

“Thanks, Perry. It starts at ten o’clock?”

“That’s right.”

“Okay, I’ll give them a ring. It’s short notice but I’ll get them on the phone right away.”

Mason hung up, was just turning to Della Street to say something when the door opened and Gertie, in the doorway, said, “Good morning, Mr. Mason. I didn’t want to ring the phone because I knew you were talking on the other phone but Mr. Attica of the firm of Attica, Hoxie and Meade is here on that deposition.”

“That’s not until ten o’clock,” Mason said.

“He said he came a few minutes early because he wanted to talk with you.”

Mason said, “Send him in.”

George Attica was a tall, somewhat stooped man with gray eyes that managed, somehow, to keep his thoughts pretty well concealed. He was in the fifties, had gray hair, a deep voice which he had carefully cultivated so that he had the booming delivery of an old-fashioned spellbinder; but his mind was alert enough and there were few tricks of the profession that he didn’t thoroughly understand.

He said, “I’m afraid I lost my temper with Mr. Paul Drake last night.”

“Apologies are always in order,” Mason told him. “Sit down.”

Attica sat down, glanced at Della Street, cleared his throat significantly.

“It’s okay,” Mason said, “she stays.”

Attica said, “I haven’t much time but there are some things I wanted to discuss with you before my witness appeared.”

“I don’t know what they can be.”

Attica said, “I am going to release Marion Shelby’s real story to make the Sunday newspapers. It’s an intensely dramatic story. A story that will tug at the heartstrings of every woman in the world.”

“That’s nice,” Mason commented.

“That story,” Attica said, “deals with the broad basic human factors of life, Mr. Mason, particularly as they concern a woman, a woman who is married and has given her all to the man who has promised to love and cherish her until death parts them.”

“Does them part, I believe is the way you want to express it in front of a jury,” Mason said.

Attica made a deprecatory motion with his hand. “Don’t be like that, Mason. It really doesn’t become you.”

“I don’t give a damn what becomes me and what doesn’t,” Mason said. “Thank heavens I’ve lived my life so I can do pretty much as I please.”

“That’s nice. That’s a very interesting philosophy. Very interesting indeed, but I am talking now about a person to whom you have a certain moral responsibility.”

“Do I?”

“I think so. She lied to you. I will admit that. You have every right to resent that falsehood. But, after all, she was young, she was inexperienced and she was frightened. She didn’t realize that the truth was her best weapon, was her only weapon. She felt that the truth would absolutely condemn her, in place of which, the truth may actually save her life, or as I shall quote to the jury. ‘The truth shall set you free.’ ”

“Very interesting,” Mason said. “There’s no use wasting it on me. Why don’t you save it for the jury?”

“Because,” Attica went on, “there is going to be an enormous amount of publicity in connection with this. Before she tells her story it’s just another murder case; but the minute she tells that story, it becomes something which is brought right home to every woman in the world. Women can look at their Sunday newspapers, glance across at their husbands, look at the security of the home about them and wonder if it really is a security, wonder just how firmly entrenched they are.”

“There, but for the Grace of God go I, eh?” Mason asked.

“Exactly.”

“Nice stuff,” Mason said. “You’re collecting it. I’m not.”

“Now, it occurs to me,” Attica went on, “that here is an opportunity for you to enhance your prestige in connection with this case, Mr. Mason. If you’ll let it appear that you deliberately had drawn the district attorney off balance by keeping this story bottled up so that you could spring it purposely as a surprise, after he had been forced to disclose the entire ramifications of the case he had against the defendant...”

Mason said, “Let’s quit beating around the bush. You want me to back your story up. Is that it?”

“At least not deny it.”

Mason was thoughtful for a few moments. He said, “Attica, I don’t see any way that I can deny any story you put out without betraying the confidence of a client, and I’m not going to do that. I’m not going to tell anyone what a client did or did not say to me. Those are my ethics.”

Attica’s face beamed. “That is very, very satisfactory, Mr. Mason. Very satisfactory indeed. And now, since you’ve been so broad-minded on that, I think that I’m in a position to talk about a fair compromise of this case against you and Mr. Drake. After all, it was purely a natural mistake. A very unfortunate matter. I think that for payment of a nominal consideration, my client would be willing to let the matter drop.”

“How much?”

“Oh, well, the financial end of it is relatively unimportant. After all, it’s a question of human emotions having been aroused and...”

“How much?”

“Well, Mr. Mason, frankly I think two hundred and fifty dollars would cover the out-of-pocket expenses. You see, inasmuch as I am attorney for Mrs. Lacey and inasmuch as her good name has now been vindicated, and inasmuch as the whole thing can be handled in such a way that it might look as though the filing of the suit was part of a shrewd move to draw the district attorney off balance. Well, you know how those things are. There’s going to be an enormous amount of publicity in this case.”

Mason said, “You wouldn’t sell out one client in favor of another, would you?”

“Certainly not.”

“You mean that Mrs. Lacey is willing to accept a settlement of two hundred and fifty dollars?”

“She hasn’t said so, but I think she would say so if I advised her to.”

“And you would so advise her?”

“Is there any reason why I shouldn’t?”

“The best reason I can think of,” Mason said, “is that I’m not going to pay her two hundred and fifty dollars. I’m not going to pay her a damn cent.”

“Why, that’s absurd!” Attica exclaimed. “I was being nice to you. The nuisance value of the case alone is far greater than two hundred and fifty dollars. Think of it, Mr. Mason, that would only be a hundred and twenty-five from you and a hundred and twenty-five from Mr. Drake.”

Mason yawned, looked at his watch, said, “It’s approximately ten o’clock. Is your client going to be here?”

“There won’t be any need to go ahead with the deposition if the case is settled.”

Mason said doggedly, “The case isn’t going to be settled, not as far as I’m concerned.”

“Why Mr. Mason, you absolutely astound me! Mr. Drake let me understand over the telephone last night that he personally would be willing to settle for somewhere in the vicinity of a thousand dollars.”

“Let him settle if he wants to,” Mason said.

“Suppose he should pay the entire financial consideration?”

Mason said, “The plaintiff can always dismiss the action if she wants to but, as far as I’m concerned, I’m not going to pay a cent, and I’m going to have it definitely understood that I didn’t pay a cent. I can’t make any statement to the press about what Marion Shelby did or did not tell me without betraying the confidence of a client. But I certainly can tell the truth about this case. It’s ten o’clock, bring in your client.”

“But Mr. Mason, surely you can’t be bullheaded enough...”

“It’s ten o’clock,” Mason said. “Bring in your client.”

Attica got to his feet, his face flushed. “All right, if you want it that way, that’s the way it’ll be. You’ll find out that we don’t have to cooperate with you, Mr. Perry Mason. As a matter of fact, it won’t take but just a little gossip to tarnish your prestige very greatly over this case. There are many people even now who are thinking that the defense of Marion Shelby was badly botched — under the circumstances.”

“Let them think,” Mason said. “It’s ten o’clock, bring in your client.”

Attica turned to the door with dignity. “Where do you wish to take the deposition?”

“In the law library,” Mason said.

“Very well, my client will be there.”

Della Street glided from the room, returned in a few minutes and nodded to Mason. “Everything’s all set.”

“Drake there?”

“Not yet.”

“Attica’s client?”

“He’s waiting for her. He expects her any minute. He told her to be here at ten o’clock.”

“It’s ten minutes past now.”

“Yes I know. I don’t think Attica expected there would be any necessity for her to be here.”

“It isn’t what he thinks that counts,” Mason said, “it’s what happens. Let me know as soon as she comes in and let me know as soon as Drake comes in.”

Della Street nodded, stepped back into the law library and Mason could hear the sound of chairs being dragged over the floor as last minute preparations were made for the deposition.

It was ten-seventeen when Drake arrived with “two friends” who were not introduced but who unobtrusively sat back in a corner.

At ten-twenty Della Street entered Mason’s office, said, “You don’t suppose she’s standing you up, do you?”

“There was a stipulation that she’d be here at ten o’clock,” Mason said. “In the event she doesn’t show up, I’m going to put it up to Attica to get her here no matter where she is.”

“He’s telephoning now... What happened, Chief? You seem all perked up. Have you found out something?”

Mason opened the morning newspaper, pointed to the half page photograph in the pictorial section. “Seen that?” he asked. “It’s a new one.”

“Yes.”

“Nice stuff,” Mason said. “I’ve been asleep at the switch. Listen to this. Here’s the caption. ‘PHOTOGRAPH OF PICNIC TAKEN WITH KODAK SELF-TIMER WHICH WILL FIGURE IN QUARTER MILLION DOLLAR SLANDER SUIT — THIS SHOWS ELLEN CUSHING, NOW MRS. ARTHUR LACEY, AND HER HUSBAND ON THE FAMOUS PICNIC WHICH IS INVOLVED IN A TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY THOUSAND DOLLAR SUIT FOR DEFAMATION OF CHARACTER, MR. PERRY MASON, THE NOTED ATTORNEY, AND PAUL DRAKE, THE DETECTIVE, BEING DEFENDANTS.’ ”

“What about it?” Della Street asked.

“Nice picture,” Mason said. “Nice composition. The man standing on the raft. The girl opening various boxes, spreading out plates on the ground, and above all a piece of ice reposing on the blanket.”

“What about it, Chief?”

“Beautiful cloud effect,” Mason said. “Just notice those beautiful billowy clouds. Lights and shadows. A darn fine picture. It might have been used for an advertisement for a film company. Clear, full of tone value.”

“Chief, what are you getting at?”

Mason grinned and said, “Every cloud, Della, has a silver lining.”

“I don’t get you...”

The door opened. Gertie leaned forward with the door, holding the knob of the open door with one hand, the jam with the other. She said, “Mrs. Lacey’s here. Attica wanted me to tell you. He says if you want to see him first...”

Mason folded the newspaper, opened his knife, slit out the printed copy of the photograph, folded it and put it in his pocket.

“Tell Attica I definitely don’t care to see him. Come on, Della, let’s go.”

Mason entered the law library. Ellen Cushing Lacey, wearing dark glasses, a dark hat, a trim dark blue suit, blue gloves and blue shoes, regarded the lawyer coldly. The white rims of the dark glasses gave her face a weird, owl-like look.

Attica said, “All right, all right. Let’s get going. This is the time heretofore fixed by stipulation for the deposition of Ellen Cushing Lacey in the case of Cushing vs. Perry Mason and Paul Drake.”

Mason said, “That’s right. This deposition is being taken pursuant to the provisions of the Code of Civil Procedure by which I have the right to take the deposition of an adverse party and to cross-examine a party of record on the other side without being bound by the answers.”

“Very well,” Attica snapped. “Go ahead with your questions.”

Mason drew up a chair and sat down, said, “Let the witness be sworn.”

The notary public swore the witness, then quietly left the office. “I’ll return whenever the deposition is concluded,” she said.

Mason glanced over at Paul Drake, at the faces of the two newspapermen who were making themselves as inconspicuous as possible.

Mason said, “Miss Cushing, you’re suing Mr. Drake and myself for damages because of defamation of character.”

“That’s right.”

“Growing out of the fact that you claim we told the officers something about the wet blanket and the pair of wet shoes?”

“That and the fact that you told them I was harboring Scott Shelby, that he wasn’t dead at all, and that I had participated in a frame-up in order to make it look as though he had died, that I had had a man in my bedroom all night.”

“Now you explained that wet blanket by saying that you used it to carry ice in.”

“Yes. Do I have to go through that all over again?”

“Not necessarily, if you’ll refer to the testimony which you gave in court yesterday and say that it is substantially correct.”

“It is.”

“I hand you herewith a newspaper clipping setting forth that story. I’ll ask you to glance through it and see if it conforms to the facts of the case.”

“I’ve already seen it. It does.”

Mason said, “Just to save time I’d like to have this introduced in evidence.”

“Very well,” Attica said.

“It might be attached to the deposition,” Mason said, and handed it to the court reporter, who was taking down the answers in shorthand. “Now then, Mrs. Lacey, you told me, I believe, about the fact that the man who is at present your husband proposed to you on this day that Scott Shelby was murdered?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Proposed to you at about what time?”

“Around eleven-thirty in the morning.”

“And what did you do?”

“I’ve already gone into that with you.”

“Would you mind going into it again?”

“We decided to go on a picnic. We went out in the country where there was a lake. In case you have to know the exact location, it was a place that I had listed for sale, an estate of some four hundred acres, with a beautiful lake and some timber on it, an ideal place for a picnic. I had fallen in love with it the minute I had seen it. I didn’t have money enough to buy it myself, but I was rather romantic about it. I had sat down on the shores of that lake and visualized that Arthur might propose to me there. And so I wanted my dream to come true.”

“So you went down and picked up a lunch at the delicatessen store?”

“I put up some myself. Arthur went to the delicatessen store.”

“Now this was on the day that Scott Shelby was murdered, Thursday the twelfth, I believe.”

“That’s right.”

“And you didn’t see Mr. Shelby from the time you left on that picnic?”

“No, sir. From eleven o’clock in the morning I didn’t see him. I never saw him again alive. The next time I saw him, he was dead in the morgue and they called on me to identify the body.”

“Exactly,” Mason said. “You put up some sandwiches for the picnic?”

“I did.”

“And Mr. Lacey went down to the delicatessen store to pick up some food?”

“He did.”

“And you had some beer, and I believe halfway out it occurred to you that you didn’t have any ice for the beer; so you got some ice and put it in a blanket so you could have the beer cold?”

“That’s right. My heavens, do I have to keep going over and over all this?”

“And in the press today there is a picture showing you on that picnic. Who furnished them with that picture?”

“I did.”

“It was one you took?”

“Yes. I had a shutter attachment that gave me time to get in the picture.”

“That was taken on Thursday, the twelfth?”

“That’s right. Thursday, the twelfth. That was the day Mr. Shelby was murdered by... Well, by someone.”

“At what time was that picture taken?”

“Along in the afternoon, three or four o’clock, I guess.”

“After you’d eaten lunch or before?”

“After we’d eaten lunch, of course.”

“And what time did you get out there?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think we arrived about half past one or two o’clock.”

“And had lunch when?”

“Almost immediately after we arrived.”

“And the way the blanket in the garage got wet was because this ice was carried in it?”

“Yes. Again and again and again. YES!!!”

“And Mr. Lacey’s shoes got wet because he was playing around on that raft?”

“Yes!”

“And what time did you come home from the picnic?”

“We stayed out there until after five o’clock. I had to hurry to meet my mother.”

“And as I understand it, Mr. Lacey went to the train with you to meet your mother?”

“He did and the train was late, so he couldn’t wait.”

“But he came early the next morning to cook breakfast so he could meet her then?”

“He did.”

“He is, then, a good cook?”

“At one time he was a highly paid chef.”

“Now when he found the train was late, he couldn’t wait for your mother to arrive because he had an important appointment?”

“Mr. Mason, I’ve told you that over and over and over.”

“But there was a friend at the station who drove you and your mother home?”

“Yes.”

“Then Mr. Lacey must have taken your car?”

“He borrowed it, yes. We were good friends. He took it once in a while.”

“Mrs. Lacey, why are you wearing those dark glasses? Are your eyes bothering you?”

“I like them.”

“Are your eyes weak?”

“No.”

“You have perfect vision?”

“Yes.”

“There must be some reason for the dark glasses.”

“The glare of light bothers me.”

“But there’s no glare in here.”

“I like the style. I like the white rims.”

“After all,” Attica said sarcastically, “after having slandered this young woman you certainly aren’t going to criticize her wearing apparel, are you? Those dark glasses are really an article of dress. They are the stylish things to wear. Sort of a Hollywood touch to them.”

Mason said, “I was just wondering why she was wearing them.”

“Well, now you know,” Ellen Cushing snapped.

Mason said, “I want you to take a good look at this picture, Mrs. Lacey, and I don’t want you to say afterwards that the dark glasses prevented you from seeing anything. Would you mind taking them off?”

“I can see the picture very clearly. I know it by heart.”

“This picture shows the status of your picnic about four o’clock in the afternoon, some two or three hours after you had eaten lunch?”

“Yes. Not over an hour and a half later.”

“And it also shows the ice on the blanket?”

“It does.”

“Why did you buy that ice?”

“Because we had some beer and we wanted to chill the beer.”

“You didn’t chip pieces off the ice and put it in glasses?”

“No. We chilled the beer.”

“How?”

“Why, we... we... we dug a little hole and put the ice in there and then put the beer in and... and...”

“And had the beer for lunch?”

She said hastily, “That’s right.”

“But this photograph shows the chunk of ice as about a twenty-five pound square of ice, reposing on the blanket!”

She suddenly bit her lip.

“Come, come,” Mason said. “What happened to the ice?”

“Well, that was what was left after we cooled the beer.”

“Then Mr. Lacey must have got fifty pounds of ice in order to chill the beer?”

“He wanted to have it good and cold.”

“And what was the object of saving the rest of this ice?”

“Well, I don’t know. We thought we might... thought we might need it. The beer had been chilled...”

“Then you must have lifted this ice back out of the hole you had dug for it, and put it back on the blanket.”

“Well, what if we did?”

“Did you?”

“Yes. I guess that’s what Art did.”

“This lake is about two hundred yards from the remains of the old house?”

“Yes.”

“You couldn’t drive in to this lake? You had to walk in?”

“Yes. We walked for about two hundred yards, I guess. We’re able to walk.”

“And Mr. Lacey carried fifty pounds of ice?”

“It was in the blanket. He threw it over his shoulder.”

“In the wet blanket. And he threw the fifty pounds of ice over his shoulder and carried the entire fifty pounds in there?”

“That’s right. Yes.”

“This looks like about a twenty-five pound piece of ice, that’s left, Mrs. Lacey.”

“Yes. It is.”

“But you had purchased that ice along about eleven thirty or twelve o’clock. This was at four o’clock in the afternoon. It had been rather a hot day, hadn’t it?”

“Yes. It was very hot.”

“As I remember it,” Mason said, “the twelfth was a very hot dry cloudless day with low humidity until along late in the afternoon when fog started coming in.”

“I think it was in the evening that it turned foggy. We were just going to meet Mother when the fog settled down.”

“Before, it had been a hot day?”

“Yes.”

“A very hot day?”

“Yes.”

“And yet this large piece of ice was left at four o’clock in the afternoon?” Mason asked incredulously.

“Well, I think Arthur bought a fifty pound piece and then this ice was left. My God, is it a crime to put beer on ice?”

“But you remember the day particularly, Thursday, the twelfth, as a dry, hot cloudless day?”

“Yes.”

“Then,” Mason said, suddenly whipping the photograph before her, “how do you account for these lovely fleecy clouds which are shown so plainly in this photograph you yourself took, and which you have said accurately shows the condition of your picnic party at four o’clock in the afternoon?”

“I... I guess I was mistaken... I guess there must have been some clouds.”

“Think again,” Mason said. “The weather records show that Thursday, the twelfth, was very dry and cloudless.”

She bit her lip, glanced at Attica.

“After all,” Attica said, “these clouds don’t mean anything.”

“Why don’t they?” Mason asked.

“Well,” Attica said, “we don’t know. The newspaper people might have put them in.”

“They show very plainly on the photographs which this witness introduced in court yesterday afternoon.”

Mason turned suddenly to the witness. “As a matter of fact, Miss Cushing, these pictures were not taken on Thursday, the twelfth. They were taken on Friday, the thirteenth. Weren’t they?”

“No.”

“After I had called on you with Paul Drake and after the officers had started their investigation and you started making up stories, you worked up a purely synthetic and romantic story of a proposal of marriage and a picnic. The picnic accounted for the wet blanket and the wet shoes. Then in order to see that there would be evidence of that picnic you and Mr. Lacey went up to the courthouse with Lieutenant Tragg, secured a declaration of intention to wed, made application for a license, went to Attica’s office and filed suit, talked with Sergeant Dorset and then at about three-thirty dashed out to take some picnic pictures. Didn’t you?”

“No.”

“And,” Mason went on, “you remember when you were talking with us Mr. Lacey mentioned about the lunch you had, that there was roast chicken and how tough it was?”

“It was tough.”

“Did you eat the bones?”

“Certainly not.”

“But, when I went out to the spot where you had had the picnic,” Mason said, “and prowled around in the garbage, I didn’t find any chicken bones at all. But I did find the remains of some macaroni and cheese, and some creamed tuna. Now, the delicatessen store where you claim you purchased these things tells me that on Friday it makes a specialty of creamed tuna, that it sells creamed tuna on Friday, but not at any other time.”

“I don’t know what delicatessen store he got it at.”

Mason said, “Better think carefully, Mrs. Lacey, because this is very very important.”

“I am thinking carefully!”

“And suppose I should introduce a witness from the delicatessen store who would identify Arthur Lacey as the man who purchased some things for a picnic luncheon on Friday, the thirteenth? Suppose I should introduce a man from the lumber yard who would say that Mr. Lacey picked out that board on Friday, the thirteenth? And suppose I should introduce a witness who saw you taking that board out in an automobile on Friday so that you could rig up a raft and...”

“Stop it!” she screamed. “Will you please stop it! My God, do you have to go prying into everything?”

Mason smiled. “I’ve given you an opportunity to tell the truth. You’re testifying under oath, Mrs. Lacey. I’m going to conclude this deposition now. If you don’t change your testimony before the deposition is concluded, and it turns out your testimony is false, you’ll be guilty of perjury.”

She was crying now.

Attica said, “After all, Mr. Mason, she’s under quite a strain. Suppose we discontinue this deposition for a couple of hours, and she’ll be feeling a little better by that time. Your questions have been rather... well, rather ruthless.”

Mason said, “We’re going to continue with this deposition right now. Look here, Mrs. Lacey, isn’t it a fact that you made up this story about the picnic out of whole cloth and that after that you rushed out on Friday, the thirteenth, and staged this picnic and took the photographs on that date?”

She glanced helplessly at Attica.

“If you’re feeling too upset to answer questions,” Attica said, “you can simply refuse to answer on the ground that your health won’t permit. I can’t blame you for being upset, my dear.”

“In that case,” Mason said, “I’ll close the deposition and stand on the answers that have already been made, and we’ll see whether we can do something about it when it comes to a prosecution for perjury.”

Mason turned to the witness and said, “Let’s try telling the truth, for a change, Mrs. Lacey. When Mr. Drake, Lieutenant Tragg and I called on you on Friday, the thirteenth, you didn’t know one thing about what had actually happened the night before, except that Scott Shelby was supposed to have been murdered. But when we talked, and more particularly when we showed you the wet blanket and the shoes in your garage, you suddenly realized what must have happened.

“Your boy friend was there, and he was in a spot. He isn’t a fast thinker. You are. You loved him, but he had never proposed marriage and never intended to do so. You saw your chance. You made up a story out of whole cloth to account for the wet blanket and the shoes, and you were clever enough to demand as a price of your cooperation that Mr. Lacey marry you.

“The proposal of marriage didn’t take place in your office as you have said. It didn’t take place the day before. It took place there in the apartment right under our noses. You were the one who made it. And you made it in such a way that Arthur Lacey either had to stand a rap for murder, or confirm your story, which included a proposal of marriage.

“That was why he was reticent at first, that was why he didn’t chime in with corroborating details until he realized fully that you had given him his only chance to get out, and that the price of your cooperation was marriage.

“And you very neatly made him go through with that marriage because a wife can’t be forced to testify against her husband, and you knew that and he knew it, so he went ahead and married you — after you’d gone out and taken these picnic pictures, which you did as soon as you got rid of Sergeant Dorset. Isn’t that right?”

The witness made no answer.

Mason extended the tube of lead Della Street had picked up at the picnic grounds to Mrs. Lacey. “Did you ever see this before, Mrs. Lacey?”

“No.”

Attica said, “What’s a sinker got to do with all this business anyway?”

Mason said, “I don’t think it’s a sinker. You’ll notice it’s a lead tube two and nine-sixteenths inches in length and around sixty-one hundredths of an inch in diameter. In other words, as I remember my ballistics, that is just the size to fit the bore of a sixteen gauge shotgun. And now, if you will notice,” Mason said, taking a .38 caliber shell from his pocket, “I will insert a .38 caliber shell in the inside of this lead ring or tube and you will see that it fits perfectly, settles right in snug up against the lead. Now with this device, Mrs. Lacey, you could fire a shell through a revolver into a tub of water, recover the bullet, crimp it back in a fresh shell whose own bullet had been removed, place that shell in this adapter, put the adapter in a sixteen gauge shotgun, pull the trigger, and discharge a bullet which has no markings of rifling or barrel scratches other than those which were imparted to it by the .38 caliber pistol from which it had been originally fired. The bullet would have a tendency to wobble or keyhole and it wouldn’t have the power or the penetration that a bullet would have which had been fired from a revolver barrel because the gases of combustion would slip on past the bullet in the barrel of the shotgun. But at short ranges it would nevertheless be fairly effective. Incidentally, if you’re interested, Mr. Attica, you’ll find, in the excellent work on Forensic Chemistry and Scientific Criminal Investigation by A. Lucas, a discussion of the Dickman murder case in which two different caliber bullets were shot from the same gun by the use of a paper wrapping or adapter. And Smith and Glaister, in their book entitled Recent Advances in Forensic Medicine, state that ‘the projectile may be much smaller in caliber than the weapon and still have been fired from it; for example the 0.32 inch bullet may be fired from a 0.38 inch weapon if it is wrapped in sufficient paper to grip the barrel.’ This probably occurred in the Dickman case in which the presence of bullets of two different calibers in the body of the victim led to the belief that two different weapons had been used.”

“And just to make a good job of it,” Mason went on, smiling at the embarrassed attorney, “you’ll find that in the very recent book entitled Homicide Investigation by LeMoine Snyder, the statement is made that anyone considering the examination of bullets must take into consideration the fact that there are adapters used for firing rifle bullets from a shotgun. And I think that will conclude my deposition, unless the witness cares to make some statement.”

Attica said to his client, “This has been a great strain, my dear. Mr. Mason’s examination has been most ruthless. But, if you have any explanation, you had better make it now.”

She shook her head.

“It’s quite apparent,” Attica said, “that this witness is a sick woman.”

“It’s equally apparent,” Mason snapped, “what made her sick.”

“I am not going to let her continue with this deposition,” Attica said. “That’s all, my dear.”

One of the newspaper reporters tipped over a chair as he jumped to his feet. Both of them made for the door in a run.

“Who are those people?” Attica asked, frowning at the two men.

“A couple of newspaper reporters I invited to be present,” Mason said.

“Oh my God!” Attica exclaimed and slumped back into his chair.