The Case of the Haunted Husband

Chapter 14

The courtroom hummed with activity. Judge Cortright on the bench, disposed of half a dozen preliminary motions, listened with enforced attention to the arguments of an attorney who seemed unable to come directly to the point, finally interrupted with a ruling, and called the next case. Lawyers came and went. The atmosphere seemed permeated with haste. These were minor matters, things which were occurring over and over, times without number, until they had lost any individuality; infractions of the law which piled up faster than they could be disposed of unless the judicial machine functioned smoothly. The only persons who thought the cases had any importance were the ones directly affected.

The white-faced wife who sat with folded hands while the attorney for her husband argued that the complaint for non-support was technically incorrect, was conscious of the fact that at last she had summoned nerve enough to make the man who sat glowering at her quit spending money on other women and help support his child. He had always sworn that he would kill her if she ever went to law. Would he do it? Her heart was thumping the blood through her tired arteries in pounding sequences. She felt them hammering in her ears. He had said he would kill her. He looked as though he wanted to. Perhaps he would. Then what about the baby? The lawyer droned on. The complaint was defective in that it failed to state the defendant had willfully withheld support.

Judge Cortright listened to the argument wearily. After all, what difference did it make? Knock out this complaint, and the man would be re-arrested. He was conscious only of the passing minutes, of his crowded calendar, of the tedious verbosity of counsel.

At length, he disposed of the preliminary matters. “People versus Stephane Claire,” he called.

Harold Hanley from the district attorney’s office regarded the case as a legal chore. “Your Honor, the defendant is in court represented by Perry Mason. Counsel have agreed that the preliminary may be held at this time. The defendant is on bail. By stipulation of counsel, the hearing may be had with no other notice or formalities.”

“Very well,” Judge Cortright said. “Your witnesses are present?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

There followed a routine of technical procedure. Attorneys whose matters had been disposed of left the courtroom, some of them still arguing heatedly, others joking, others bustling to some other department where they had matters pending. Harold Hanley called his witnesses to the stand in a quick succession. Frank Corvis, the traffic officer who had been advised of the accident, had come on the wrecked automobile in which the defendant was sitting, had lifted her out. He testified to her position. She was at the steering wheel of the car in the driver’s seat. Both car doors were closed when he arrived. He had found a bottle in the glove compartment. No, he didn’t have that bottle with him. He had sealed it and handed it to the head of the traffic department. Yes, he would know that bottle if he saw it again. Yes, that was the bottle. That was exactly the condition in which he had found it, about one third filled with whiskey. Yes, he had noticed an odor on the defendant’s breath. It was the odor of liquor.

“Cross-examine,” Hanley said to Perry Mason.

The traffic officer turned toward Mason, squaring himself as though belligerently ready to repel any attack.

“Did you,” Mason asked, “notice whether the hands of the defendant rested on the steering wheel?”

“I didn’t notice both hands. I grabbed her right wrist to lift her up.”

“Where was her right wrist?”

“On the steering wheel.”

“You are certain?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then, of course, her fingers were not wrapped around the steering wheel.”

“What do you mean?”

“If her wrist was on the steering wheel,” Mason explained, “it would be an impossibility for her to have her fingers wrapped around the steering wheel.”

Corvis frowned. He glanced at the deputy prosecutor, then away. “I think I got that wrong.”

“Her wrist was not on the steering wheel?”

“Her hand was on the steering wheel.”

“Now, by her hand being on the steering wheel, do you mean that her fingers were wrapped around the steering wheel?”

“Yes. I think they were.”

“You gripped her right wrist when you lifted her through the car window?”

“Yes.”

“You wrapped your fingers around her wrist?”

“Yes.”

“Now did you notice anything peculiar about her right hand?”

“Not at the time.”

“But you did later?”

“Yes.”

“When was this?”

“After she had been removed from the car and was lying on the ground waiting for an ambulance. A motorist had given us an automobile robe which we had spread on the ground, and the motorist and I moved the girl over to this robe.”

“Now by the girl, you mean the defendant?”

“Yes.”

“And at that time, you noticed something about her right hand?”

“Yes.”

“What was it?”

“There was something red on her little finger. At first, I thought it was blood. It came off and made a red smear on the back of my hand. I tried to wipe it off, and it didn’t wipe off the way blood would.”

“It was lipstick.”

“I think so, yes.”

“Now did you notice her left hand?”

“Yes.”

“There was a glove on it, was there not?”

“Yes.”

“But none on her right hand?”

“No.”

“Had you searched the automobile?”

“Yes.”

“Did you find any lipstick in the car?”

“No. I found her purse and sent that in with her in the ambulance.”

“Find any baggage?”

“No.”

“Not anywhere in the automobile?”

“No.”

“Now, if the defendant’s right hand had been resting on the steering wheel, particularly gripping it with the force used by a person in trying to avoid an accident, there would have been lipstick on the wheel of that car?”

“Well...”

“Objected to as argumentative,” the district attorney said.

“Sustained.”

“Did you examine the steering wheel of the car to see whether there were any of lipstick on it?”

“Not then.”

“Later?”

“Yes.”

“Did you find any?”

“Just a very faint trace of lipstick in one place... You see, if she had been trying to fix her lips at the time of the accident and driving with one hand...”

“That will do,” the judge interrupted sternly. “The court will draw its own conclusions. Simply testify to the facts.”

“You looked in the trunk of the car?”

“Yes, of course.”

“There was no baggage there?”

“No baggage.”

“The ignition on the car was locked?”

The officer lowered his eyes. “I don’t know,” he said. “It was locked when the car got to the garage. You see, it was moved with a wrecking outfit. There was no reason to start the motor. I looked the car over for liquor and baggage, but I didn’t notice the ignition until yesterday when it was called to my attention.”

“The ignition was locked?”

“That is right.”

“Did you look for fingerprints on the steering wheel of the automobile?”

“No, sir, I didn’t. When we see a car go off the road into the ditch and find a person unconscious at the steering wheel with his fingers wrapped around the wheel and no one else in the car, we don’t match fingerprints to see who was driving it.”

A titter rustled around the courtroom. The judge looked inquiringly at Mason. “You wish a motion to strike out that last statement, Mr. Mason?”

“Oh, let it stay in,” Mason said, and turned once more to face the witness.

“Now, the car doors were closed?”

“Yes.”

“Both doors?”

“Yes.”

“It was rather a cold night, was it not?”

“What is that got to do with it?”

“I am just asking.”

“Well, it was cold up there.”

“The wind was blowing?”

“Yes.”

“And do you know whether the car in which the defendant was seated had a heater?”

“I believe it did. I can remember now... Yes, it did.”

“And the heater was on?”

“Yes, the fan was running.”

“Now, you say that you lifted the defendant out through the window.”

“That is right. The window in the car door.”

“On what side?”

“On the right-hand side. The car was lying on its left side.”

“I see. And you lifted the defendant through the right window?”

“That is what I said.”

“Now, it was impossible for you to lower the glass in the window from the outside, wasn’t it?”

“Naturally.”

“And you didn’t open the door?”

“Not then. I told you we lifted her out through the window. The door was jammed. How many more times do I have to tell you?”

Judge Cortright said sternly, “The witness will confine himself to answering questions. However, counsel should bear in mind that the calendar is crowded with other matters, and this question has been asked and answered in one form or another several different times.”

“Exactly,” Mason said. “In a moment, I think Your Honor will appreciate the importance of the question. You couldn’t roll this window down from the outside of the car, could you, Mr. Corvis?”

“No. I didn’t say I rolled the window down. The window was open.”

“Rolled all the way down?”

“I... Yes.”

“This car was a four-passenger coupe?”

“Yes.”

“There were only two doors?”

“That is right.”

“And the windows were rather large — large enough to lift the defendant through?”

“We couldn’t have lifted her through,” Corvis said, “if they hadn’t been big enough to lift her through.”

The deputy district attorney let the spectators see his broad grin.

“Then,” Mason said, “another person could have made his escape from this car through this window?”

Corvis thought for a moment. “I don’t know.”

“But if the defendant got through, a man could have crawled through, couldn’t he?”

“I don’t know.”

“That question is argumentative,” Hanley said.

Mason smiled. “I shall withdraw it. The facts speak for themselves. Now, Mr. Corvis, you have been a traffic officer for some time?”

“Five years.”

“You have had an opportunity to observe quite a bit about the operation of motor cars?”

“Naturally.”

“Did you ever,” Mason asked, smilingly, “observe a car being operated at night on a mountain road with a cold wind blowing and the window in the door on the right-hand side rolled all the way down — the night being cold enough to necessitate the use of a heater in the car?”

Hanley jumped to his feet. “Your Honor, that is not proper cross-examination. We didn’t qualify this man as an expert. It calls for a conclusion of the witness, a matter of opinion, it is argumentative, and...”

“Objection sustained,” Judge Cortright said. “You didn’t qualify him. It isn’t proper cross-examination.”

Mason, having made his point, contented himself with a smile. “That’s all.”

Corvis left the stand. Other witnesses told of the collision of the four-passenger coupe being operated at a high rate of speed, swerving around a car on a three-lane pavement to find another car already occupying the third lane of the collision of the zigzag course taken by the car. With one exception, none of the witnesses had seen the driver of the car. It had, they explained, happened too quickly.

Edith Lions, however, who had been riding in the car which the four-passenger coupe had tried to pass, told a different story. She was about twenty-two, a red-haired girl with turned-up nose, freckles, and rapid-fire speech. She said, “I was riding with my mother and father in the car. We were sitting three in the front seat. This car was coming along behind us at a terrific rate of speed. All of a sudden it swerved out to pass us, but at that time a car coming from the other direction was passing another car which was also coming toward us.”

“What happened?” Hanley asked.

“Just like the other witnesses have said.”

“Never mind that. Just tell it in your own words, Miss Lions.”

“Well, the person driving the car tried to cut in and scraped our fender. That caused the car to swerve back across the pavement right in front of another car that was coming toward us.”

“Then what?”

“Then this other car tried to dodge, and bit a car behind us head-on.”

“And what happened to the four-passenger coupe? Could you see?”

“It kept shooting right across the road, and went down the bank. Then I think it rolled over. It sounded like it.”

“And what did you do?”

“As soon as my father stopped the car, I jumped out.”

“Did you run back toward the cars that had collided?”

“No. I was busy dodging cars for a few minutes. Then I ran over toward the bank where this four-passenger coupe had gone over.”

“What did you see?”

“It took me a little while to locate it. Then I looked down and saw the car lying on its side down at the bottom of this steep embankment.”

“Did you see anyone — any person?”

“Not then.”

“Later on, did you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Who?”

“That woman sitting there,” pointing to Stephane Claire.

“Where was she, and how were you able to see her?”

“They turned a flashlight into the car. She was sitting in the driver’s seat.”

“Now, did you at any time see any other person in the four-passenger coupe?”

“No, sir.”

“And could you see who was driving it when the car went past?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Who?”

“Well, it was a woman. I could see that, and she was wearing the same kind of a hat the defendant was wearing.”

“Cross-examine,” Hanley said triumphantly.

“Your father was driving your car?” Mason asked the witness.

“Yes, sir.”

“And you were sitting next to your mother?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Your mother was in the middle?”

“That’s right.”

“Then you were on the extreme right-hand side of the car?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And this four-passenger coupe passed on your left?”

“Yes.”

“And then cut in?”

“Yes.”

“It was dark?”

“Naturally.”

“And headlights were coming toward you?”

“Yes.”

“Did the four-passenger coupe at any time come directly between you and the headlights of an approaching car?”

“How do you mean?”

Mason said, “The court reporter will read the question. Please listen attentively.”

The court reporter read the question.

“Do you understand it?” Mason asked.

“Yes.”

“Can you answer it?”

“No,” she said. “I guess not. There were lots of headlights though. They seemed to be coming from all directions at once.”

“How fast was your father driving?”

“Forty miles an hour.”

“And how fast was this four-passenger coupe going?”

“At least eighty or ninety miles an hour.”

“And when did you first realize there was going to be an accident?”

“When this car sideswiped our fender.”

“And as soon as it did that, it immediately swerved to the left?”

“Yes.”

“And shot diagonally across the road?”

“Yes.”

“Yet with headlights coming at you from several different directions, with your father fighting to keep your car in the road, you, sitting on the extreme right side of the seat, could look across and into the interior of that speeding four-passenger coupe?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Your car did skid after the collision, did it not?”

“It was jolted around, yes.”

“So that it was headed off toward the right side of the road?”

“Yes.”

“And the four-passenger coupe also skidded toward the left?”

“Yes.”

“And it was going forty or fifty miles an hour faster than you were?”

“Well... yes.”

“So in order to see the coupe, you had to look across the front seat of your own car?”

“I guess so.”

“And because it was going so much faster, you had only a brief glimpse?”

“Yes.”

“Your father and mother were both in that front seat, and were both directly in your line of vision, were they not?”

“Well, I sort of craned my neck around.”

“You mean so you could see past them?”

“Yes.”

“In which direction did you crane your neck? Were you looking forward, in front of your mother and father, or backward?”

“Well, they were moving around quite a bit. Dad was trying to get the car under control, and Mother threw up her bands and screamed, and I guess I sort of looked in between them.”

“And at about that time, another car was having a collision with this four-passenger coupe?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you don’t think it is possible that your impressions of this brief instant are confused?”

“No, sir. She was driving that car. I saw her.”

“Who was?”

“A woman that had a hat just like the one the defendant was wearing when they took her out of the car.”

“Was she alone in the car?”

“I... she was driving.”

Mason said, “Can’t you do better than that, Miss Lions? If you saw the front seat of that four-passenger coupe clearly enough to see that a woman was at the steering wheel and see the type of hat she was wearing...”

“I think there was a man in there with her.”

“Where was this man seated?”

“Right beside her.”

“On her left or right?”

“On her right, of course. If she was at the steering wheel, he couldn’t have been on the left,” the witness said triumphantly.

“And how was the man dressed?”

“He wasn’t wearing any hat.”

“And how about the window on the right-hand side of that car-the door window? Was it up or down?”

“It was down. The window was rolled down so the space was open.”

“You noticed that?”

“Yes.”

“You feel certain this man who was seated beside the defendant had no hat?”

“I don’t think he had a hat.”

“Wouldn’t you see plainly, or can’t you remember clearly?”

“Well, I can’t remember exactly.”

“Then how did it happen you remembered the style and shape of the defendant’s hat so clearly?”

“I just did, that’s all.”

“Yet there was nothing about her to make you notice her head more than the man’s head?”

“I couldn’t see his head so well.”

“Was something in the way — or was it because of the light?”

“The light.”

“He was in a shadow?”

“Yes.”

“What was casting that shadow?”

“I don’t know.”

“Now, when the deputy district attorney was asking you questions, didn’t you say there was no one in that car except the defendant?”

“Why... no.”

Mason asked, “Will the court reporter please read that question and answer about whether she saw any other person in the car? It was on direct examination,” Mason said.

The court reporter thumbed through the pages. “Here is the Question, ‘Now, did you at any time see any other person in the four-passenger coupe?’ Answer, ‘No, sir.’”

Mason smiled at her. “Did you say that?”

“Why... I guess I must have. I hadn’t thought about this man until you asked me. Then, when you did, I could remember him. I can see him now sitting there without a hat, a man about middle age — well, maybe thirty.”

“How about the cars that were coming toward you? Who was driving them?”

“Well, there was one driven by a man and one driven by a woman.”

“You know that because of what someone has told you or because of what you saw?”

“Because I saw them.”

“That all took place in a very short time, just a second or so, did it not?”

“I will say so. It was the biggest mix-up you ever saw. One moment we were going along talking about a show, and the next minute we were all mixed up in a mess of smash-ups.”

“Yet you saw all these things?” Mason asked.

“That’s right.”

“That’s all,” Mason said. “Only don’t call thirty as middle age.”

“That’s our case, Your Honor,” Hanley said, as a ripple of laughter in the court subsided.

“May I have a five-minute recess?” Mason asked.

Judge Cortright nodded, motioned to an attorney who had been waiting, and said, “You have something you wanted to take up with me, Mr. Smith?”

Mason leaned across to whisper to Stephane Claire. “I hate to do this to you, but you have got to go on the stand and tell your story.”

“Well, why shouldn’t I?”

“In the first place,” Mason said, “it is poor trial technique. I think that Lions girl has a vivid imagination, and is something of a liar as well, but her testimony will make a case. She probably got so excited at the time she didn’t even know what she was doing. Later on, she reconstructed everything in her own mind. She has hypnotized herself. But she is positive and definite. The judge is going to bind you over. Under those circumstances, the wise thing for a lawyer to do is to make the district attorney show his hand — and quit.”

“Well, if he is going to bind me over anyway, why not do that?”

“Because,” Mason said, “I want to force them to put Homan on the stand. If you tell your story, they won’t dare to let it go without some sort of contradiction. They will put Homan on the stand.”

Stephane Claire said, “Okay, you are the doctor.”

“Don’t go into too many details,” Mason warned. “Just tell your story in a straightforward manner about how you were picked up by this man, about his drinking, about the accident, and about seeing this man again in the Gateview Hotel.”

“You think then they will put Homan on the stand?”

“Yes.”

“Will that help us?”

“I hope it will,” Mason said. “I have got to solve a murder in order to find out what is back of the association between Homan and Greeley. I have got to find out what Greeley was doing in San Francisco, and if he hadn’t gone as far as San Francisco, where he had gone and what he was doing.”

“Why?”

“Because Greeley never stole that car. Greeley isn’t the sort who would steal a car. If he was using that car, he was using it with Homan’s permission and that means Homan is lying in his story about the car having been stolen. Homan sent Greeley on a mission of some sort, and Greeley took Homan’s car with Homan’s knowledge and consent. The only reason Homan is lying now is because he simply doesn’t dare to have the nature of that mission come out.”

“And he is willing to sacrifice me in order to keep it from coming out?”

“That’s it... and he saves himself a few thousand dollars as well.”

“And you want me to find that key in my purse, just the way...”

Mason said, “No. I want you to tell it just the way it actually happened, that you found the key in your purse when I asked you about it, there in the hospital.”

“And you gave it back to me?”

“Yes.”

She said, “Horace Homan, the producer’s younger brother, came to see me yesterday. He said he knew I hadn’t stolen the car. Seems to be very much — well, interested. He wanted me to go for a moonlight cruise on his brother’s yacht and then rang me up and said his brother had changed his mind and wouldn’t let him have the yacht.”

“Do you like him?”

“Well, he is interesting. He told me about a lot of behind the scenes stuff on Hollywood. He says his brother really doesn’t want to see me in any trouble, that if I should be convicted, they would try to get probation for me.”

“That is significant. Had he talked that over with his brother?”

“He said his brother was the one who told him. He is a very dynamic young man, isn’t he? I can’t help contrasting him with Jacks Sterne. Now...”

Judge Cortright finished scribbling his signature across a paper, and looked inquiringly down at Mason. Mason nodded, and the judge said, “Proceed, Mr. Mason.”

“I will call the defendant, Stephane Claire,” Mason said.

Stephane Claire got to her feet, walked forward, was sworn, and told her story. Hanley gave her only a perfunctory cross-examination, limited for the most part to identification of the body she had been called on to view in the Gateview Hotel as that of the man who had been driving the car.

“That is our case,” Mason said.

Judge Cortright looked at Hanley. “Any rebuttal.”

“Yes, Your Honor. I have one witness here in court and one whom I shall have to summon by telephone — man who holds an important position in a Hollywood studio. It will take him a few minutes to get here, but I think this other witness will fill in...”

“Very well, call this witness.”

“Mrs. A. P. Greeley,” Hanley said.

Mrs. Greeley, attired in black, walked slowly down the aisle of the courtroom, held up a black-gloved hand as she took the oath and settled herself in the witness chair.

“I am going to make this as brief as possible,” Hanley said. “Your name is Daphne Greeley. You are the widow of Adler Pace Greeley, a broker?”

“I am.”

“On Friday of last week you were called upon by Lieutenant Tragg of the Homicide Squad to identify a body in a room in the Gateview Hotel?”

There was a moment of silence, then Mrs. Greeley said, “Yes,” so faintly that the word was all but inaudible.

“And that body was that of your husband?”

“Yes.”

“And the same body which Stephane Claire had previously identified as being that of the driver of the car in question?”

“Yes.”

“Now, Mrs. Greeley, I want to spare your feelings as much as possible, but it is necessary that I direct your attention to Wednesday, the nineteenth of this month. Do you remember what happened on that day?”

She nodded.

“You will have to speak up, Mrs. Greeley, so that the court reporter can write down your answer. Do you remember the date?”

“Yes.”

“Is there anything in particular which fastens it upon your mind?”

“Yes. It was — it was — our wedding anniversary.”

“And can you tell us generally what your husband did on that day — as far as you know?”

“Yes. We decided that we would have a quiet day at home. Adler had been very much engrossed in business...”

“Now, by Adler, you are referring to your husband, Adler Greeley?”

“Yes.”

“And what happened, Mrs. Greeley, on the nineteenth?”

“He said that he wouldn’t go to the office at all. Several days before, he told Irma Watkins, his secretary, that he was going to be out of the office that day, and not to bother him with any matters of business, not to try and reach him, that it was his wedding anniversary, and he was going to forget business.”

“And what happened?”

“The same thing which always happens whenever we tried to plan anything. Business intervened, and Adler had to go to San Francisco on the eighteenth. He promised to try and get back on the morning of the nineteenth. Then he phoned he couldn’t make it. About noon he phoned again and said he would try to take the four o’clock plane.”

“When Mr. Greeley went to San Francisco, what clothes did the take?”

“He threw a few clothes into a suitcase, and jumped in the car and drove off.”

“In what car?”

“In his car. He leaves it at the airport. I have my own machine.”

“How was he dressed?”

“He was wearing a gray double-breasted suit.”

“Any overcoat?”

“There was an overcoat over his arm, but he wasn’t wearing it.”

“Did he have any evening clothes in that suitcase? That is, did he take his dinner-clothes?”

“As to that I can’t say. He packed the suitcase himself, but I don’t think he...”

“The witness will refrain from stating what she thinks,” Judge Cortright interrupted.

“Did you have any communication with him after he left?” the deputy district attorney asked.

“Yes, several times. He telephoned and asked me to find some papers for him in his desk.”

“But when did you see Mr. Greeley again?”

“He came in Thursday morning, very early in the morning. I don’t know just what time it was.”

“You say he asked you to find some papers?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“He telephoned me.”

“When?”

“About four o’clock.”

“From where?”

“From San Francisco.”

“How do you know it was from San Francisco?”

“I heard the operator say that San Francisco was calling, and then Adler came on the line, and said he was at San Francisco. He told me to find the papers he wanted and telephone him at a certain number what was in the papers.”

“You did that?”

“Yes.”

“And telephoned him?”

“That’s right.”

“How did you telephone him?”

“I said that I wanted to put in a call for the number he had given me.”

“You remember what that number was?”

“Unfortunately I don’t. I made a note of it at the time on a little pad by the telephone so I could call him back. He didn’t tell me where the telephone was located, just the number of it. I have found out since. You told me...”

“Never mind what anyone told you,” Judge Cortright interrupted. “As I understand it, he just gave you a number?”

“That’s right.”

“Go ahead, Counselor.”

“But,” Hanley insisted, “you did call long distance, tell the operator you wanted to talk with San Francisco, and give her that San Francisco number.”

“That is right.”

“And did you reach Mr. Greeley?”

“Almost at once. She told me to hold the line, and the call was put through at once. It was at seventeen minutes past five when he came on the line. We talked two and one-half minutes. I always hold a watch on these long-distance calls.”

“Now, did you say you wanted to talk with Mr. Greeley?”

“No. It was just a station-to-station call. He told me to put it in that way.”

“Since you have talked with me, you have asked for your long-distance telephone bill?”

“That’s right.”

“And under the date of the nineteenth, does that call show on your bill?”

“It does.”

“And, using that as a reference, you can find out what this number was?”

“Yes.”

“And since you have told me about it, have you made any attempt to find out where this number in San Francisco is located?”

“I have.”

Hanley said to Mason, “It is a public pay station at the Southern Pacific Depot at Third and Townsend Streets. You can verify it from the telephone company’s records.”

He turned to Mrs. Greeley.

“Now, is there any possibility that it was not your husband with whom you talked?”

She smiled. “Absolutely not.”

“And this call was put through at approximately five-seventeen o’clock in the afternoon?”

“That is right.”

“And when did your husband come home?”

“Sometime after midnight. He told me when I talked with him over the telephone that he would try to catch a night plane. I think he said there was a ten o’clock plane which would get him in shortly after midnight. You see, he had taken his car and left it parked at the airport... Oh, I have already told you that.”

“You don’t know where he had parked his car?” Judge Cortright asked.

“Only from what he told me.”

“But you don’t know of your own knowledge that the car was at the airport?”

“No, of course not. I didn’t go out to look for it, but I do know he was in San Francisco at about four o’clock in the afternoon, and that he was still in San Francisco at quarter past five, because I talked with him on the telephone.”

“You heard your husband come in?”

“Oh, yes. He wakened me, but I didn’t look at the clock. I don’t know just what time it was, but it was... Well, I went to bed at eleven. I hadn’t been asleep very long. I would say it was between one and two that he returned.”

“Was there anything unusual in his manner or bearing when he returned?”

“No.”

“Did you smell liquor on his breath?”

“No.”

“Was he wearing a tuxedo when he returned?”

“No.”

“Was he injured in any way?”

“No, of course not.”

“You may cross-examine,” Hanley said to Perry Mason.

“You don’t know whether the business which took him to San Francisco was that of Mr. Jules Homan?” Mason asked.

“No. I only know it was something unexpected and important.”

“Did the papers which you procured for him have anything to do with Mr. Jules Homan’s business?”

“Well... they had to do with Mr. Homan’s stock. He wanted me to get the list of Mr. Homan’s holdings.”

“Did he say why he wanted them?”

“No. He just asked me to get the list and then read off the stocks over the telephone.”

“That’s all,” Mason said.

Hanley looked at his watch. “Your Honor, my next witness is one who...”

He turned toward the entrance to the courtroom as a man came bustling in. “Mr. Homan, will you please come forward and take the stand?”

Homan carried an alligator-skin brief case in his right hand, and walked with the quick, nervous strides of a man who is in very much of a hurry. He seemed breathless with haste. His name, he stated to the reporter, was Jules Carne Homan. His residence was in Beverly Hills, and his occupation was that of producer of motion pictures. He adjusted his glasses and frowned down at the deputy district attorney, as much as to say, “Well, well, come on. Let us get it over with.”

Hanley said, “Mr. Homan, you are the owner of a certain Buick four-passenger coupe, license number 8V7243, and were such owner on the nineteenth of this month?”

“Yes, sir. That is right.”

“Do you know where your automobile was on the evening of the nineteenth?”

“It was involved in a traffic accident on the Ridge Route.”

“Were you driving that automobile?”

“No, sir.”

“Do you know who was?”

“No, sir.”

“Was anyone driving it with your permission, express or implied?”

“No, sir.”

“When had you last seen the automobile prior to the time of the collision, Mr. Homan?”

“I don’t know about the time of the collision — not of my own knowledge.”

“Well, let’s put it this way. When did you last see that automobile on the nineteenth of the month?”

“The last I saw of it was about noon on the nineteenth. I...”

“Where?”

“In front of my house on Maple Grove Street in Beverly Hills.”

“Can you fix the time exactly?”

“It was shortly before noon. I don’t know the exact time.”

“And when did you next see it?”

“On the morning of the twentieth when I was asked to identify it.”

“Do you know — or did you know in his lifetime — a broker named Adler Greeley?”

“Yes, sir. Adler Pace Greeley.”

“Had you any business dealings with him?”

“He had handled a few transactions for me — stocks and bonds.”

“Had you seen Mr. Greeley on the nineteenth?”

“No, sir.”

“And had you given him any permission to use your car?”

“No, sir. Certainly not.”

“Where is your residence on Maple Grove, Mr. Homan?”

“Twenty-five-nineteen.”

“Can you describe that residence — just tell us exactly what it is?”

“It’s a Spanish-type house with patio, swimming pool, and the things that go with it. I’m a bachelor. I do much of my work at home. I have this house so that when I wish to get away from the studio and avoid all interruptions, I can work there. I also do quite a bit of entertaining.”

“That is what I was getting at. This is a large house?”

“It is, and it isn’t. The rooms are rather large. The place is well designed. It’s not — well, not what you would call a poor man’s house.”

“That’s the point, Mr. Homan. It’s a house which requires a large staff of servants?”

“No, sir, it does not. I have a woman who comes in and does cleaning by the day. I have a combination chauffeur and general handyman who takes care of my wants. I have a Filipino houseboy who mixes drinks, does odd jobs, and keeps the place straight. The woman who does the cleaning comes in twice a week. When I am entertaining, I arrange with a caterer to take charge of everything.”

“But I understand, Mr. Homan, that on the nineteenth, you were alone in your house.”

“That is right.”

“Can you explain how that happened?”

“I was working. I didn’t want to be disturbed. I shut myself in my study. When I work, I settle down to work. I concentrate on it. I don’t want anything else to disturb me. I don’t even eat at regular hours. I work until I realize there’s something wrong, then I stop and take stock. Usually I find I am either hungry or tired or both. I shall get something to eat, perhaps snatch a few minutes’ sleep, and go back to work. I keep an electric coffee percolator on my desk when I am working and drink hot coffee at frequent intervals.”

“But I would like to know specifically about the nineteenth, Mr. Homan. You see, the claim has been made that Mr. Greeley was driving your car at the time of the accident.”

“Preposterous.”

“Never mind that, Mr. Homan. I have covered Mr. Greeley’s movements on that day to place him in San Francisco at five-fifteen in the evening. Now I want to show that your car couldn’t have...”

Mason said, “This conference between counsel and witness is rather unusual, Your Honor.”

Hanley said, “I am merely trying to save time.”

“No objection,” Mason announced. “I only wanted to suggest you proceed in the regular manner.”

Hanley said, “Mr. Homan, will you tell us just what you were doing on the nineteenth and where your car was on that day — or over such an interval of time as you know where it was?”

“I was working on a very important production. I didn’t want to be disturbed. I had been working on that script almost uninterruptedly for forty-eight hours.”

“At your studio or at your residence?”

“At both places. I left the studio on the afternoon of the eighteenth. I came to my house, told both the Filipino and my chauffeur to take time off, that I wanted to be completely and absolutely undisturbed. I locked myself in and went to work.”

“And stayed at your bungalow?”

“No, sir. I went out for dinner about midnight on the evening of the eighteenth, and worked until about four o’clock in the morning, then I slept until seven o’clock, got up, took a shower, shaved, had coffee, and went to work. About eleven I drove to a restaurant where I had something to eat. Then I returned and went to work. It was then a little before noon.”

“Did you have occasion to look for your automobile?...”

“Objected to as incompetent, irrelevant, and immaterial,” Mason said. “It makes no difference as far as the issues in this case are concerned, and it may be an attempt to prejudice the defendant by proving another crime.”

“I will stipulate that the purpose of the testimony will be limited solely for the purpose of showing the whereabouts of the car,” Hanley said.

“On the strength of that stipulation, I will permit the question to be answered,” Judge Cortright ruled.

“Answer the question.”

“Yes, sir. About four o’clock in the afternoon I wanted to take a short drive to get some air. I had been working straight through and suddenly realized I was fatigued. I went out to get my car and drive up around Mulholland, Drive. My car was gone.”

“And what did you do with reference to trying to locate your car?”

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

“Objection sustained.”

“I think you may inquire,” Hanley said with a little nod to Mason.

Homan got up and started to leave the stand.

“Just a minute,” Judge Cortright said.

“Aren’t you finished with me?”

“Mr. Mason has the right to cross-examine.”

“Oh,” Homan said and turned inpatient eyes toward Mason.

“Just a few questions,” Mason said, “in regard to the nature of your work, Mr. Homan. When you are concentrating, I take it that you are very irritated at interruptions.”

“Very.”

“You answer the telephone?”

“No. I disconnect it.”

“How?”

“I have a little switch at the telephone. It was especially installed to cover my needs.”

“You do, however, occasionally put through a call?”

“Very, very occasionally. The nature of my work is something that the ordinary man can hardly appreciate. It represents the very essence of concentration,” and Homan glanced up at the judge.

“Now you can’t recall any single instance, any isolated facts which would account for Mr. Greeley taking your car.”

“Absolutely not. I am satisfied Mr. Greeley did not take my car.”

“And during this period that you were concentrating, can you recall having made any telephone calls?”

“No, sir. I made none.”

“Now,” Mason asked casually, “what was your business with L. C. Spinney in San Francisco?”

Homan stared at him.

“Can’t you answer the question?” Mason asked.

“I don’t understand it. I haven’t any business with Mr. — what was the name?”

“Spinney, L. C. Spinney.”

“I haven’t any business with Mr. Spinney in San Francisco. I have never heard of the man. I remember now, you mentioned his name to me once before.”

“You didn’t call him on long distance on Tuesday and again on Wednesday?”

“Certainly not.”

“And he didn’t call you?”

“No.”

Mason said, “Now, Mr. Homan, this may be exceedingly important. Please bear in mind that the records of the telephone company can be consulted and...”

Homan snapped his fingers, the quick gesture of a nervous man who has an idea pop into his head.

“What is it?” Mason asked.

Homan said, “Mr. Mason, I don’t know what you’re getting at, but I can tell you this. If you can show that any long-distance call went over my telephone on either Tuesday or Wednesday, you’ll be doing me a great favour, a very great favour indeed.”

“Why, may I ask?” Mason said.

Homan cleared his throat, shook his head, said, “I would prefer to tell you privately, Mr. Mason.”

“And,” Mason said with a smile, “I would prefer to have you tell me in public.”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with the present case — that is...” He hesitated.

“Yes,” Mason prompted.

“I don’t think it would have anything to do with this case.”

“But it might,” Mason said.

“Yes.”

“Perhaps then you should better let His Honor have the information, and let him be the judge of it.”

Homan compressed his lips firmly together, creased his forehead in a determined scowl, and stared at the carpet for several seconds. Then he said, “I have for some time had a suspicion that my chauffeur was putting through various long-distance calls in connection with his own business — using my phone. I would appreciate it very much if you have any information which would substantiate such a charge. I have given him notice, but — I would like to find out just the same.”

“What is your chauffeur’s name?” Mason asked.

“Tanner — Ernest A. Tanner.”

“Is he in court?”

A slight commotion manifested itself among the spectators. A man stood up. “I am here,” he drawled, “and I didn’t...”

“Sit down,” Judge Cortright snapped. “The course of the trial is not to be interrupted by spectators.”

Homan glowered at the man who was standing, a young, broad-shouldered, loosely-knit individual who seemed grimly determined, but who wilted under the stern glare of Judge Cortright’s eyes and slowly sat down.

“You do not know any L. C. Spinney?”

“No, sir. I do not. And if any long-distance calls were put through on my telephone, either on the eighteenth or the nineteenth, they are unauthorized telephone calls put through by some person who had no right to do so.”

“Don’t you audit your monthly long-distance bills?”

Homan shook his head impatiently. “I do not. I have no time to devote to trivial matters. I simply instruct my secretary to write cheques covering all current expenses. I happen to have noticed that my telephone bills for the last few months have had numbers on them that I know nothing about, that’s all. I took it for granted at first my younger brother had been calling friends. Then the other day I happened to mention it to him. Well, I suppose I can’t tell about that conversation now — but, well, if you are finished with me, I have a very important matter pending. In fact, I had to...”

Judge Cortright said, “It is approaching the hour of adjournment, gentlemen. If the examination can be completed within a few minutes, the court will remain in session. Otherwise, the examination can be resumed tomorrow.”

“Your Honor,” Homan said, “I simply can’t come tomorrow. I am here today only because I was forced to come. I have a matter pending...”

Mason interrupted to say, “I have one or two questions I would very much like to ask, Mr. Homan, tonight. About this telephone. You have said that you let both the Filipino and the chauffeur go for...”

“They have rooms there in the house. They come and go as they please. I meant that I released them from duty.”

“Where does the chauffeur sleep?”

“Over the garage.”

“And the Filipino boy?”

“In a room in the basement.”

“They come and go through the front door?”

“No, sir. The chauffeur uses stairs which front on another street — a side street. The Filipino boy uses a basement door which also fronts on a side street. My house is a corner house. It takes up several lots, but it is, nevertheless, a corner house.”

“Now, to get access to your telephone, would they have to come into the main part of the house?”

“No, sir. There are telephone instruments in their rooms, also in various other parts of the house. There is an intercommunicating system by which I can ring those telephones from my study. They can be plugged in on an outside line, or with any other station which may be calling.”

“When you are talking on a telephone, could the others listen in?”

Homan frowned and said, “I don’t think they could, Mr. Mason, but you are asking about something which is outside of my field. I know very little about the operation of the household or of the telephone. I have my house as a place to retire, a place to relax, a place to work, and a place in which to entertain. Beyond that, I care very little about it. It’s...” He smiled and said, “As you may be aware, Mr. Mason, there is a certain amount of background which is necessary in Hollywood. A producer who... well, I think you understand.”

Mason smiled and said, “I think I do.”

Judge Cortright said impatiently, “Well, I suppose there will be more cross-examination, Mr. Mason, and some redirect. Court will adjourn until ten o’clock tomorrow. You will return then, Mr. Homan.”

Homan jumped to his feet. “I can’t! I simply can’t. It would cost thousands of dollars to have my time disrupted tomorrow, I have...”

“Ten o’clock tomorrow morning,” Judge Cortright said with tight-lipped finality, and walked from the courtroom into his chambers.

The loose-jointed, broad-shouldered chauffeur pushed through the swinging gate, walked over to Homan, and stood looking at him with an air of contemptuous appraisal. “What’s the idea?” he asked. “Trying to make me the goat for a scrape you have got into?”

Homan said blusteringly, “I don’t like your attitude.”

“You are going to like it a lot less than that,” the chauffeur said. “If you want me to tell where you...”

Homan turned away, started toward the swinging gate in the mahogany rail which separated the tables reserved for attorneys and courtroom officials from the spectators. Tanner’s long right arm reached out, and his fingers clamped in Homan’s collar. “Just a minute, buddy,” he said, “jus-s-st a minute.”

Homan whirled with swift agility and said in a voice harsh with rage, “Take your filthy hands off of me.”

Hanley, attracted by the commotion, stepped forward quickly. “Here,” he said, “none of that. Get back there. What do you think you are doing?”

“Homan knows what I am doing,” Tanner said.

Hanley’s eyes narrowed. “You are Tanner?”

“Yes.”

“All right, I represent the district attorney’s office. Now there’ll be no more of this.”

Tanner’s voice still held no trace of temper. There was a certain contemptuous drawl in his words. “Listen,” he said, “This guy puts on a great front for the public. He is a swell showman. He is a big shot. I am a nobody, but that’s no sign he can do things to my reputation. He is going to take back what he has said, or I am going to show him up. He knows damn well that if I was to talk...”

Hanley snapped, “This man is a witness. I consider his testimony pertinent and significant. You perhaps don’t realize it, but what you are doing could well be construed as an attempt to intimidate a witness. You might find yourself in serious trouble.”

“Aw, nuts,” Tanner said. “I am not intimidating any witness.”

“You are trying to make him change his testimony.”

“I am trying to get the rat to tell the truth.”

Homan sputtered, “I won’t have any more of this. It’s utterly absurd. This man is a...”

Hanley said, “This is neither the time nor the place for this argument, Mr. Homan. If you will come with me, please, I want to ask you a few more questions. You, Mr. Tanner, had better get out of here — right now!”

Tanner stared at the deputy district attorney. For a moment it seemed as though he might express his feelings by twisting Hanley’s nose. Then Hanley’s attitude of being in complete command of the situation registered sufficiently so that Tanner turned on his heel.

Hortense Zitkousky came up from the back of the courtroom to drop her hand on Stephane Claire’s shoulder. “Chin up and carry on,” she said.

Stephane thanked her with a smile.

Hortense said in a low voice to Mason, “That chauffeur was giving me the eye. Think it would be a good plan to...?”

“Yes,” Mason said, “and don’t be seen with us.”

Hortense moved casually away as Mason gathered up his papers and pushed them into a brief case.

Max Olger came pushing forward from the little knot of spectators who had taken time to mill around the courtroom in little gossiping groups, before departing. The twinkle of his shrewd gray eyes, seemingly intensified by the half spectacles over which they peered, appraised Mason as he grasped the lawyer’s hand.

“Superb,” he said, “marvelous. You led the Lions girl on to absurdities. A very splendid job of cross-examination. I am very well satisfied, very grateful.”

Stephane Claire said, “And I think you did marvelously well, Mr. Mason.”

Mason said, “We may get a break. Mrs. Greeley’s testimony shows that her husband could very well have gone to San Francisco on Homan’s business. It is just barely possible that a person could have been in San Francisco at five-fifteen and at Bakersfield at ten. It would probably mean a plane. Its two hundred and ninety-three miles. We are going to do a little checking, and we may uncover something.”

“Can’t you do that tonight and put on some surprise evidence tomorrow morning?” Max Olger asked.

Mason grinned. “That is why I am stalling along tonight.”

“Where is Jacks?” Stephane Claire asked her uncle.

“He was in court, but he is waiting outside. He thought perhaps it would be better for you to get out of the courtroom and away from the crowd.”

Stephane said musingly, “He is a good kid, always thinking of me. Sometimes I wish he would think of himself once in a while, just by way of variety.”

“A remarkably nice boy,” Olger said. “Well, we shall be at the Adirondack Hotel in case you want us, Mr. Mason.”

“Be sure and be on hand tomorrow morning at ten o’clock,” Mason cautioned. “Remember your bail money is forfeit if you don’t show up.”

Stephane Claire smiled lazily. “Do you,” she asked, “caution all of your clients that way, or are you afraid I am going to skip out?”

Mason grinned. “It’s routine.”

“How did I do on the stand?”

“You were good.”

“Why didn’t he tear into me on cross-examination? I thought he would.”

“Wait until he gets you in front of a jury,” Mason said. “This is just a preliminary. I am not so certain but what Judge Cortright may turn you loose, at that. You have made a good impression.”