The Case of the Lame Canary

Chapter ten

The responsibilities of his office rested lightly on the shoulders of Emil Scanlon, the coroner. Tall, middle-aged, good-natured, he regarded the gruesome aftermaths of tragedies which flowed through his office with the detached interest of a scientist viewing guinea pigs. He was a sympathetic man, but he reserved his sympathies for the living, where they could do some good, rather than for the mangled remains upon which he was so frequently called to hold inquest.

He called the inquest to order in a good-natured, matter-of-fact voice, his keen eyes flitting over the crowded room.

“The jury has now viewed the remains,” he said, “and we’re ready to take testimony. The proceedings here are going to be informal. In other words, I’m not going to stand on a lot of technicalities. Apparently this man didn’t commit suicide. Three people are being held by the authorities. They’re Rosalind Prescott, the widow, Rita Swaine, the decedent’s sister-in-law, and James Driscoll. Driscoll waived extradition and is here. Miss Swaine and the widow refused to waive extradition and are not here, so we can’t call them as witnesses. Oscar Overmeyer, the deputy district attorney, is representing the interests of The People. Perry Mason is representing Miss Swaine and Mrs. Prescott, and Rodney Cuff is representing Mr. Driscoll. Now, obviously, if these attorneys start getting technical and are allowed to get away with it, we’ll be here all night. The idea of this inquest isn’t to prove anybody guilty beyond all reasonable doubt, it’s simply to ascertain how the decedent met his death. In other words, we want to know just what caused Walter Prescott to die. And if the probabilities are someone killed him, we want to know who that someone was.

“Now, I’m to go ahead with this inquest, and if any of the interested parties want to co-operate with me, I’ll be glad to have them. But I’m not going to have this inquest used as an excuse to mix things up. Do you gentlemen understand me?”

The three attorneys nodded.

“The first witness,” Scanlon said, “will be George Wray.”

Wray held up his hand and was sworn.

“You’ve seen the remains of the decedent?” Scanlon asked.

“Yes.”

“Can you identify them?”

“Absolutely. Those are the remains of Walter Prescott, who was my partner in the firm of Prescott & Wray.”

“What sort of business?” Scanlon asked.

“Insurance adjusting.”

“When did you last see him alive?”

“The day before yesterday.”

“Did you talk with him yesterday?”

“Yes”

“Over the telephone?”

“That’s right.”

“At what time?”

“At approximately five minutes to twelve. I happened to look at the clock at the time.”

“Did he say where he was?”

“No, he didn’t. He said he expected to arrive at the office during the first part of the afternoon, and I happened to notice the time when he was telephoning because I’d had rather a busy morning and had more or less lost track of time.”

“What time was it?”

“Almost exactly five minutes of twelve. I think it was about five and one-half minutes.”

“By an office clock?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve checked that office clock since?”

“Yes, it’s an electric clock. It’s absolutely right to the second.”

“That’s all,” the coroner said.

“May I ask one question?” Perry Mason inquired.

The coroner nodded his permission, and Mason said, “Did you go out to lunch shortly after that telephone conversation, Mr. Wray?”

“Immediately afterwards,” Wray said.

“That’s all, thank you.”

Dr. Hubert, an autopsy surgeon, was called, identified three bullets, one of which had been taken from the body of the deceased, the remaining pair having been found in the room after having evidently passed entirely through the decedent’s body.

The physician described the course of the bullets. One of them had inflicted a wound which would not necessarily have been fatal. The other two inflicted wounds which were instantaneously fatal. Powder marks indicated the shots had been fired at close range. He described how the body had been found, and testified that death had been instantaneous. He fixed the time of death as between noon and two-thirty in the afternoon. The body had been discovered shortly before five o’clock in the evening.

E. Q. James, a criminologist attached to the district attorney’s office, identified a gun, together with micro-photographs of test bullets which had been fired from that gun which showed that they were identical with the three bullets which had been placed in evidence by the autopsy surgeon.

The coroner called Stella Anderson. She strode up to the witness stand, back rigid, chin up, eyes flashing, her flushed face showing her enjoyment at finding herself in the limelight. While she testified as to her name and residence, newspaper photographers snapped flashlight photographs of her on the witness stand.

Under questioning by the coroner, she repeated what she had seen in the Prescott house the previous day.

“And you saw this young man give the young woman a gun?” Scanlon asked.

“Yes, sir, I saw him hand her a gun. She opened the drawer in the desk and pushed it down in behind the drawer, then closed the drawer.”

“Who was this man?”

“That man sitting right there. The one in the blue suit.”

“You mean James Driscoll?... Stand up, Mr. James Driscoll... Is that the man, Mrs. Anderson?”

“Yes — that is, he’s the man I saw running out of the Prescott house right after the accident, and he looks just like the man I saw with the gun. You see, those windows have very thin lace curtains behind them, and you can’t see quite as clearly as if they weren’t there. Not quite, but pretty near. I’m pretty positive that man I saw with the gun was this young man, James Driscoll.”

“Now, who was this woman?”

She faced him frankly and said, “I don’t know. I thought it was Rosalind Prescott. But later on, Rita Swaine appeared at the window wearing exactly that same dress, and trying to make me think—”

“Never mind what she tried to make you think,” the coroner said. “Just tell what you saw.”

Mrs. Anderson pressed her lips tightly together and said, “Well, I have my own opinion.”

There was a titter in the room, which was silenced by the coroner’s gavel. “Just what did you see, Mrs. Anderson?” he asked.

“I saw Rita Swaine standing at the window and clipping the canary’s claws.”

“Which foot, the right or the left?”

“The right.”

The coroner thanked her, excused her from the stand, and nodded toward Driscoll, who sat between a deputy sheriff on one side and Rodney Cuff on the other.

“Mr. Driscoll,” the coroner said, “as a matter of form, I’m going to ask you to take the stand and answer some questions. I realize, of course, that your attorney won’t allow you to answer them, but, just for the sake of keeping the record clear, I want your refusal to answer my questions to appear in the record of this inquest.”

Rodney Cuff, on his feet, was smiling and urbane. His voice, seemingly elevated hardly above a conversational tone, filled the crowded room with a vibrant resonance. “I think,” he said, “your Honor misunderstands our position. It is only the guilty who need to take refuge in technicalities. So far as James Driscoll is concerned, he will unhesitatingly answer any question put to him by the coroner or the deputy district attorney.”

There was a ripple of audible surprise in the room. Emil Scanlon exchanged puzzled glances with the deputy district attorney, then swore Driscoll as a witness.

“You’re acquainted with the decedent, Mr. Driscoll?” the coroner asked.

“Yes, I’d seen him once or twice.”

“You were acquainted with Mrs. Prescott?”

“Yes.”

“How long had you known her?”

“Something over eighteen months.”

“Had you at one time been engaged to her?”

“Yes.”

“What happened to that engagement?”

Driscoll moistened his lips with his tongue and said, “It was broken because of a quarrel.”

“How soon after that did she marry the decedent?”

“Within a month.”

“Now then, Mr. Driscoll, I’ll ask you if a letter was written by you and sent to Mrs. Prescott in which you suggested she leave her husband and get a divorce.”

“The letter itself is the best evidence,” Mason objected.

Cuff smiled. “I understand Mr. Mason’s objection perfectly,” he said. “But questions and answers will never incriminate this witness because he’s completely innocent. Go right ahead and answer the question, Jimmy.”

Driscoll said, “I wrote such a letter, signed it, put it in a stamped, addressed envelope, and mailed it to Mrs. Prescott. That was, I believe, four or five days ago.”

“In this letter you advised Mrs. Prescott to leave her husband?” the coroner asked.

“Yes.”

“You didn’t feel friendly toward him?”

“I did not. I thought he was a crook and a cheat.”

“You were jealous of him?”

“In a way, yes.”

“You had reason to hate him?”

“Frankly, I did.”

The coroner glanced appealingly at Cuff, then over to the deputy district attorney, and said, “I’ve never heard anything quite like this.”

Overmeyer nodded. Rodney Cuff said cordially, “Go right ahead, your Honor. You’re doing fine. Or would you prefer to have me ask the questions?”

“No,” the coroner said, “I’ll ask them. Now, you were in Walter Prescott’s house yesterday morning, Mr. Driscoll?”

“Yes.”

“At about what time?”

“At about the time mentioned by Mrs. Anderson. I didn’t look at my watch, but it was just a few minutes after eleven when I arrived.”

“Did Walter Prescott know you were coming?”

“No.”

“Had he invited you to visit his house?”

“No.”

“You went there for the purpose of seeing his wife?”

“Yes.”

“You saw her?”

“Yes.”

“And you armed yourself before going to the house?”

“I did. Walter Prescott had threatened to kill her. I considered him fully capable of doing just that. I intended to protect her from him.”

“By using that weapon?”

“I didn’t think I’d need to use it, but I wanted her to have it so she could use it if she had to in order to defend herself.”

“Did you make any protestations of love or affection to Mrs. Prescott?”

“I did,” Driscoll said, with some feeling. “I couldn’t bear the thought of her being unhappy. My emotions got the best of me. I took her in my arms and told her I still loved her; that I had always loved her.”

He was leaning slightly forward in the chair now, breathing rapidly. Press photographers pushed forward. Cameras clicked audibly.

The coroner said, “Let’s not have any misunderstanding about this, Mr. Driscoll. Did you kill Walter Prescott?”

“I did not.”

“Did you know he was dead?”

“Not until long after I had left the house.”

“Will you describe just what you did in the house after, let us say, eleven-thirty?”

“I was talking with Mrs. Prescott about her financial aflairs and the embezzlement of some twelve thousand dollars of her money by her husband. He had deliberately manipulated her affairs so he could steal this money.”

“Do I understand you communicated these sentiments to Walter Prescott’s wife?”

“Exactly,” Driscoll said with feeling. “He’d swindled her, lied to her and cheated her. He only married her for her money. I felt that he’d forfeited any rights he might have had as a husband.”

“But you knew the law regarded him as her legal husband and still clothed him with the rights of a husband?”

“Yes.”

“You knew there’d been no suit for divorce filed?”

“Yes.”

“And yet, before you left that house, you were planning to run away with this woman?”

“I was planning to take her to Reno, where she could institute a divorce action. At first I intended to let her go by herself. Later on I decided to join her on her trip.”

“And you did so?”

“I did.”

“Did you know Walter Prescott was dead when you left the house?”

“I did not.”

“Let’s get back now to what you were doing after eleven-thirty.”

“I lost my self-control and took Mrs. Prescott in my arms and told her that I loved her. Mrs. Anderson, watching from the adjoining house, can bear witness to that.”

Stella Anderson nodded vigorously.

The coroner said, “Never mind, Mrs. Anderson. You’re not on the witness stand now. You’ve already given your testimony. Go ahead, Mr. Driscoll. Tell us what happened after that.”

“After that I stepped into the other room to telephone the airport to get a reservation on the plane for Mrs. Prescott. I had just about finished telephoning when an automobile accident occurred in front of the place. I ran out to render what assistance I could, and then returned. Knowing that, because of the accident, I might be subpoenaed at any moment as a witness to that accident, and not wishing to leave Rosalind Prescott unprotected, I took the revolver from my pocket and gave it to her. That’s the Smith & Wesson .38 caliber revolver which has been introduced in evidence here. It was my revolver, but at the time I gave it to Mrs. Prescott it had not been fired. She told me that her husband had threatened to take her life, and I wanted her to have some means of protecting herself.”

“Then what did you do?”

“Then I left the house and ran into a couple of radio officers. They took my name, license number, and address, and told me I might be a witness. I told them I’d been telephoning at the time and hadn’t seen anything of what had occurred, but that didn’t seem to make any difference with them. Then I returned to Prescott’s house, told Rosalind Prescott that my identity had been discovered and I was afraid Walter would make some trouble, so I suggested we both leave at once for Reno.”

“What did she say?”

“She agreed.”

“Did she pack a bag?”

“Just a little overnight bag, some creams and things. She changed her dress, and we left at once by the side entrance.”

“Was there any conversation about what Mrs. Anderson might have seen?”

“There was. Mrs. Prescott felt certain Stella Anderson had been spying on us; that she’d seen what had taken place.”

Stella Anderson jumped to her feet and exclaimed indignantly, “I wasn’t spying! I never spy. I mind my own business and—”

The coroner’s gavel banged into silence. “You’ll have to be seated and keep quiet, Mrs. Anderson,” he said, “or else leave the room.”

Jimmy Driscoll seemed to pay no attention whatever to the interruption. With the air of a man who has an unpleasant duty to perform, but is determined to discharge it faithfully, he said, “Before our departure, we had some discussion about what we could do to prevent Mrs. Anderson from telling Walter Prescott what she had seen. Rosalind conceived the idea of having her sister come over, dress up in the same dress Mrs. Prescott had been wearing, and appear at the window where Mrs. Anderson could get a good look at her face. We telephoned Miss Swaine from the airport. I listened to Rosalind Prescott’s conversation, and heard the instructions she gave Miss Swaine.”

“Then what did you do?”

“Then we flew to Reno.”

“Did you know Walter Prescott was dead at that time?”

“No — what’s more,” Driscoll said calmly, “I can prove that I didn’t kill him, and that I didn’t have anything to do with his death.”

Cuff got to his feet belligerently and said, “I demand that my client be given an opportunity to prove his innocence.”

“No one’s stopping him,” Scanlon said good-naturedly.

Overmeyer said, “I want the record to show, and Counsel to understand, the attitude of the district attorney’s office is that of making an impartial, independent investigation. We’re not trying to pin this crime on anyone. We want the facts, that’s all.”

“Go ahead,” Rodney Cuff said to Driscoll.

Perry Mason stirred uneasily in his seat, started to say something, then lapsed into silence.

Driscoll said, “Walter Prescott was alive at eleven fifty-five. He telephoned his partner at that time. Five minutes later, just as the noon whistles were blowing, there was an automobile accident in front of Prescott’s house. I ran out and helped remove the injured man from the coupe. I then returned to Prescott’s house and gave Rosalind Prescott the gun with which, the evidence shows, the murder must have been committed. That gun was placed back of the drawer in the desk, and was subsequently found there by the police. Now, from that time until the time I left the house the witness, Stella Anderson, was watching that room. She didn’t see anyone take the gun out from behind the drawer in the desk. At quarter past twelve Rosalind Prescott and I left the house by the side door — that’s the one which opens on Fourteenth Street, and went to the airport, where we took the next plane out and went to Reno.”

Emil Scanlon said very seductively, “That, of course, leaves a gap between eleven fifty-five and twelve o’clock. Not a great deal of time, to be certain, but one, nevertheless, within which a shot could easily have been fired.”

Driscoll said, “During that time, I was engaged in telephoning.”

“Could you prove that?” the deputy district attorney asked.

“Yes,” Rodney Cuff said, answering for the witness. “If I may be allowed to call a witness I can prove my point.”

Scanlon hesitated for a moment, glanced at the deputy district attorney, then at Rodney Cuff, then back to Oscar Overmeyer.

Overmeyer slowly, almost imperceptibly, nodded his head, and Emil Scanlon said, “Very well, we’ll grant you permission to put on a witness. It’s rather irregular to handle the thing in this way, but this is a peculiar case and we’re anxious to get at what actually happened.”

There was something of triumph in Rodney Cuff’s manner as he got to his feet and said, “That’s all, Mr. Driscoll. You may leave the stand for the moment and I’ll call Jackson Weyman as my first witness.”

A slender-built man in the early forties got to his feet and started to leave the room. “That’s Weyman,” Rodney Cuff said. “I want him as a witness.”

An officer stopped Weyman at the door. Weyman turned and said, “I’m not going to be a witness. I didn’t come here to be called to the witness stand.”

His left eye was discolored and bloodshot. A piece of gauze, held in place by adhesive tape, covered the top of his forehead, and another smaller bit of tape was on his right cheek.

“I demand he be called as a witness,” Cuff said.

“Come forward and be sworn, Mr. Weyman,” the coroner ordered.

“I’m not going to do any such thing,” Weyman said, his voice surly. “I don’t want to be a witness, and you can’t make me. I’m a hell of a looking specimen to get on the witness stand!”

The crowd roared with laughter, which Scanlon made no effort to check. When it had subsided, he said, “Come forward and be sworn, anyway, Mr. Weyman.”

“I’m not going to tell anything,” Weyman said doggedly.

The good-natured smile didn’t leave the coroner’s lips, but his eyes suddenly became hard. “I think,” he said gently, “you’re in error on that point, Mr. Weyman. Officer, bring him forward.”

The officer took Weyman’s arm and said, “Come on, buddy. This way.”

Weyman, his temper flaring up, jumped back and lashed out a blow at the officer. The next instant he found himself grabbed with a strangle hold, spun neatly around, and then rushed down the corridor toward the witness chair, while the spectators set up a delighted tittering.

Scanlon said, “Hold him there just a minute, Mr. Officer. I want to say something to him... Now, Mr. Weyman, this is an inquest. The coroner has the power to subpoena witnesses and make them testify. If you disobey me you’re going to jail. I don’t want to have any trouble, but if you know anything about this case, we’re going to find it out... Have you been drinking?”

Weyman said in a surly voice, “I’ve had a drink or two.”

“Raise your right hand and be sworn,” the coroner ordered sternly.

The officer released his hold, and Weyman, scowling savagely, raised his right hand and was sworn.

Scanlon indicated the witness chair, and Rodney Cuff stepped forward. “Mr. Weyman,” he said, “you remember the automobile accident which took place in front of Walter Prescott’s home?”

“Well, what if I do?”

“You live next door to Prescott?”

“Yes.”

“And you saw that accident?”

“Yes, I saw it.”

“Where were you at the time?”

“I was standing on Fourteenth Street.”

“You’d been drinking, had picked a fight, and got the worst of the argument, is that right?”

“That’s none of your damn business.”

Scanlon banged with his gavel, frowned at the witness, but turned to Rodney Cuff and said, “This man is an unwilling witness. I’m forcing him to testify. I don’t want him unnecessarily annoyed. What has his fighting got to do with it?”

“Simply this,” Rodney Cuff said. “This witness has a habit of fighting when he’s drunk. It’s been a matter of argument between him and his wife. This time he’d been beaten into unconsciousness, had to go to a doctor to have his face dressed, and didn’t want to go home and face the music. So he was standing rather uncertainly on Fourteenth Street near the comer of Alsace Avenue when the accident occurred. I want to show he was there at the time, and show why he was there.”

“All right,” Weyman said, in a surly voice, “that’s right. I was there. So what?”

“You could see into Walter Prescott’s house?”

“I could see through some of the windows on the Fourteenth Street side of the house.”

“Could you see the little hallway where the telephone’s located?”

“Yes, I could see that.”

“Did you see Mr. Driscoll using the telephone?”

There was a moment of tense silence, when Weyman said reluctantly, “I seen a man standing there, telephoning. He had his back turned, though.”

“Now you were standing there when the accident took place?”

“Yes.”

“What was Driscoll doing when the accident took place?”

“The man I saw was still at the telephone.”

“And how long had he been there?”

“I don’t know, four or five minutes maybe.”

“What did you do after the accident occurred?”

“I started to go over and see what had happened. Then I decided to keep out of it. I went back and sat down on the curb, watched them load the guy that was hurt into the van. This guy in the blue suit ran out and helped. Then he went back in the house, and I saw the van drive away.”

“Then what?”

“Then, after a few minutes, I saw this man, Driscoll, come out of the house again. Just then a prowl car swung around the comer and the officers nailed this guy.”

“How long did you stay there after that?”

“I didn’t stay. I didn’t want those officers asking me questions, so I beat it. I walked around for a while. I was kinda sleepy and wasn’t feeling very good. After a while I made up my mind I had to face the music, so I turned around and went home.”

“What time was that?”

“I don’t know. It was long enough so I’d commenced to feel sick.”

Rodney Cuff made a little gesture of surrendering the witness, and resumed his seat with a satisfied smile.

The coroner looked across at Overmeyer, and the deputy district attorney got to his feet, moved over toward the witness and said, “Could you be sure it was Mr. Driscoll you saw at the telephone?”

Weyman said in his thick, surly voice, “The telephone sets right up against the window. This guy was standing, leaning his shoulder against the side of the window. I could see his back and the back of his head. He had the same kind of black curly hair this Driscoll has. When he came out of the house I could see his face. The man who came out was Driscoll. I know that. I think he was the one who was telephoning.”

“You’d been drinking at the time?”

“I’d had a few, yes.”

“More than you’ve had now?”

There was a half smile on Weyman’s face as he said, “A lot more.”

“Are you positive about the time?”

Weyman shook his head and said, “No, I’m not. They told me the accident took place at noon. If that’s true, then the rest of it’s okay. If it ain’t true, I don’t know what time it was. All I know is I’d been standing around there for about ten minutes before the accident, and I saw this man telephoning.”

Overmeyer frowned thoughtfully and said, “That’s all. I may want to talk with you again about this, Mr. Weyman.”

Mason said, “May I ask one question?”

Scanlon nodded.

“Whom have you told about what you saw?”

“I told my wife,” Weyman said.

“Anyone else?”

Weyman shook his head.

“Did you tell her about this as soon as you got home?” Mason asked.

“No,” Weyman said with a wry grin. “We talked about other things right after I got home.”

Again a titter swept the room.

“That’s all,” Mason said.

Scanlon nodded to Weyman. “You’re excused, Mr. Weyman,” he said.

Rodney Cuff got to his feet and said, “I wish to point out that in view of the testimony of this witness, and the fact that we can show definitely the automobile accident took place almost exactly at the hour of noon, it was impossible for Jimmy Driscoll to have killed Walter Prescott.

“I think you can see what this means,” Cuff went on, staring steadily at the deputy district attorney. “It means that sometime after Rosalind Prescott and my client had gone to Reno, and while Rita Swaine was in the house, Walter Prescott arrived. I won’t presume to conjecture what happened, but Rita Swaine killed him. From what my client tells me of Rita Swaine, I presume that the provocation was great. Perhaps it was self-defense, or—”

“If Counsel is going to make an argument,” Perry Mason said casually, “I want to make one.”

“He isn’t going to make one,” Scanlon ruled. “Sit down, Mr. Cuff.”

“I merely wanted to point out that—”

“You’ve already pointed out plenty. Sit down.”

Oscar Overmeyer frowned thoughtfully, looked up at the coroner and said, “I had intended to prove by the canary itself that it probably wasn’t Rita Swaine whom Mrs. Anderson had seen in the solarium. The admission of the witness Driscoll makes this unnecessary.”

Mason said, “In view of what has been said by Counsel, I’d like permission to recall the autopsy surgeon for a few questions.”

“No objection,” Overmeyer said. “My office wants to get to the bottom of this thing as well as the coroner.”

“The coroner’s going to get to the bottom of it,” Scanlon said cheerfully. “Dr. Hubert, take the stand again.”

When the doctor had seated himself, Mason said, “In view of the statements which have been made, Doctor, I think you can well appreciate the importance of being absolutely accurate in your testimony as to the time of death. You have already answered this question in effect, but in view of the importance which now attaches to this phase of the case, I want to ask you again: Is it possible that Walter Prescott could have met his death earlier than within the time limits you have previously mentioned?”

Dr. Hubert crossed his legs, interlaced his fingers upon a paunchy stomach, cleared his throat and said, “I don’t want to be misunderstood. Medical testimony as to the time of death is never absolutely mathematical. There are certain variable factors the exact nature and extent of which cannot be intelligently correlated. Therefore, an autopsy surgeon fixes a probable time of death. Then, taking into consideration all of the variable factors, he creates a margin of probability on either side of the time chosen. If he is conscientious, he extends this margin of probability so that it covers every possible combination of variable factors. Then he announces the time of death in terms of a time bracket.”

“You did this?” Mason asked.

“Yes.”

“And when you said that the time of death occurred between noon and two-thirty in the afternoon, do I understand that you estimated, purely as a matter of blind reckoning, that the decedent met his death at approximately one-fifteen; that it was possible, however, certain variable factors, as you have termed them, might have caused an error in your deduction; that you, therefore, made a maximum allowance of one hour and fifteen minutes in either direction as the greatest possible margin of error in your time fixing?”

“That’s approximately correct,” Dr. Hubert said. “Personally, I would say the man was killed between one and one-thirty. Eight or nine times out of ten, I’d be right. But there’s the possibility of a combination of various circumstances which would impair the conclusion in perhaps one out of ten times. So I’ve taken that into consideration, and extended the margins far enough both ways so as to include even that one time in ten.”

“And can you say that twelve o’clock is the earliest possible time at which the decedent could have met his death?”

“Yes.”

“According to your own testimony, Doctor, the man could have died at one minute past twelve, noon.”

“That’s right.”

“He could have died at noon?”

“Yes, sir.”

“But he couldn’t have met his death at eleven fifty-nine?”

“Oh, I say,” Dr. Hubert said, “that’s rather an unfair way of putting it.”

“I don’t think so,” Mason said.

“Well, yes, of course,” Dr. Hubert said, somewhat testily, “if you’re going to split hairs that fine, if the man could have died at twelve o’clock, he could also have died at eleven fifty-nine. I don’t think he did, but he could have.”

“How about eleven forty-five?”

“A witness heard him speaking on the telephone at eleven fifty-five,” Dr. Hubert pointed out acidly.

“Exactly,” Mason said. “Now you have my point exactly, Doctor. When you fix the earliest time at which the man could have met his death as around twelve o’clock, you’re taking into consideration that the man, according to the testimony of one witness, had been alive at eleven fifty-five, isn’t that right?”

“No.”

“Yet, when I ask you if it isn’t a medical possibility that the man could have been killed at eleven forty-five, you answer me by pointing out that according to the testimony of a witness, he was alive at eleven fifty-five. Now then, Doctor, are you testifying as to your medical knowledge, or as to an opinion formed by taking into unconscious consideration the testimony of witnesses?”

“I’m testifying as to a medical opinion formed from a post-mortem examination of the decedent.”

“Let’s get at it in another way, Doctor. You have mentioned one case in ten in which a combination of variable factors might necessitate moving the time bracket over a wider range. Now, isn’t it possible that there is, perhaps, one case in a thousand, or one case in ten thousand, which would necessitate moving the brackets over a still wider range than would be covered by that one case in ten which you mentioned?”

“Oh, all right,” Dr. Hubert said, “if you want to put it that way, let’s say that he died between eleven-thirty in the morning and three o’clock in the afternoon, and I’ll stake my professional reputation he died within those times, and couldn’t have died as early as eleven twenty-nine. Does that satisfy you?”

“It isn’t a question of satisfying me,” Mason pointed out. “It’s a question of getting at the facts.”

“Well, you’ve got at them now,” Dr. Hubert said.

Scanlon nodded and said, “I think we, all of us, understand the facts. You’re excused, Doctor.”

There was a moment of silence. Then the coroner said, “In view of the circumstances, I want to recall Mr. Driscoll for one more question.”

“Take the stand, Driscoll,” Rodney Cuff said.

Scanlon stared at the young man with steady, purposeful eyes. “Is it possible that someone else could have been in the Prescott house while you were there, Mr. Driscoll?”

Driscoll shook his head. “I think not, your Honor.”

Scanlon’s voice became utterly without emphasis or expression. “Did you,” he asked, “go into all the rooms in that house?”

“Well,” Driscoll said, hesitated, then went on quickly, “of course we didn’t go into the upstairs bedrooms, no, sir.”

“You’re positive of that?”

“Quite!” Driscoll snapped.

“And you didn’t go into the basement?”

“No, if there is a basement I didn’t go into it.”

“It is, then, quite possible some other person was in the house at the time, and without your knowledge?”

“Yes,” Driscoll said, but added, “Such a person, however, couldn’t have taken that revolver from my possession, fired three shots into Walter Prescott and returned the revolver to my pocket without my knowing it. In the event Prescott was killed with my gun, he was killed at some time after I had left the house.”

“I understand your point perfectly,” Scanlon said. “That’s all, Mr. Driscoll. You’re excused.”

Less than ten minutes later, the coroner’s jury brought in its verdict, finding that Walter Prescott had been shot to death by person or persons unknown. Rodney Cuff, sauntering over toward Perry Mason, said, “How do you like the verdict, Counselor?”

“Should I like it?” Mason asked.

Cuff nodded and said, “I think so. I like it fine.”

“One thing,” Mason commented, “is that when you see Mr. Dimmick in the morning you can tell him that, in my opinion, he has no cause for worry at the quality of representation you will give young Driscoll. Having him go on the stand and admit the plot to substitute Rita Swaine for Rosalind Prescott is rather a stroke of genius.”

“Yes,” Cuff said, his expression bland. “You see, I’d heard that the district attorney’s investigators had taken charge of the canary, and I deduced that could mean only one thing. Thanks to your clever deductive reasoning, Driscoll knew the jig was up, and told me the circumstances frankly, where he might otherwise have tried to conceal them.”

“How did you know about Weyman as a witness?” Mason asked.

Cuff laughed. “He told his wife, and his wife told Stella Anderson, and she keeps a secret like a sieve holds water. I felt I could call him unexpectedly and make a better impression than if I’d talked with him and introduced him as a willing witness.”

Mason nodded, lit a cigarette and said, “How do you suppose Rosalind’s going to feel when she learns that Driscoll tried to divert suspicion from himself by involving Rita Swaine?”

“You surely don’t think he did that?” Cuff asked.

“Yes, he did exactly that.”

Cuff thought for a moment, then said, “One thing you may be overlooking, Mr. Mason: Before this inquest started, the district attorney was preparing extradition proceedings against both Rita Swaine and Rosalind Prescott. As matters now stand, he will proceed to extradite Rita Swaine. He can’t extradite Rosalind Prescott — not in the face of this evidence.”

“And you think that’s a good thing?” Mason asked.

“I think so, yes.”

“For whom?”

“For Rosalind Prescott, primarily.”

“How about Miss Swaine?” Mason inquired.

“Miss Swaine,” Cuff told him, “will have to take care of herself — with your very able assistance.”

Mason nodded, said, “I gathered as much. You know, Cuff, there’s just one disadvantage about having your client stage this cards-on-the-table act.”

“What’s that?” Cuff asked.

“God help him if he’s lying,” Mason said grimly.