The Case of the Shapely Shadow

Chapter Twelve

Judge Lloyd L. Seymour nodded to the deputy district attorney.

“Does the prosecution wish to make an opening statement?” he said.

Manlove P. Ruskin, one of Hamilton Burger’s best trial deputies, arose, bowed to the court and advanced to the jury.

“May it please the Court, and you ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” he said, “the prosecution in this case intends to prove that the defendant, Janice Wainwright, knew that her employer, the decedent, Morley L. Theilman, was collecting large sums of money in cash. This money was in the form of twenty-dollar bills.

“We can only speculate as to the use Mr. Theilman intended to make of those twenty-dollar bills, but we will furnish sufficient evidence to show that he did have those twenty-dollar bills and he intended to make some use of them.

“We propose to show that the defendant had a suitcase containing some twenty-five or thirty pounds of twenty-dollar bills, an amount estimated at perhaps as much as two hundred thousand dollars; that she made a dupe of her present counsel, Perry Mason, making him think he was helping her in protecting the interests of her employer, whereas, as a matter of fact, she deliberately intended to kill her employer and steal the money.

“We propose to show that she lured her employer to an abandoned realty subdivision in the mountains back of Palmdale and there killed him; that she then went to Las Vegas, Nevada, claiming that she was acting under instructions of her employer, knowing that her employer was dead and could never contradict anything she chose to say.

“However, we propose to show that the well-laid scheme of the defendant had several weak points, several holes which will become readily apparent as the evidence develops.

“We propose to show that Cole B. Troy, an associate of Morley Theilman, saw a young woman meeting the description of the defendant shadowing Morley Theilman when he left Bakersfield on the night before his death.

“We propose to show that when Mr. Theilman left the office of Cole B. Troy he had no intention other than that of driving directly to his home to the north of this city. That he was shadowed by the defendant who accosted him and inveigled him into going to the mountain subdivision to spend the night with her.

“We propose to show indisputably, by circumstantial evidence, that the defendant in this case appropriated to her own use monies which had been withdrawn by the decedent from his bank in the form of cash. We propose to show that the motive for the murder was the theft of a large sum of money, perhaps as much as two hundred thousand dollars in cash.

“We will prove to you, by circumstantial evidence which cannot be refuted, that the parties drove to this rendezvous in the mountains back of Palmdale, that there was a thunderstorm in the early hours of the morning, and that this thunderstorm so moistened the soil in front of the cabin where the body was found that it would have been impossible for any automobile to have driven up to that cabin, or driven away from it, without leaving tracks in the soft mud; that the only tracks which were left driving away from the scene of the shooting were those made by the defendant’s car.

“On the strength of that evidence we shall ask for a verdict of first-degree murder.”

Ruskin again bowed to the court, returned to the counsel table and sat down.

“Does the defense have any opening statement?” Judge Seymour asked.

“The defense does,” Mason said.

He arose and faced the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “I ask you to bear in mind the fact that all of this evidence which has been indicated by the prosecutor is circumstantial evidence. We expect to show that these circumstances are all fully capable of being explained by a reasonable hypothesis other than that of guilt.”

“If the Court please,” Ruskin said, “this is not the time or the place to argue the case. If the defense counsel wishes to state what he expects to prove, we have no objection. If he wishes to argue the case, he should wait until the proper time.”

“Very well, Your Honor,” Mason said gravely, and turning to the jury, said, “We expect to prove that the defendant is innocent.” Then he walked back to his place at the counsel table, seating himself.

A ripple of merriment sounded in the courtroom, and some of the jurors were seen to smile.

Judge Seymour said, “The prosecution will proceed with its case.”

Ruskin called a licensed surveyor who introduced road maps showing the location of the subdivision, a sketch map of the place where the body was found, showing the interior of the building, the position of the body, and the relationship of the building to the surrounding terrain.

He then called a photographer who introduced in evidence pictures that had been taken showing the body, the terrain, and the interior and the exterior of the building.

“Call Mr. Marcus,” Ruskin said.

Marcus proved to be a meteorologist who stated that on the early morning of Wednesday, the fourth, there was a thundershower in the mountains back of Palm-dale; that this shower, while of brief duration, was somewhat violent and that it was accompanied by a precipitation which could only be estimated but which in his opinion was amply sufficient to account for the softness of the ground in front of the little structure which had been used as an office in the real estate subdivision.

Photographs were introduced showing the muddy section in question and showing the tracks of an automobile crossing this muddy section.

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

Mason seemed quite affable as he rose and bowed to the witness. “Do you know what time the thundershower occurred?” he asked.

“It was approximately five o’clock in the morning.”

“What do you mean by approximately?”

“Well, I’ll put it this way. It was between four-thirty and five-thirty a.m. In view of the fact that the thunderstorm was exceedingly localized in its sweep over the locale, it is impossible to pin the time down any closer than that. But I can say definitely it was between four-thirty and five-thirty.”

“That was on the morning of Wednesday, the fourth?”

“That is correct.”

“How much did it rain at this particular locality?”

“From an inspection of the ground I would say that it must have rained approximately twenty-five hundredths of an inch, perhaps a little more. But there is a slope in front of the structure in question, and water collected in there to a greater extent than would otherwise have been the case. The ground was quite soft, soft enough to have shown tracks — particularly the tracks of automobiles.”

“Did you notice any tracks of automobiles?”

“I did. There was one car, a Cadillac, on the far side of the soft ground. It was parked in front of the structure. It had left no tracks. There were tracks made by an automobile leading from the structure to the highway.”

“And how far was the highway from the structure?”

“There is a surfaced highway within a hundred and fifty feet of the structure. This is not a main highway but it is, nevertheless, a surfaced highway. By that I mean it is surfaced so that it did not soften in the rain and as a result there are no tracks on it, that is, identifiable tracks. It is, however, possible to see the tracks made by the one automobile which came through the soft spot in front of the structure. Those tracks turned downhill on the surfaced highway and left muddied imprints for a distance of perhaps twenty-five feet. The imprints were quite plain at the time the car entered upon the paved highway and then faded out until it became impossible to identify them.”

“Thank you,” Mason said, “that’s all.”

Ruskin called an expert on moulage who testified to photographing the tracks, to making moulages, which he introduced and which showed, in turn, the tracks of all four tires.

“Were these tracks sufficiently distinct so that you could identify the makes of tires that were on the automobile?” Ruskin asked.

“I could, yes, sir. Three of the tires were identical in make. The other one was a different tire. The other one had a small defect in the tread.”

“What tire was that?”

“The tire on the right front wheel.”

“It was a sufficient defect so that it could be identified in the tracks in the soft soil?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Now then,” Ruskin went on, “have you examined a car registered in the name of the defendant, Janice Wainwright, with license number GVB 393?”

“I have.”

“Have you made molds of the tires on that car?”

“I have.”

“Do you have them with you?”

“I do.”

The witness introduced the moulages with appropriate designations, and they were introduced in evidence.

Ruskin said, “Will you please take the moulage casts of the tracks which you found at the scene of the crime and the molds which you made of the tires, and see if they fit?”

The witness said, “I have here moulages of the tracks left at the scene of the crime. These moulages were made in transparent plastic. It is possible to take these moulages and put them over the molds of the tires in order to show the manner in which the tires would fit into the tracks.”

“Will you do this, please, for the benefit of the Court and the jury?”

The witness demonstrated each moulage in turn.

“We would like to have all of this material introduced in evidence,” Ruskin said, “as People’s Exhibits J-i, J-2, J-3, J-4 and so on, putting a number on each exhibit and having all of the moulages under People’s Exhibit J.”

“No objection,” Mason said.

“Cross-examine,” Ruskin said.

“I take it,” Mason said to the witness, “that in making all of these casts and moulages and models you used the greatest care to see that there was no error in measurement?”

“That is true,” the witness said.

“When the tires were on the ground, there was a pressure of several hundred pounds on each wheel?” Mason asked.

“That is correct.”

“And when you made the models of the tires, this pressure was removed from the tires?”

“Well... yes.”

“Then even if the defendant’s tires did make those tracks, the models of the tires should not fit into the moulage of the tracks because of the absence of this pressure.”

“I tried to compensate for that.”

“How did you compensate for it?”

“I partially deflated the tires and put sufficient pressure on them to duplicate the flattening out that would have taken place if the weight of the car had been on the tires.”

“What standard did you use? How did you determine what number of pounds pressure?”

“I used my judgment.”

“In other words,” Mason said, “you deflated the tires and then you put just sufficient pressure on the tire in the process of duplicating it so that the treads would be sure to fit into these tracks.”

“That is not fair,” the witness said, “nor is it an accurate statement of what I did.”

“But you did take this factor into consideration?” Mason asked.

“Yes.”

“And used your judgment as to how much this factor should influence the resulting models and moulages?”

“In a way, yes.”

“Thank you,” Mason said. “That’s all.”

“Just a moment,” Ruskin said, “I have a question on redirect. Is there anything in the deflation of these tires, or the method which you used, which would alter in any way the tread of the tires?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s all,” Ruskin said.

“I have a question on recross-examination. I will ask the witness if the things he did, did not change the dimensions of the tire.”

“The things I did may have changed the dimensions, but the tread wasn’t altered.”

“You did change the dimensions of the tire.”

“All right, if you want to put it that way,” the witness said irritably. “I changed the dimensions of the tire.”

“Thank you,” Mason said. “I was quite certain you had.”

The jurors exchanged glances indicating a certain amount of perplexity.

Ruskin called the cashier of the bank where Morley Theilman had his account. The banker testified, somewhat reluctantly, that over a period of some three weeks Morley Theilman had been withdrawing money in the form of cash; money which had invariably been withdrawn in the form of twenty-dollar bills; that the withdrawals had amounted to something over a hundred and eighty-seven thousand dollars during the three weeks’ time. That on Tuesday, the third, the decedent had drawn out five thousand dollars in cash in the form of twenty-dollar bills.

“Cross-examine,” Ruskin said.

“No questions,” Mason announced.

“I will call Cole B. Troy as a witness,” Ruskin said.

Troy identified himself as having been interested in several business ventures with the decedent, Morley Theilman, and as having been in conference with Theilman on the evening of Tuesday, the third; he testified that the conference had taken place in Bakersfield; that Theilman phoned his wife about eight saying he would be home around eleven or eleven-thirty, then had left his office about nine o’clock stating that he was driving back to his home in Los Angeles and wanted to be home by eleven.

“And what did you do after Mr. Theilman left the office?” Ruskin asked.

“I paced the floor idly for a couple of turns and wound up standing at the window looking down on the street.”

“Now, I will show you this diagram of the street which shows the location of your office and ask you if that diagram is a correct presentation of the street intersection and the location of your office?”

“It is.”

“Now then, while you were standing at the window, what did you see?”

“I saw Morley Theilman cross to the curb, stand a moment, then walk diagonally across the street.”

“I’m going to put this diagram on the blackboard,” Ruskin said, “and ask if you can mark on there with an X the approximate spot where you first saw Mr. Theilman.”

“Well, it was about here,” the witness said, making a mark.

“Now make another mark X at the point where you saw him hesitate on the curb.”

The witness made a mark.

“Now can you make a line indicating the direction which Mr. Theilman took in crossing the street on a diagonal?”

The witness made the line on the sketch.

“And then what? Just what did Mr. Theilman do? Make a line to indicate his motions after he crossed the street.”

“Well,” Troy said, “he crossed the other sidewalk on a diagonal to the corner, then walked around the corner. After that I was unable to see him because of the building on the opposite corner.”

“You continued to stand at the window?”

“I did.”

“And what did you see after that, if anything?”

“Within a matter of seconds after Theilman had started across the street,” Troy said, “I saw the shadow of a woman.”

“You first saw the woman’s shadow?”

“Yes.”

“That was before you saw the woman herself?”

“Yes.”

“Did you notice anything about that shadow, anything that was peculiar?”

“It was a very shapely shadow; that is, the shadow itself intrigued me because it appeared to be cast by a young woman who was... well, shapely.”

“But you could only see her shadow at that time?”

“That’s right.”

“And where was that shadow?”

“It was cast by a street light at the corner. The woman was out of my sight but from looking down overhead I could see the shadow.”

“Will you indicate on the diagram about where this shadow was?”

The witness indicated.

“Now, did you ever see this woman?”

“Yes, I did.”

“When?”

“Well, when Mr. Theilman was... oh, approximately halfway across the street.”

“And what happened then?”

“The woman moved out of the shadows and stood almost directly beneath my window.”

“You couldn’t see her clearly at that point?”

“No, just her head and shoulders.”

“Then what?”

“Then, as Mr. Theilman crossed the street, she moved along behind him.”

“How far behind?”

“I would say... oh, about twenty feet.”

“And you could see her more clearly at that time?”

“Certainly. As she moved off the sidewalk I got a very good view of her back.”

“Can you describe her?”

“She was, I would say, a young woman; that is, probably under thirty. She was well formed and she wore... well, it was some kind of a rather tight-fitting skirt or dress. I can’t remember exactly how she was dressed except I noticed she was — well, she lived up to what I had expected from looking at her shadow.”

“And you continued to watch her?”

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

“Until she was out of sight.”

“And where did she go?”

“She followed the exact course taken by Mr. Theilman.”

“You may inquire,” Ruskin said, turning to Perry Mason.

“Theilman phoned his wife about eight?” Mason asked.

“Yes.”

“Did he use your office phone?”

“No. We were leaving a restaurant. He used a phone booth.”

“Did you hear the conversation?”

“No.”

“How do you know he phoned his wife?”

“He said he was going to phone her and went to the phone booth.”

“Let’s go back to this shapely shadow,” Mason said. “You were at your office window?”

“Yes.”

“You watched Theilman after he came in sight?” Mason asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Then you saw the shadow of this young woman?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you say that after she became visible, that is, after she had moved out into your line of vision, you continued to watch her until she vanished around the corner?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And she was about how far behind Mr. Theilman?”

“I would say twenty feet.”

“Now, let’s approximate the distance on this diagram. How wide is this street, do you know?”

“I think it is sixty feet.”

“And the sidewalks are about how wide?”

“Oh, perhaps ten feet.”

“So that would be a distance of eighty feet across the street.”

“Yes.”

“That is in a straight line, however. On a diagonal the distance would be greater.”

“Yes.”

“How much greater?”

“Oh, perhaps... perhaps a hundred and twenty feet.”

“Now,” Mason said, “you have testified that you watched Mr. Theilman cross the street and lost sight of him when he went around the corner where the building obstructed your view.”

“That’s right.”

“But you have also testified that you were watching this young woman from the time you first saw her, and evidently you saw her when Theilman had covered only some twenty feet of the distance. Now, which were you watching, the young woman or Theilman?”

“I was watching them both.”

“On whom were your eyes focused, Theilman or the woman?”

“On... well, I guess sort of in between them.”

“Then you weren’t watching the woman?”

“I was watching her but my eyes weren’t focused on her.”

“And you weren’t watching Theilman?”

“I was watching him but my eyes weren’t focused on him.”

“In other words, while a good-looking woman with a seductive figure was crossing the street, you didn’t look at her but kept your eyes focused at a point approximately ten feet ahead of her?”

“Well... No, I guess that’s not right. I... I was looking back and forth at both of them.”

“Can you describe this woman’s walk?”

“It was very graceful, very sinuous, very... well, hippy.”

“And you took your eyes off that seductive walk, off that graceful glide, off those swaying hips in order to watch Theilman, who was some twenty feet ahead of her?”

“Well, no,” Troy admitted. “When you come right down to it and put it that way, Mr. Mason, I don’t think I did. I kept my eyes on the girl.”

“Then you were mistaken in saying that you were watching Theilman?”

“Yes. I saw him generally but I was watching the girl. My eyes were on her.”

“Then you were completely mistaken in stating that your eyes were focused at a point midway between the young woman and Theilman?”

“I hadn’t given it any thought when I answered that question, Mr. Mason.”

“In other words, you answered a question while you were under oath without thinking?”

“Well, I guess I did.”

“And so gave a wrong answer?”

“Yes, sir, I did. I must have.”

“Thank you,” Mason said, with exaggerated politeness. “I was quite satisfied you had. Were there any other questions you were asked which you answered without thinking?”

“No.”

“You’re thinking now?”

“Yes.”

“That is all,” Mason said.

“I will call Mrs. Morley L. Theilman to the stand,” Ruskin said.

The second Mrs. Theilman, attired in black, her eyes demurely downcast, moved slowly forward, held up her right hand and was sworn and took her place on the witness stand.

Ruskin’s voice as he questioned the witness held that note of synthetic sympathy which is the stock-in-trade of some prosecutors examining bereaved widows.

“Mrs. Theilman,” Ruskin said, “we have to perform the disagreeable duty of identifying the decedent. You are the widow of Morley L. Theilman and you were, I believe, called upon to identify his body after it had been found in the place referred to generally as the Palmdale subdivision?”

“That is right,” she said.

“You saw the body?”

“I did.”

“Can you identify it?”

“Yes, it was the body of my husband, Morley L. Theilman.”

“Now then,” Ruskin went on, “directing your attention to Tuesday, the third — that would be the day before the body was found — can you tell us about the time you last saw your husband, where he was and what he did?”

Slowly and in a low voice, the witness described how Theilman had returned from his office, stated that he wanted to go to Bakersfield; that he asked for a fresh suit of clothes; that while he was in the bathroom shaving she had gone through the pockets of the discarded suit, had found the threatening letter and the envelope in which it came, and had read the printed demand for money, then had put the letter and envelope in the pocket of the fresh suit that her husband was going to wear.

“And was this the suit that he was wearing at the time of his death?” Ruskin asked.

“It was,” she said.

“You may cross-examine,” Ruskin said.

Mason rose, walked a few paces toward the witness stand and stood facing the slender woman with the downcast eyes.

“Mrs. Theilman,” he said, “where did you first meet your husband?”

“In Las Vegas, Nevada,” she answered in a low voice.

“What were you doing at the time?”

“Objected to,” Ruskin said, “as incompetent, irrelevant and immaterial, not proper cross-examination. It makes no difference what she was doing. It makes no difference when she met the decedent or how she met him.”

“I think I will overrule the objection,” Judge Seymour said. “In a case of this sort I certainly intend to give the defendant every latitude in the field of cross-examination. Counsel undoubtedly has some point in mind or he wouldn’t have gone into this. You may answer the question.”

“I was working in a rather varied capacity.”

“Describe the varied capacities,” Mason said.

Her voice grew a little stronger. Her eyes raised long enough to flash a glance of gathering animosity at Mason. “I guess the best way to describe it is to say that I was a show girl.”

“You showed yourself in bathing suits, did you not?”

“At times, yes.”

“You were a hostess?”

“Yes.”

“A shill?”

“I don’t know what you mean by a shill.”

“You put on daringly cut evening gowns that were tight and clinging and circulated around the gambling tables?”

“All evening gowns that are any good are tight and clinging,” she said.

“And yours was tight and clinging?”

“Yes.”

“And you circulated around the gaming tables?”

“Yes.”

“And made yourself easy to pick up?”

“I wasn’t picked up.”

“We’ll put it this way,” Mason said. “It was easy to get acquainted with you?”

“I was a hostess.”

“And, as such, it was easy to get acquainted with you?”

“I was simply doing my duty as a hostess.”

“It was easy to get acquainted with you?”

“I suppose so.”

“You made it that way?”

“If you want to put it that way, yes.”

“And you were particularly easy to get acquainted with as far as wealthy men were concerned who were in a position to spend money on the gambling tables. Isn’t that true?”

“Yes!” she snapped.

“And, having become acquainted with them, you made it a point to encourage them in their gambling. You kept hanging around the gambling tables doing a little gambling of your own and chatting with these men so that they would continue their gambling after they might otherwise have quit.”

“As a hostess I tried to be attractive.”

“And you were frequently at the gambling tables?”

“Yes.”

“You used chips?”

“Always.”

“Now then, when you first met Morley L. Theilman, he was gambling at a table, was he not?”

“I believe he was.”

“Don’t you know?”

“Yes, I think he was.”

“And you were gambling at that table?”

“Yes.”

“With chips?”

“I’ve told you. I always used chips.”

“And they were a special chip, were they not? They were not redeem-able. You had these chips given to you. You gambled with them but they couldn’t be redeemed for money. Your gambling was simply an act.”

“Yes.”

“And yet you want these jurors to believe you don’t know what is meant by the term ‘shill’?” Mason asked.

“I’ve heard the term used.”

“Have you ever used it?”

“I... I may have.”

“Did you use the term without knowing what it meant?”

“Well, I knew what it meant in the sense that I used it.”

“And what was the sense in which you used it?”

“Well, a shill is a come-on.”

“Exactly,” Mason said. “So when you told me that you didn’t know what a shill meant, you were not being entirely frank, were you?”

“Oh, Your Honor,” Ruskin said, “this is attempting to browbeat the witness. The question is argumentative, it is not proper cross-examination, it—”

“Overruled,” Judge Seymour snapped.

“Answer the question,” Mason said.

“Well, I didn’t know the sense in which you used the term. You made it sound rather... rather...”

“Undignified?” Mason prompted.

“Something like that.”

“You considered yourself dignified?”

“I tried to be dignified.”

“And ladylike?”

“Yes.”

“But, nevertheless, to use your own words, you were a come-on.”

She bit her lip. “Oh, all right. I was a come-on.”

“Now,” Mason said, “when you first met Morley L. Theilman, you went to a table where he was already gambling, did you not?”

“Yes.”

“Did someone direct you to go to that table, some person who represented your employer and who pointed out Morley Theilman to you? Didn’t this person tell you to go over there and get to work on him? Isn’t that right?”

“The expression, ‘get to work on him,’ wasn’t used.”

“But you knew what was meant?”

“As a hostess I went to the table, and when Mr. Theilman won, I smiled at him and that broke the ice.”

“What ice?” Mason asked.

“Well, you know, it gave him a chance to get acquainted.”

“Did you think there was ice?”

“I used the expression as a figure of speech.”

“And I am using it as a figure of speech,” Mason said. “I didn’t mean that there were icicles dripping all over this tight-clinging gown that you were wearing. I realized that you referred to ice in a figurative manner of speaking and I used the term in the same sense. Now, was there any ice to break?”

“It depends on how you look at it.”

“You went over there to get acquainted with him?”

“Well...”

“Yes or no?”

“Yes,” she blazed. And then suddenly raising her voice and her eyes, said, “I was employed as a hostess. You don’t need to act so dumb, Perry Mason. You’ve been to Las Vegas.”

Mason bowed and said, “Exactly. And thank you very much, Mrs. Theilman. I was simply trying to get the picture clear for the jurors.”

“If the Court please,” Ruskin said, “I must insist that counsel’s attitude toward this witness is manifestly unfair, that he is browbeating the witness and trying to put her in a false light before the jury. This woman is a widow. She has been bereaved by a crime of murder committed by—”

“Now, just a minute,” Mason interrupted. “There is no question before the Court; there is no reason for counsel to argue the case at this time.”

“But I object to having this woman held up in front of this jury as a strumpet,” Ruskin shouted.

“And I object to having her held up as a mealy-mouthed, persecuted, bereaved widow simply so the prosecutor can play on the sympathies of the jury,” Mason retorted.

Judge Seymour frowned. “There is at the present time no question before the Court, therefore there is no reason to make an objection. The jurors are called upon to see the witnesses, to watch their demeanor on the stand, to form their own opinions as to the facts. The prosecutor has one theory of the case, the defense has another. Please try to avoid personalities, gentlemen. You may proceed, Mr. Mason.”

By this time all vestige of the fragile, helpless, bereaved widow had left the witness. She was sitting slightly forward on the witness stand, her chin up, her eyes blazing with anger at Perry Mason.

“Now then,” Mason said, “you saw this letter in your husband’s pocket.”

“If you want to call it a letter — a blackmail demand,” she snapped.

“And the envelope.”

“And the envelope,” she mimicked.

“And the envelope had the return address in the upper left-hand corner and the name of A. B. Vidal.”

“And,” she mimicked, “the envelope had the name in the upper left-hand corner, A. B. Vidal.”

She was now thoroughly angry and making no attempt to conceal her emotions.

“Now, you say this was a blackmail letter,” Mason said. “How do you know it was blackmail?”

“How do I know anything?” she blazed. “What did you think it was, an invitation to a dance?”

There was a titter of merriment in the courtroom which Judge Seymour frowned into silence.

“And the return address on the envelope gave the name of A. B. Vidal.”

Again she mimicked him. “The return address on the envelope gave the name of A. B. Vidal, Mr. Mason.”

“Now then,” Mason said, “please tell the jury what your maiden name was, Mrs. Theilman.”

“My name,” she said, “was Day Dawns.”

“Was that the name with which you were christened?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I was there at the time but I couldn’t remember the occurrence.”

“Was that the name you used when you first entered school?” Mason asked.

“I don’t remember when I first entered school.”

“Was it the name you used at the age of twelve?”

She hesitated a moment, then said, “It was a professional name, as you should realize, Mr. Mason. It was intended to be a professional name.”

“I see,” Mason said, “and what was your real name?”

“I...”

“Yes, go on,” Mason said.

“Agnes,” she said.

“Agnes what?”

“Agnes Vidal!” she shouted.

“Thank you,” Mason said. “That is all.”

Ruskin said, in a quietly soothing voice, “Now, just a moment, Mrs. Theilman. I can appreciate your anger at being subjected to the veiled insinuations of counsel. I am asking you now please to face the jury and explain to them why the name A. B. Vidal meant nothing to you when you saw it on the upper left-hand corner of this envelope as a return address.”

“I felt,” she said, struggling to get back into her act of demure bereavement, “that some blackmailer was using the name Vidal in order to impress my husband that he knew... well, all about me.”

“Did you send this letter?”

“Indeed not.”

“Did you have anything to do with it?”

“Certainly not.”

“Did you know about it being sent?”

“Only what I have stated in my testimony.”

“Therefore, what impression did the name A. B. Vidal make on your mind?”

Judge Seymour glanced at Mason. “Is there any objection to the witness testifying to the thoughts that were in her mind?”

“Not in the least,” Mason said. “I would like to cross-examine the witness on that point.”

The witness again glared at Mason and raised her voice angrily. “I was simply sure that it was blackmail, that someone was using this name in order to impress my husband.”

“That’s all my redirect examination,” Ruskin said.

“Recross?” Judge Seymour asked Mason.

“Thank you, Your Honor. I would like to ask the witness what there was in her past that would make it seem to her that the use of her maiden name would have connotations of blackmail in the mind of her husband.”

“Just a minute, just a minute,” Ruskin shouted, jumping to his feet. “The witness didn’t say anything of the sort. The question is improper. It’s argumentative, it calls for facts not in evidence, it has to do with intangibles, it’s no part of cross-examination.”

“On the contrary,” Mason said, “the prosecution opened the door, the witness was asked about her frame of mind, and I insist that my question is based upon a fair interpretation of the witness’s answer.”

“I think the prosecution may have opened the door,” Judge Seymour said, “but that doesn’t mean that we can spend our time going into matters which are not relevant. However, in view of the nature of the redirect examination, I am going to permit this one question.”

“May I have the question read, please?” Mrs. Theilman asked.

The court reporter read the question. “I would like to ask the witness what there was in her past that would make it seem to her that the use of her maiden name would have connotations of blackmail in the mind of her husband.”

The witness hesitated.

“You understand the question?” Mason asked.

“I’m not sure that I do.”

“What was there in your past which would make you feel that the use of your name was connected with blackmail?”

“Nothing!” she fairly spat at him. “Absolutely nothing!”

Mason smiled urbanely. “Thank you,” he said, “that concludes my recross-examination.”

“That’s all,” Ruskin said.

The witness, still angry, got up from the witness stand and strode around the counsel table, glaring at Mason as she passed.

Mason turned to Janice Wainwright who was seated directly behind him and whispered reassuringly. “That demolishes the picture of the demure little widow, bowed down by grief,” he said.

Ruskin, recognizing Mason’s tactics and realizing the extent to which the picture he had wished to create in the minds of the jury had been marred by Mrs. Theilman’s anger, called Lt. Tragg to the stand.

Lt. Tragg, his manner crisply professional, described the scene of the murder. He had, he explained, been called in to co-operate with men from the sheriff’s office because he had been working on the case after it appeared that Morley Theilman had vanished following receipt of a blackmail letter.

Calmly, unemotionally and objectively he described the conditions in the building which had been used as a real estate office. There was a davenport which could be made into a double bed, a toilet and shower, a somewhat battered desk, several chairs, a counter running the length of the place, a storage cupboard in which there were old contracts of sale and descriptive brochures.

The body lay face down on the floor with the right hand stretched slightly above the head, the left hand on a level with the left hip.

The body, Lt. Tragg pointed out, was quite stiff at that time. The phenomenon known as rigor mortis had fully developed so as to encompass the entire body.

“What time was it that you first saw the body?” Ruskin asked.

“It was seven-twenty-seven p.m.”

“That was on Wednesday, the fourth?” Ruskin asked.

“That is correct.”

“Do you know of your own knowledge when the body had first been discovered?”

“Not of my own knowledge, no.”

“You know when you were first notified?”

“Yes.”

“What time was that?”

“Shortly before six o’clock.”

“You may inquire,” Ruskin said.

“Was the davenport made into a bed?” Mason asked.

“No, sir. It had been folded back as a davenport.”

“How do you know it had been folded back? How do you know it had ever been unfolded?”

“I don’t know.” Tragg said at length.

“Thank you. That’s all,” Mason said.

“Doctor Lombard G. Jasper,” Ruskin announced.

Dr. Jasper came forward, was sworn, testified that he was an assistant autopsy surgeon, that he had examined the body of Morley L. Theilman before it had been moved from the real estate office where it was found; that his examination was at approximately seven-thirty on Wednesday, the fourth; that in his opinion the time of death had been somewhere between the hours of midnight and five o’clock in the morning.

“Cross-examine,” Ruskin snapped.

“How do you fix the time of death, Doctor?” Mason asked.

“By various factors which furnish the trained forensic pathologist with clues.”

Mason asked, “And what are these various factors which furnish the forensic pathologist with clues?”

“Post-mortem lividity, for one.”

“What else?”

“The development of rigor mortis — the time of onset, the time of duration and the time of departure.”

“Now then,” Mason said, “let’s forget the technical patter, Doctor, if we may, and describe these things in terms the jury can understand. What is post-mortem lividity?”

“It is a distinctive color of the corpse due to the gravitational settling and subsequent coagulation of blood in the capillaries.”

“I see you’re not doing very well,” Perry Mason said. “Perhaps I can help you clarify things a little, Doctor. During life there is a blood pressure, is there not?”

“Yes.”

“After death this blood pressure is reduced to zero?”

“Yes.”

“So the blood naturally settles to the lower parts of the body of the deceased.”

“Yes.”

“And, since it ceases to circulate, it begins to coagulate.”

“Yes.”

“So the lower parts of the body have a peculiar color, a certain so-called lividity due to this settling and coagulation of the blood?”

“Yes.”

“How soon after death does that post-mortem lividity begin to establish itself? That is, how soon after death does it become evident?”

“Well, it begins to be apparent in from one to two hours after death.”

“And remains how long after death?”

“For some considerable period of time.”

“As much as twelve hours?”

“Oh, yes.”

“As much as twenty-four hours?”

“Yes.”

“Therefore,” Mason said, “when you refer to postmortem lividity as indicating the time of death, it would only show that a man had been dead for more than one hour. Isn’t that right?”

“No. Post-mortem lividity continues to develop. The color is an indication of the time of death.”

“Is there any difference between post-mortem lividity at the end of five hours and at the end of ten hours?”

“By five hours I would consider that post-mortem lividity had been fully developed.”

“And post-mortem lividity was fully developed in the body that you saw?”

“Yes.”

“So all that you can say as a result of post-mortem lividity is that the body of the man you saw had been lying there for more than five hours, that death had occurred more than five hours earlier. Is that right?”

“Well... there were other factors.”

“Never mind the other factors right now,” Mason said. “I’m talking about post-mortem lividity alone. Isn’t it a fact that all you could learn from the post-mortem lividity of that body in the condition that you saw it, and I am talking now, Doctor, about post-mortem lividity alone, is that in your opinion the man had been dead more than five hours?”

The doctor hesitated perceptibly.

“Yes or no?” Mason asked.

“Yes,” Dr. Jasper said at length.

“Now we’ll come to the other phenomenon which you mentioned, rigor mortis. Can you describe rigor mortis so the jury will understand it?”

“It is a stiffening of the body due to chemical changes within the muscle tissue. Immediately after death the body is very limp. Then a certain stiffness begins to develop in the face and jaws and goes down the neck, chest, arms, abdomen and finally the entire body is involved.

“Then after a period which may be somewhat variable, the rigor begins to leave the body in the same order that it appeared. First, the neck and face become limp, then the disappearance of the rigor continues on down the body until finally the entire body becomes limp once more.”

“And in this body that you saw, rigor had become fully developed?”

“That’s right.”

“Therefore you were led to believe that death had taken place, when?”

“As I said, between midnight and five o’clock in the morning.”

“Is the development of rigor a constant factor?” Mason asked.

“Not necessarily.”

“Normally, within what time limits does it develop?”

“Within eight to twelve hours.”

“Eight hours?” Mason asked.

“Conceivably, yes.”

“Then, in a body in which rigor mortis was fully developed at seven-thirty in the evening, it is possible, is it not, that death could have occurred as late as ten-thirty in the morning?”

“Well, it could have, yes.”

“And that is well within the so-called normal limits?”

“Yes.”

“Now then,” Mason said, “isn’t it a fact that there are other factors which hasten the onset of rigor mortis? Isn’t it a fact that where a person has been murdered at a time when he was engaged in physical activity, or in the course of a struggle, rigor may develop much sooner?”

“I believe that is true.”

“And temperature is also a factor.”

“Yes.”

“There are cases, are there not, where rigor mortis has fully developed almost instantly, Doctor?”

“Well, within very short times.”

“Almost instantly?”

“It depends on what you mean by instantly.”

“Within a few minutes, say ten or fifteen minutes.”

“Yes, I believe so.”

“Now, Doctor, when you were asked about the time of death and how you fixed it, you stated that there were certain phenomena which were in the nature of clues to the trained forensic pathologist and you mentioned two — rigor mortis and post-mortem lividity. Now, since we have seen that post-mortem lividity develops within one or two hours after death and that in the body that you examined it meant nothing more than that death had taken place in your opinion five hours before, and since it now appears that rigor mortis is a variable factor, I am going to ask you what other factors entered into your mind in fixing the time of death?”

“There were no other medical factors.”

“No other medical factors?” Mason asked, his tone reflecting incredulous surprise.

“None,” Dr. Jasper snapped.

“Isn’t it generally conceded that estimating the time of death by rigor mortis is apt to lead to incorrect deductions?”

“I don’t know. I would say that rigor mortis was a certain barometer.”

“Rather an uncertain barometer, isn’t it, Doctor, since it can appear a few minutes after death, or may be delayed as much as twelve hours?”

“Well, those are extreme cases.”

“How do you know that this wasn’t an extreme case?” Mason asked.

The doctor fidgeted uneasily.

“Speak up,” Mason said. “How do you know this wasn’t an extreme case?”

“I don’t,” the doctor admitted.

“How about body temperature?” Mason asked. “Isn’t that considered the most reliable way of determining the time of death?”

“Body temperature is a factor, yes.”

“Perhaps one of the most reliable factors?”

“It is a factor.”

“It is quite reliable?”

“Fairly so. But it varies.”

“It isn’t subject to as many variations as rigor mortis is, is it?”

“Well, it depends.”

“Doctor, I am going to ask you if you didn’t write an article in the Journal of Forensic Medicine, Pathology and Crime Detection entitled, ‘Determining the Time of Death’ and if in that article, which was published in December of last year, you didn’t state that of all the methods of determining the time of death, rigor mortis was perhaps the most generally unreliable and that the drop in body temperature was perhaps the most reliable?”

The doctor fidgeted on the witness stand. “I don’t remember expressing it in exactly that way,” he said.

Mason opened his brief case, whipped out a copy of the publication and said, “Perhaps you would like to refresh your memory from reading this, Doctor?”

“Well, no. I now remember what I said,” the witness admitted. “I believe I did say something like that.”

“Then why are you trying to build up rigor mortis as a more or less infallible time of death in this case and minimizing the body temperature factor?”

“I’m not doing any such thing,” the doctor protested indignantly.

“You have fixed the time of death from two clues which you have stated in your testimony were of value to the.forensic pathologist — postmortem lividity and rigor mortis. Now, what about temperature, Doctor? Did you take the temperature?”

“I did not take the body temperature.”

“Oh, you did not?”

“No, not at that time. The body when I saw it was fully clothed and the only means of taking the body temperature are... well, the body should be unclothed at that time.”

“And when the body was removed it was clothed?”

“Yes.”

“And after the clothes were removed from the body, was the temperature taken?”

“Apparently it was not,” the doctor admitted. “There was some confusion. Someone thought I had taken the temperature. I thought someone else had. In any event, the temperature was not taken.”

“So then,” Mason said, “you’re trying to fix the time of death simply by two things: post-mortem lividity and rigor mortis. Now, in your article, Doctor, you stated that rigor mortis was one of the least dependable indications as to the time of death because varying conditions could affect the onset and development of rigor, and you said nothing whatever about post-mortem lividity. You didn’t even mention it as a factor.”

“Well... no.”

“Isn’t it a fact, Doctor, that someone blundered, and the body temperature was not taken, and because you wanted to make your testimony sound impressive you mentioned post-mortem lividity as being a factor in enabling you to reach your conclusion as to the time of death? Isn’t it a fact that post-mortem lividity, under these circumstances, is meaningless?”

“I object,” Ruskin said. “That question is unfair. It is—”

“What’s unfair about it?” Judge Seymour asked.

“It puts the witness in a bad light.”

“You are evidently assuming,” Judge Seymour said, “that the answer of the witness will be in the affirmative.”

“Well, it is quite apparent from the entire course of the examination,” Ruskin said. “I think that the doctor has tried to be very fair here and—”

“There’s no need for the deputy prosecutor to try and build up the witness in front of the jury at this time,” Mason said. “Let him do that in his argument.”

“I think the objection will be overruled,” Judge Seymour said, “and there will be no further occasion for argument. Answer the question, Doctor.”

The doctor shifted his position on the witness stand, then finally said, “I tried to give my testimony to the best of my ability. It is my considered opinion that death took place between midnight and five o’clock in the morning. I have mentioned certain medical factors which entered into my opinion and influenced it.”

“And isn’t it a fact that you tried to build up your testimony by using the technical term post-mortem lividity simply for the purpose of impressing the Court and the jury?”

“I used the term because I felt under the circumstances of this case it was proper to use it.”

“But according to your own testimony it only showed that, in your opinion, the man had been dead more than five hours.”

“Well, that’s something,” the doctor said.

“It’s something, Doctor, but how did it happen that you didn’t mention post-mortem lividity when you wrote this article?”

“I probably didn’t think of it.”

“Oh, you mean you wrote this article without thinking?”

“I didn’t have to include everything in it.”

“It slipped your mind?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“Or did you feel that if you mentioned post-mortem lividity in an article of this kind in an authoritative publication of this kind, your contemporaries who were fully familiar with the phenomenon of postmortem lividity would hold you up to ridicule?”

“Well, it had no place in an article of that sort.”

“It had no place in an article of that sort,” Mason said, “which was an attempt on your part to cover all of the scientific factors in regard to fixing the time of death.”

“That’s right.”

“Then why does it have a place in your testimony here?”

“Because it was a factor. I admit, not an important factor, but a factor.”

“And simply because it showed in your opinion the man had been dead more than five hours, you immediately used it as a barometer to fix the time of death as being within a bracket of fourteen to nineteen hours before you examined the body?”

“There were other factors.”

“Oh, there were?” Mason said. “I asked you to list those factors and you mentioned only rigor mortis and post-mortem lividity.”

“Those were the medical factors,” the doctor snapped. “There were other factors which influenced my judgment.”

“Oh, there were other factors.”

“Certainly.”

“Such as what?”

“The physical factors.”

“And what do you mean by the physical factors?”

“The time element.”

“And what do you mean by the time element?”

“The thundershower, for instance.”

“I see,” Mason said. “Now we’re beginning to get to the gist of your testimony, Doctor. Because you saw tracks in the soft ground, because you were told what time the thundershower took place, you fixed the time of death in your own mind very largely because of those tracks and what you had been told. And now, when you are called on to give your testimony, you attempt to justify those conclusions, based on hearsay, by bolstering them up with medical jargon.”

“That’s not true.”

“But you can’t fix the time of death within definite limits from postmortem lividity?”

“I’ve already answered that question.”

“And you can’t fix it by rigor mortis?”

“It is a factor.”

“But the main factors in your mind when fixing the time of death were the non-medical factors.”

“They helped me arrive at my opinion, yes.”

“And you aren’t an expert in those matters?”

“I have eyes and can see.”

“So you fixed the time of death by taking into consideration what you have referred to as the nonmedical factors.”

“I will say this: that the circumstantial evidence on the ground indicated very definitely and positively that death had taken place before the thunderstorm. Since I found nothing in the medical facts to negative that assumption, I accepted it in my own mind.”

“Now we’re getting down to the real crux of the matter, Doctor,” Mason said. “I want to be fair with you, but I want you to be fair with me. You actually fixed the time of death in your own mind because of that thundershower and the circumstantial evidence on the ground, and simply because you found no medical evidence which would contradict that conclusion, you went on the stand and swore positively that death occurred between midnight and five o’clock in the morning. Now, let’s be fair. Isn’t that what happened?”

“Generally, that’s what happened,” Dr. Jasper said, “and despite your attempt to distort my testimony, the fact remains that death occurred between midnight and five o’clock in the morning.”

“Because of your interpretation of circumstantial evidence rather than medical evidence?”

“Because of all the factors taken together.”

“The medical factors standing alone don’t enable you to fix the time of death.”

“Not standing alone.”

“In other words, then, the non-medical factors were what influenced you in fixing the time of death, and you regard the medical factors only as corroborating that because they do not contradict it.”

“If you want to put it that way, yes.”

“I want to put it that way,” Mason said, “and that’s all.”

“No further questions on redirect,” Ruskin said wearily.

Dr. Jasper left the witness stand.

Ruskin said, “I will call Mrs. Carlotta Theilman to the witness stand.”

Carlotta came forward, held up her hand and was sworn.

“You are the divorced wife of the decedent?” Ruskin asked.

“That’s right.”

“On the fourth of this month you took the Union Pacific train, The City of Los Angeles, for Las Vegas, did you not?”

“That is correct.”

“Why did you go to Las Vegas?”

“Because I expected to meet my former husband there. I had reason to believe that he wanted to buy certain stock which I had received as part of our divorce settlement.”

“Had you discussed this matter with your ex-husband, Mrs. Theilman?”

“Not with him directly, but I had told someone who I thought was acting for him that I would be in Las Vegas on the train that night and if anyone wanted to negotiate with me for my stock I would be willing to negotiate with them, but I would not deal with any agents, dummies, attorneys or brokers. I wanted to deal with the principal, whoever he was.”

“Did you take that train?”

“I did.”

“And were met by the defendant in Las Vegas?”

“That is right.”

“Cross-examine,” Ruskin said.

“Why did you designate Las Vegas, Mrs. Theilman?” Mason asked.

“Because I felt certain I had been dealing with the agent of my husband. Las Vegas was where our marriage was broken up and I decided I would— Well, I wanted to have the satisfaction of meeting him there.”

Mason said, “You now weigh considerably less than when your marriage broke up, don’t you? You went on a rigorous campaign of diet and exercise in order to... well, let us say, to get back into the running. Isn’t that right, Mrs. Theilman?”

“That is right,” she said savagely, “and I knew my husband — I knew him very well indeed. If he had met me in Las Vegas, I would have given that little strumpet a dose of her own medicine. I—”

“Now, just a minute,” Judge Seymour interrupted. “We won’t have any name calling here, Mrs. Theilman.”

“I was simply trying to answer the question,” she said, “I... I’m sorry, Your Honor.”

“I understand exactly how you feel,” Mason said, bowing. “That’s all, Mrs. Theilman. Thank you.”

Judge Seymour said, “It is past the hour of the afternoon adjournment, gentlemen. I didn’t want to interrupt the cross-examination of this witness. Court will adjourn until nine-thirty tomorrow morning. The jurors will not permit themselves to form or express any opinion as to the merits of the case, nor will they discuss the matter among themselves or permit it to be discussed in their presence. The defendant is remanded to custody. Court will recess until nine-thirty tomorrow morning.”

Mason turned to the officer and said, “I want to talk with my client briefly before she is returned.”

The officer nodded.

Mason waited until the courtroom had cleared, then turned to Janice Wainwright.

“You see what I’m getting at, Janice,” he said. “Your story is going to be that you talked with Morley Theilman after you talked with me on the morning of the fourth. According to the testimony of the prosecution, Theilman had been dead for some four hours at the time you say you talked with him. I simply had to try to demolish their theory of the time element, although perhaps some of the jurors feel that I was unnecessarily savage with the doctor.”

“I understand,” she said.

“That, however,” Mason said, “doesn’t mean that you were telling the truth.”

“Mr. Mason, I am telling the truth.”

“I believe you,” Mason said, “because it is my duty to believe you. As your attorney I am obligated to accept your story and to see that you have your day in court. But the evidence is very much against you, and some of that circumstantial evidence is damning.”

“Nevertheless, Mr. Mason, I am going to tell you again. I did not go out to that subdivision. I did not see Mr. Theilman from the time he left the office early on the afternoon of the third.”

Mason said, “I have the uneasy feeling that you’re lying to me, Janice, and if you are, it means you have a one-way ticket to the gas chamber.”

“I... I can’t help it. I’ve told you the truth.”

“Now then,” Mason said, “remember this. They subpoenaed the records from our office. They have the numbers of those twenty-dollar bills that were in that suitcase. If they can ever connect you with any of those bills, even one of them, you’re finished. You’re completely sunk.”

“I certainly understand that, Mr. Mason. They can never connect me with that money. I never touched a dime of it. I did exactly what I told you I did. I put that money in the locker and mailed the key in accordance with Mr. Theilman’s instructions. I never went near the locker again. I— Well, you know that I couldn’t have because you kept the key to the suitcase.”

“I kept a key to the suitcase,” Mason said. “There was nothing to have prevented you stopping at a locksmith before you came to the office and having a dozen duplicate keys to that suitcase made.”

“But I didn’t do it.”

“You say you didn’t do it.”

“I’ve told you the truth,” she said defiantly.

“Your car certainly was driven out to that subdivision,” Mason said. “The moulage of the tires can’t be coincidental. Your car went out there.”

“My car did not go out there, Mr. Mason. I tell you I never went out there.”

“All right, then,” Mason said. “Somebody had to frame you. Somebody took your car out, and that’s pretty unlikely.”

“I can’t help it. I didn’t take my car out there.”

“Let’s go back to the fourth,” Mason said. “Now, Mr. Theilman was reported to have disappeared. There was a detective at your office. Where was your car during that time?”

“In the parking lot at the office.”

“Then you got frightened and went to your apartment — at least when you telephoned you said you were at your apartment.”

“Yes.”

“And then what?”

“Then Mr. Theilman telephoned me.”

“And told you to do what?”

“To take some money from the petty cash drawer in the safe, to take the first available evening plane for Las Vegas and meet his first wife when she arrived there on the train. Carlotta doesn’t like to fly.”

“And then what did you do?”

“I got the money from the petty cash in the office safe.”

“How much?”

“He told me to take two hundred and fifty dollars.”

“How much was in there?”

“He tries to keep five hundred dollars there.”

“And you took two hundred and fifty dollars for your expenses on the trip?”

“Yes. I was simply following his instructions.”

“But you also gave me two hundred and fifty dollars as a fee when I saw you in Las Vegas.”

She hesitated a moment, then said, “That also was in accordance with instructions. He told me to give you two hundred and fifty dollars.”

“In cash?”

“He said to give you two hundred and fifty dollars.”

“So you went to the safe where Mr. Theilman keeps five hundred dollars for emergencies. You took two hundred and fifty dollars for your own use as expenses and you took two hundred and fifty dollars to pay me. That’s a total of five hundred dollars. Was there any money left in the cash drawer?”

“No.”

“You took it all?”

“Yes.”

“As the prosecution will point out,” Mason said, “immediately after Mr. Theilman’s death you went to the safe and looted the emergency cash drawer of every cent that was in it.”

She was close to tears. “I did only what he told me to do.”

“And what did you do after that — immediately after you emptied the cash drawer?”

“I went to the beauty shop.”

“And were there how long?”

“About five hours.”

“Did you drive to the beauty shop?”

“It’s in the neighborhood of my apartment.”

“Where was your car?”

“Parked on a side street around from the apartment house.”

“When did you actually see your car after you went to the beauty shop?”

“You mean on the fourth?”

“Yes.”

“Not until about five-thirty when I got in it and drove to the airport.”

Mason said, “You’ve got to get on the witness stand and tell that story and when you tell it, you’re hooked... Now look here, Janice, if you were having an affair with Mr. Theilman, I want you to tell me about it and tell me about it now. If you went out there to meet him at that subdivision...”

“Mr. Mason, I tell you, I didn’t. And I know that Mr. Theilman wasn’t there at the time he phoned me. There isn’t a telephone in that office. It was taken out. The nearest telephone is some two miles down the road.”

“Is there any chance, any chance whatever,” Mason asked, “that you could have been deceived by someone who was impersonating Mr. Theilman, someone who told you—”

“Not a chance in the world,” she interrupted. “I know Mr. Theilman’s voice. As a secretary I’m trained to listen to voices on the telephone.”

Mason shook his head. “Janice,” he said, “it’s an impossible combination of circumstances, and the minute you get on the stand and try to make that story stand up they’ll tear you to pieces.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Well,” Mason said, “if that’s your story, that’s your story, but I have a feeling that you’re still holding out on me. I have a feeling that you’re still trying to deceive me and — well, if you are, it’s going to be your funeral, and when I say it’s going to be your funeral I mean it literally.”

She started to cry. “You don’t trust me.”

Mason looked at her thoughtfully and said, “You puzzle me, Janice, but I’m going to present your case to this jury for everything that’s in it.”

“I wish you’d have more confidence in me,” she said.

“I wish I did too, but the physical evidence contradicts your story. You must have gone out there to that subdivision. You must have been there before that thunderstorm started, and you must have driven away after the thunderstorm.”

“I didn’t! I didn’t! I didn’t!” she said.

Mason shrugged his shoulders. “All right, Janice, it’s up to you. But I can’t put you on the stand and let you tell that story. It would be better for you never to take the stand, simply to sit tight and adopt the position that the prosecution has to prove you guilty beyond all reasonable doubt and that they haven’t done it.”

“Please, can’t I do that?” she asked eagerly. “Can’t I keep from going on that witness stand?”

“You’re afraid of the witness stand, aren’t you?”

“Yes. I don’t want them to ask me about — how I felt toward Mr. Theilman — what happened before his marriage. You said I didn’t have to.”

“You don’t have to,” Mason said. “The law gives you that right to remain silent, to force the prosecution to prove you guilty beyond all reasonable doubt without any necessity on your part to prove yourself innocent. But I’m going to tell you something as a matter of practical psychology, Janice. If they make out a case and you don’t go on the witness stand, you’re going to be convicted of first-degree murder.

“Because you’re young and attractive, and because of your loyalty to your employer in the years of association, they’ll probably give you the benefit of the doubt when it comes to fixing the penalty. They’ll give you life imprisonment instead of the gas chamber, but they’ll convict you of first-degree murder.”

“I can’t help it,” she sobbed.

“Dammit!” Mason said. “I’m afraid I can’t either,” and motioned to the officer that the interview was over.