“And yet you recognized him?”
“I recognized him.”
“You understand the importance of being absolutely correct in your testimony?”
“I do.”
“You understand the seriousness of this trial?”
“Certainly.”
“And yet you are willing to swear positively that this figure which you saw, wearing only a nightgown, a figure walking away from you, at a distance of thirtyfive feet, in the moonlight, was the defendant?”
“I do.”
“You looked at the clock when you got up?”
“Yes.”
“And again when you came back to bed?”
“I think so, yes.”
“What time was it when you first got up?”
“Exactly three o’clock.”
“What time was it when you came back to bed?”
“Why, just about the same time, I don’t suppose over thirty seconds had elapsed.”
“And you noticed the hands of the clock for the second time, just before you got in bed?”
“Yes.”
“As a matter of fact, wasn’t it quarter past twelve?”
“No.”
“When you first reported what you had seen, didn’t you place the time at quarter past twelve?”
“I may have.”
“At that time, your recollections were more vivid and fresh than they are now, were they not?”
“No.”
“They weren’t?”
“No.”
“Do I understand you to say that your recollection becomes more vivid with the passage of time?”
“It does in this case, yes.”
“Because when you learned the killing must have taken place at approximately three o’clock you transposed the position of the hands of the clock in your mind so that you could be a star witness in this case and…”
Judge Markham pounded with his gavel. “I think, Counselor, that about the star witness is unnecessary.”
“I wish to show the motive of the witness.”
“It isn’t so!” Duncan shouted. “I know now that it was three o’clock in the morning. There’s no chance it was quarter past twelve.”
“Your eyesight’s good?” Mason asked.
“Very good.”
“And it was on the morning of the fourteenth?”
“Certainly.”
“You wore glasses, didn’t you?”
“I have worn glasses for thirtyfive years.”
“And you were wearing glasses habitually during the period covered in your testimony?”
“Yes.”
“Did you put on your glasses when you got up to look out of the window?”
“No… Yes, I guess I did. I think I must have.”
“Why did you put them on?”
“To see with, of course.”
Once more there was a titter which ran around the courtroom, but this time, something in the tense attitude of Perry Mason caused the titter to subside even before the bailiff could rap for order. “In other words, then,” Mason said, “when you were aroused by a marauder prowling about your room in the dead of night, the very first thing you did after wakening was to put on your glasses so that you could see to better advantage, is that right?”
“Well, what’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing is wrong with it, Mr. Duncan, I am asking you if that is what happened.”
“Yes, I guess so.”
“In other words, you knew that your eyes would be virtually valueless without the glasses.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“No,” Mason said, smiling, “you didn’t say it, but your actions said it more plainly than words. You put on your glasses because you knew you couldn’t see without them. Isn’t that right?”
“I knew they’d help me to see.”
“You knew that you couldn’t see clearly any great distance without them, didn’t you?”
“Well, my eyesight’s a lot better with them on than with them off.”
“And with your glasses your eyesight was quite good?” Mason asked.
“Oh, yes.”
“Would you say it was perfect?”
“I’d say that it was normal.”
“Perfectly normal?”
“If you want to express it that way, yes.”
“Then,” Mason said, pointing his forefinger at Duncan, “why was it that, immediately after you had reported to the district attorney what you had seen, you were sent to an oculist to have new glasses fitted?”
Burger shouted, “He wasn’t instructed to do any such thing! I resent that insinuation!”
“Why did you do it?” Mason asked Duncan.
“I didn’t say that I did it.”
Mason, pounding his fist on the counsel table, said, “I say you did it, then. Why did you do it?”
Duncan squirmed uncomfortably. “Well,” he said, “I wanted to, that’s all.”
“Why did you want to?”
“I’d been wanting to for some time and hadn’t had a chance to do it. I’d been too busy. You understand I’m a very busy attorney.”
“Oh,” Mason said, “you’d been putting it off, then, for some time.”
“Yes.”
“You’re quite busy?”
“Yes.”
“How long have you been quite busy?”
“For years.”
“And did you put off getting these glasses during the time you’d been busy?”
“During much of it, yes.”
“You’d put off getting these glasses for years, then, is that right?”
“Yes… No, that isn’t what I meant.”
“Never mind what you meant. What are the facts of the case? How long had you put off getting new glasses?”
“I don’t know.”
“When were you last fitted for glasses before the fourteenth of this month?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“As much as five years ago?”
“I don’t know.”
“As much as ten years ago?”
“I don’t think so.”
“And the very first thing you did after telling the district attorney what you saw was to go out and consult an oculist and get glasses. Isn’t that right?”
“It wasn’t the first thing I did.”
“It was just about the first thing you did, wasn’t it?”
“I don’t know.”
“It was that evening, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, it was that evening.”
“And did you find an oculist in his office on that evening?”
“Yes.”
Mason’s smile was fiendish. “You found him there, Mr. Duncan, because you had previously telephoned and made an appointment with him, isn’t that right?”
Duncan hesitated a minute and then said, “No, I didn’t telephone to him.”
Mason frowned for a moment, then triumphantly asked, “Who did telephone to him?”
Blaine jumped to his feet. “Your Honor,” he said, “that’s objected to as incompetent, irrelevant and immaterial. It makes no difference who telephoned to the oculist.”
“It does, in view of the answers the witness has been giving to these questions,” Perry Mason said. “This is a witness who is an attorney. I have a right to impeach his testimony by showing the condition of his eyesight at the time in question. This witness has admitted that he needed glasses and has also admitted that the glasses he put on were insufficient and had been insufficient for years. I also have a right to show his bias and interest, as developed by his evasive answers.”
“I think,” Judge Markham said, “I’ll permit him to answer the question. Who telephoned the oculist, Mr. Duncan, if you know.” Duncan hesitated.
“Go on,” Mason said, “answer the question.”
In a voice which was barely audible, Duncan said, “Mr. Blaine.”
“The deputy district attorney,” Mason inquired, “who has ju
st finished making such a vociferous objection that my question was incompetent, irrelevant and immaterial.”
A roar of laughter swept the courtroom. Judge Markham frowned, then permitted himself a halfsmile. “That will do, Counselor,” he said sternly, then, looking at the clock, “It has approached the hour of adjournment. I think we have made very good progress for today. Court will adjourn until tomorrow. The Court is going to remand the jury to the custody of the sheriff, who will keep them in his charge and permit no person to approach them or address them, nor will he address them himself, except upon matters not connected in any way with the case. Court is adjourned until ten o’clock tomorrow morning.”
Chapter 20
MASON, pacing back and forth across his office, looked frowningly at Della Street. The indirect lights failed to soften the scowl lines which were furrowed across the lawyer’s forehead. “Damn it, Della,” he said, “the thing doesn’t click.”
“Why doesn’t it click?”
“I can’t understand what’s wrong with Mrs. Kent.”
“You haven’t heard anything from her?”
“Not a thing. You’re certain that Pritchard met her?”
“Absolutely. He was making a rush play for me, but he dropped me like a hot potato when I told him about Mrs. Kent’s money.”
“Good looking?”
“I’ll say.”
“Make your heart go pittypat?” he asked.
“Not mine, but he’s a swell looker. He looks like a Venus de Hollywood.”
“Hair?”
“Wonderful, dark rich brown, beautifully marcelled. Lights in it. And they match his eyes. Boyish face, without a line in it. A little trick mustache. He wears his clothes nicely and his lips are fascinating, particularly when he talks. You can see them forming every word so distinctly. And when he dances, he makes you feel like thistledown.”
“She seemed to be falling?”
“Falling is right. She was looking at him with her heart in her eyes.”
“How the devil can a woman get her heart in her eyes?”
“Want me to show you?” she challenged. He took a quick step toward her. Her eyes studied his face appraisingly, “Strictly for the sake of the business?” she added.
His arm was reaching for her when knuckles made a gentle tapping motion on the corridor door. Mason froze into rigid immobility. The knock was repeated. “Bet you five bucks that’s Doris Sully Kent,” he said.
Della Street started for the law library. “I knew something would happen,” she remarked, jerking the door open. “Be sure to switch on the loud speaker, Chief. I’ve got pencils and notebook in there.” She closed the door behind her with a slam.
Mason stepped to the corridor door. Doris Sully Kent smiled up at him. “I knew I’d find you here, Mr. Mason.”
“Come in,” he invited.
She entered the room, smiled sweetly at him, placed herself in a chair so that her blonde hair showed to advantage against the black leather. “Working hard?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry I interrupted you, but I thought you might be interested.”
“You have a lawyer?”
“Not me. Not now.”
“Well?” he asked.
She extended a glove forefinger and traced little curving lines along the skirt where it was stretched tightly over her leg. Her eyes followed the moving tip of her forefinger. While she spoke she did not once glance at him. “I’ve been thinking things over. I’m willing to admit I started that Santa Barbara action because I knew Pete was going to get married again, and I didn’t see any reason why I should let him dissipate his property on some golddigger. I understand the woman is a nurse. Think of it, Peter Kent marrying a nurse!”
“What’s wrong with a nurse?” Mason asked.
“Everything,” she replied, “so far as Peter Kent is concerned. She has to work for a living.”
“And a mighty fine thing,” Mason said. “I like women who work for a living.”
“It isn’t that. It’s not that I’m snobbish. It’s the fact that she’s after Peter Kent’s money.”
“I don’t agree with you.”
“We don’t need to discuss it, do we?”
“You brought it up.”
“Well, I was just trying to explain to you why I had a change of heart.”
“Do I understand you’re trying to tell me you’ve experienced a change of heart?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I suddenly decided that, even if Peter is a little off mentally, and wants to squander his money, I shouldn’t stop him. If that’s what it takes to make him happy, I want him to be happy.”
“So what?” Mason asked skeptically.
“I knew you wouldn’t believe me,” she said wearily, “you think I’m coldblooded and mercenary. I do wish I could do something to convince you I wasn’t. I value your good opinion very much indeed, Mr. Mason; more, perhaps, than you realize. I have met lots of attorneys, but I have never met anyone who seemed to be as straightforward, as vigorous, and as… as ruggedly honest as you are. And I could see you didn’t like me. Men usually like me. I want very much to have you like me.”
Mason opened his cigarette case, extended it to her. She took a cigarette, suddenly lifted her eyes to his, smiled and said, “Say ‘thank you.’“
“Thank you,” Mason said, tonelessly. He gave her a light, then transferred the flaming match to the tip of his own cigarette and regarded her quizzically through a cloud of cigarette smoke. “Well?”
“The district attorney wants to put me on the witness stand.”
“To prove what?”
“To prove that Peter tried to kill me with a carving knife.”
“Does he think he can use your testimony?”
“He said, to use his exact words, ‘Somewhere along the line Mason will open the door so I can use you on rebuttal.’“
“Anything else?”
“You’re not making it particularly easy for me.”
“If I knew just what you had in mind,” he told her, “I might make it easier.”
“I want to let Peter have his divorce.”
“Why?”
“Because I think that’s the best thing for him.”
“And just how do you propose to go about it?” he asked.
“I want to dismiss all of my actions. That would clear everything up. The final decree has already been granted, and, if I dismiss everything, that would give Peter a clean slate, wouldn’t it?”
Mason didn’t answer her question directly but said, “Just how much did you expect in return?”
“What made you think I expected anything?”
“Don’t you?”
“I’m not mercenary. I don’t want any of Peter’s money, but I’m untrained, I haven’t any profession, I haven’t any skill nor any calling. I can’t even run a typewriter or take shorthand.”
“How much?” he asked.
Some swift emotion flamed in her eyes, then died. “How much would you suggest?” she asked demurely.
“I couldn’t make any suggestion.”
“You could suggest what Peter would be willing to pay, couldn’t you?”
“No.”
“I’d take two hundred thousand dollars in cash. That would enable me to keep on living in the style to which Peter accustomed me.”
“Don’t do it,” Mason told her; “it isn’t worth it.”
“Isn’t worth what?”
“Going on living at that price.”
“You’re trying to tell me how I should live?” she flared.
He shook his head and said, “No, I’m trying to tell you what you can’t get.”
“What can’t I get?”
“Two hundred thousand dollars.”
“I don’t see,” she told him, her finger now making rapid excursions over the dress material, “how I could get along on any less.”
“Oh, well,” Mason said, “you’re get
ting fifteen hundred a month. Suppose you go ahead and keep on taking that. That would be a lot better than a lump sum. You’ll have a fixed monthly income and, if anything should happen, you’d be taken care of.”
“How long would that continue?”
“Indefinitely,” he told her, “unless, of course, you got married.”
“No,” she said, “I don’t want to be a drain on Peter that way. I would prefer just taking some little settlement and getting out.”
“What do you mean by a little settlement?”
“Two hundred thousand dollars.”
Mason shook his head gravely. “No, I wouldn’t suggest that my client pay you a lump sum. You’ve been so fair all the way through that I really think you’d better keep that fifteen hundred a month. I’d say that, in the long run, you’d be a lot better off than if you had a large sum of money.”
“Suppose I came down?”
“How much?”
“Suppose I told you exactly what my lowest price is, Mr. Mason? One hundred thousand dollars.” Mason yawned, covered the yawn with polite fingers, shook his head. “You’re very difficult to deal with.”
“Oh, well,” Mason told her, “go ahead and get an attorney, if you feel that way about it, and I’ll deal through him.”
“I don’t want to split with any lawyer.” Mason shrugged his shoulders. She suddenly dashed her cigarette to the floor, jumped to her feet and said, “Well, make me an offer! Don’t sit there like a bump on a log. I’ve got things to do.”
“What?” he asked her, raising his eyebrows.
“None of your damn business. Make me an offer.”
“For what?”
“For a complete cleanup all the way along the line.”
“You’ll get out?”
“I’ll say I’ll get out.”
“Without bothering Peter Kent or seeing him again?”
“If I never see him again, that’s six months too soon.”
Mason shook his head and said slowly, “No, I think my client has changed his mind about getting married. Only yesterday he mentioned how beautiful you were. Frankly, I think it might be possible to effect a reconciliation.”
“I don’t want a reconciliation.” Mason shrugged his shoulders. “Look here,” she said, still standing, her eyes glittering, cheeks flushed, “I read the newspaper accounts of the trial today.”
“Well?” he asked.
“Well, Maddox was asked about a telephone call.”
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