Judge Markham, veteran of a thousand major criminal trials, sat in austere dignity behind the elaborately carved mahogany "bench." He stared down at the crowded courtroom, surveyed the patient, masklike countenance of Perry Mason, looked over the alert, quivering eagerness of John C. Lucas, the trial deputy who had been selected to represent the rights of the people.
"The case of the People versus Rhoda Montaine," he said.
"Ready for the prosecution," Lucas snapped.
"And for the defendant."
Rhoda Montaine sat by a deputy sheriff. She was clad entirely in dark brown, relieved only by a white trimming at her throat and sleeves. The strain had told upon her, and her manner was nervous, her eyes were swift and darting as they shifted rapidly about the courtroom, but there was something in the tilt of her head, something in the set of her lips that proclaimed to even the most casual observer that, regardless of the strain, she would retain her poise and selfpossession, even should the verdict of the jury be "murder in the first degree."
John Lucas glanced at the defendant and frowned. This was a dangerous attitude for any attorney to encourage in a woman who was accused of murder, far better to coach her to take advantage of all the prerogatives of her sex—to be feminine and weak; to apparently be on the verge of hysteria. A stern, capable woman might well commit murder; a feminine, delicate woman whose nerves were quivering from contact with a courtroom would be less likely to kill in cold blood.
The droning voice of the clerk called men to the jury box.
Lucas arose, made a brief statement of the nature of the case, looked up to Judge Markham.
"Under the law," said Judge Markham, "the Court is required to ask a few preliminary questions of the prospective jurors, touching their qualifications to act as jurors. Those questions may be supplemented by other questions from counsel." He turned to the jury and went through a ritual which was, so far as the selection of the jury was concerned, virtually without meaning.
He asked the jurors, in a tone of voice which indicated he was merely performing a meaningless chore, whether they had formed or expressed any opinion concerning the merits of the case; whether, if so, such an opinion would require evidence to remove, or whether, if they were selected as jurors, such opinion could be set aside and they could embark upon the trial of the case with a fair and open mind. As was to be expected, such questions brought out no disqualifications. The jurors, listening to the droning monotone of the judicial monologue, nodded their heads in silent acquiescence from time to time.
Judge Markham turned to counsel. "I am aware," he said, "that the legislature sought to expedite trials by providing that the Court should examine prospective jurors, and that this examination might be supplemented by questions asked by counsel. I am equally aware that within certain limits of propriety, an examination by counsel is far more efficacious than interrogations by the Court for the purpose of ascertaining the qualifications of jurors. The defense may inquire."
Judge Markham settled back in his seat, nodded to Mason.
Perry Mason got to his feet, turned to face the first juror who had been called to the box. "Mr. Simpson," he said, calling the juror by name, "you have stated that you can fairly and impartially act as a juror in this case?"
"Yes, sir."
"You have no bias, no prejudice one way or the other?"
"No, sir."
"You feel that you can treat the defendant in this case with fair impartiality?"
"I do."
Perry Mason's voice rose. His hands flung out in a dramatic gesture.
"In what I am about to say, Mr. Simpson," he said, "there is no personal implication; it is a question which I consider it my duty to ask on behalf of my client. It is a question which is necessitated by reason of the fact that legal histories fairly swarm with instances in which circumstantial evidence has brought about convictions predicated upon a fortuitous chain of circumstances, circumstances which have subsequently been completely clarified and found to have no sinister significance whatever, yet circumstances which have, in the meantime, resulted in the conviction of an innocent person. Therefore, I ask you, Mr. Simpson, if through some fortuitous chain of circumstances, you should find yourself unlucky enough to be placed in the chair now occupied by the defendant, charged with the crime of murder in the first degree, would you, or would you not, be willing to trust your fate in the hands of twelve persons who felt toward you as you now feel toward the defendant?"
The dazed juror, listening to the dramatic array of words, getting the general idea without the specific meaning of each and every word impressing itself upon him, slowly nodded his head.
"Yes," he said.
Perry Mason turned to the other members of the jury. "Is there any member of this jury," he said, "who would not answer that question as Mr. Simpson has answered it? If so, hold up your hand."
The other jurors had been waiting for the time when they would be singled out for a verbal heckling. Suddenly dazed by this swift turn of events, they looked from one to the other for mutual support. None of them fully understood the question. None of them felt like making himself conspicuous by holding up his hand.
Perry Mason turned to the Court with a triumphant smile. "Under the circumstances, your Honor, we could ask for nothing better than this jury. Pass for cause."
John Lucas jumped to his feet, his voice incredulous. "You mean," he asked, "that you're passing for cause in a murder case with no more examination than this?"
Judge Markham banged his gavel. "You heard the remark of counsel, Mr. Lucas," he said. But even the eyes of the magistrate sought Perry Mason's face in puzzled speculation. Judge Markham had seen enough of Mason's swift strategy in court to realize that the lawyer was playing for some master stroke, but he could not anticipate just what it was in this case.
John Lucas took a deep breath, swung his chair around and said, "Very well."
"You may examine the jurors," said Judge Markham.
And John Lucas proceeded to examine the jurors in detail. Very obviously he thought that Perry Mason had «planted» some very friendly person on that jury. Knowing the reputation of the man against whom he was pitted, Lucas saw no alternative other than to smoke this friendly juror out into the open; and he proceeded throughout the course of an interminably long afternoon to question the jurors as to their fairness and impartiality. And slowly the conviction was built up in the courtroom that Perry Mason, for the defense, had been satisfied to take the jurors' word for the fact that they were fair and impartial, but that the district attorney's office must heckle and browbeat them in an attempt to prove that they were liars. Before the afternoon had finished there was a distinct attitude of snarling hostility creeping into the manner of John Lucas.
Slowly Judge Markham's face relaxed. Once or twice, at some particularly flagrant example of mutual distrust between the questioner and the jurors, his face almost twisted into a smile, and, at time of the evening adjournment, he looked at Perry Mason with twinkling eyes.
John Lucas was still nagging at the jurors the next morning. By eleven o'clock he finished and passed for cause. Moreover, Lucas showed a recognition of the losing battle he had been waging by excusing four of the jurors under peremptory challenges. Whereas Perry Mason not only waived his peremptory challenges, but in doing so, commented that he had "been satisfied with the jury all along."
John Lucas had a reputation for mental agility and a deep learning in the law. He had been selected by the district attorney to enter the lists against the hitherto invincible Perry Mason because of that quickness of mind. Lucas had embarked upon the battle with a grim determination that Perry Mason was not going to slip anything over on him, and this determination, so very apparent to every one in the court room, blinded the deputy district attorney to the impression he was creating upon the jurors.
Perry Mason, apparently, was trying to slip nothing over on any one. He was calm, serene and courteous, belying the reputation which had grown up about him of being a legal trickster, a juggler who could manipulate facts as a puppeteer manipulates his dummy figures. Court attaches who knew the dazzling technique of the lawyer realized that when he seemed the most innocent was the time when he would bear the closest scrutiny. But, to members of the jury, it seemed that Mason had a calm confidence in his case and his client, while the prosecution felt decidedly dubious.
The afternoon session opened with John Lucas showing the strain; with Perry Mason, suave, courteous, apparently confident that the innocence of his client would become plainly discernible from the testimony.
Officer Harry Exter was called to the stand. He testified with the belligerent emphasis of a police officer who defies counsel for the defense to try to rattle him. He was, he said, a member of the police force of the city; was one of the officers who was assigned to a radio car beat in car 62; that at two twentyeight A.M. on the morning of June 16th, he had picked up a call over the radio; that, in response to that call, he had made a quick run to the Colemont Apartments at 316 Norwalk Avenue; that he had entered the apartment and found therein a man in an unconscious condition; that he had summoned an ambulance and that the man had been removed; that, thereafter, the witness had remained in the apartment until a photographer had arrived and taken a photograph; until after fingerprint men had gone over the apartment looking for fingerprints; that no one, save the police, had entered the apartment from the time he arrived, that he had noticed a leather key container, in which were several keys, on the floor; that they lay slightly under the bed on the carpet; that he would know those keys if he saw them again.
Lucas produced a leather key container, held it toward Perry Mason, jingled the keys.
"Do you desire to inspect this, Counselor?" he asked.
Perry Mason shook his head. He seemed utterly indifferent.
The witness took the keys and identified them as the keys that he had discovered in the apartment. The keys were introduced as People's Exhibit A. The witness identified photographs of the room in which the body had been found, indicated the position of the body, and, when he had testified to various details, was turned over to Perry Mason for crossexamination.
Perry Mason raised neither his voice nor his eyes. He sat slumped in his chair, his head bowed. "There was an alarm clock in the room?" he asked in a conversational tone of voice.
"Yes."
"What became of it?"
"It was taken as evidence."
"Who took it?"
"One of the men on the homicide squad."
"Would you know the alarm clock if you saw it again?"
"Yes."
Perry Mason turned to John Lucas. "You have the alarm clock?" he asked.
"We have it," said Lucas, puzzled.
"Will you produce it?" asked Perry Mason.
"When we are ready," John Lucas said.
Perry Mason shrugged his shoulders, turned his attention once more to the witness. "Did you notice anything about this alarm clock?" he asked.
"Yes."
"What was it?"
"The alarm had been set for two o'clock in the morning, or perhaps a minute or two before two o'clock."
"The clock was running?"
"It was."
"Look at the photograph," said Perry Mason, "and see if the photograph, People's Exhibit B. shows the alarm clock."
"It does," said the witness.
"Would you mind pointing it out to the jury?"
There was a craning of necks as the jurors leaned forward and the witness, holding the photograph in his hand, pointed out the alarm clock.
"Might I ask to have the alarm clock produced now?" asked Perry Mason.
"It will be produced when we are ready to produce it," John Lucas remarked.
Perry Mason looked at Judge Markham. "I would like," he said, "to crossexamine this witness upon the alarm clock."
"The alarm clock has not been definitely brought into the case by the prosecution, as yet," Judge Markham said. "I think I will not force the prosecution to put on its case out of order. If, after the alarm clock is produced, you desire to examine this witness further, he may be recalled for further crossexamination."
"Very well," said Perry Mason listlessly, "I have no more questions."
John Lucas forged rapidly ahead. He called members of the homicide squad, members of the ambulance crew. He established the death of the man who had been taken from the apartment, introduced the poker which had been found in the apartment, with the gruesome stains of blood and the bits of hair adhering to the encrustations.
Perry Mason sat motionless, like some huge bear lying asleep in the sunlight and taking no notice of the circling approach of hunters. He asked no questions upon crossexamination.
Bit by bit John Lucas built up his case, and then he called Frank Lane to the witness stand. Frank Lane was a bright, alert young man of some twentyfive years of age. He testified to his name, address and gave his occupation as that of employee in a service station, giving the location of the service station and identifying it with reference to the residence of Rhoda Montaine. He was then asked if he had seen Rhoda Montaine on the morning of the sixteenth of June of the present year, and answered crisply in the affirmative.
"When?" asked John Lucas.
"At one fortyfive in the morning."
"What was she doing?"
"She was driving a Chevrolet coupe."
"Was there anything peculiar that you noticed about that coupe?"
"Yes, sir."
"What?"
"The right rear tire was flat."
"What did she do, if anything?"
"She drove the car into the service station and asked me to change the tire."
"What did you do?"
"I jacked up the car, unscrewed the lugs, took off the tire, unscrewed the spare tire lugs and put it back on the right rear. Then, when I let the car off the jack, I saw that the spare tire was nearly flat. I listened and heard air escaping from a small leak in the spare tire."
"Then what did you do?"
"I jacked the car back up, took off the spare tire and put in a new tube."
"Did you have any conversation with the defendant about the time?"
"Yes."
"What was it?"
"I asked her if she wanted me to repair the tube and she said that she was late for an appointment and that she couldn't wait. She told me to put in a new tube and repair the old one, that she'd call for it later."
"You gave her a ticket to serve as a claim check?"
"Yes, sir."
John Lucas produced a bit of numbered pasteboard. "Is this it?" he asked.
"That is it."
"What time did the defendant leave your service station?"
"At exactly ten minutes past two o'clock in the morning."
"Did you check the time in any manner?"
"I did, yes, sir. The time was checked in a book that I keep for entering repair work that is to be done by the day shift."
"And the defendant told you that she had an appointment to keep?"
"Yes."
"Did she say what time the appointment was for?"
" Two o'clock in the morning."
"Did she say where?"
"No."
John Lucas turned to Perry Mason with a sarcastic gesture. "Have you any questions of this witness?" he asked.
Perry Mason looked up at the witness, did not so much as move his body, but filled the courtroom with the booming resonance of his voice as he said, "The defendant drove into your station at one fortyfive?"
"Yes."
"Exactly one fortyfive?"
"Almost on the minute. It might have been a few seconds one way or another. I looked at the clock when she drove in."
"She left at two ten?"
"On the dot."
"During the interval between one fortyfive and two ten she was in your service station?"
"Yes."
"Watching you work?"
"Yes."
"Was she ever out of your sight?"
"No, she was there all the time."
"Is there any chance you're mistaken in your identification?"
"None whatever."
"You're positive?"
"Absolutely."
"That's all," said Perry Mason.
John Lucas called Ben Crandall to the stand. "Your name?"
"Benjamin Crandall."
"Where do you reside, Mr. Crandall?"
"At the Bellaire Apartments, 308 Norwalk Avenue, in this city."
"You resided there on June 16th last?"
"Yes."
"Were you in your apartment from midnight until two thirty on that date?"
"Yes."
"Are you familiar with the apartment known as Apartment B in the Colemont Apartments at 316 Norwalk Avenue?"
"Yes."
"I'll show you a diagram purporting to show the Colemont Apartments and also the Bellaire Apartments, and will ask you to designate your apartment on this diagram and also the position of Apartment B in the Colemont Apartments, with reference to your apartment." Lucas glanced up at Judge Markham. "I will state, your Honor, that I will subsequently connect up this map as far as its accuracy is concerned."
"No objections to the map or the questions," said Perry Mason.
"Proceed," said Judge Markham.
The witness pointed out the location of the two apartments. John Lucas produced a scale from his pocket. "There is, therefore," he said, making an elaborate show of extreme accuracy in applying the scale to the map, "a distance of less than twenty feet between your apartment and Apartment B in the Colemont Apartments, measuring in an air line."
Perry Mason shifted slightly in his chair. His deep voice rumbled across the courtroom. "That, your Honor," he said, "is acting, first, upon the assumption that the map is correct, and, secondly, upon the assumption that there is no difference in elevation between the two apartments. In other words, this map shows only a projected distance. It measures an air line between two apartments, so far as lateral distance alone is concerned; but does not take into account any slope or elevation between the windows of the two apartments."
Judge Markham looked across at John Lucas. "You have some side elevation map or sketch, Counselor?" Judge Markham asked.
Lucas bit his lip. "I'm afraid, your Honor," he said, "that I do not have such a map."
"The objection is sustained," said Judge Markham.
"Can you tell us how far it is, of your own knowledge?" asked John Lucas of the witness.
"Not in just so many feet or so many inches," said the witness.
There was a moment of silence. "It is about twenty feet?" asked John Lucas, plainly nettled.
"Objected to as leading and suggestive," said Perry Mason.
"Sustained," Judge Markham snapped.
John Lucas paused for a thoughtful moment. "Your Honor," he said, "I will withdraw that question. I will ask at this time that the jury be taken to view the premises so that they may see for themselves."
"There will be no objection on the part of the defense," said Perry Mason.
"Very well," said Judge Markham, "you may examine this witness as to any other matters and at three thirty o'clock the jurors will be taken to view the premises."
John Lucas smiled triumphantly. "Mr. Crandall," he said, "could you hear anything which took place in Apartment B in the Colemont Apartments early in the morning of the sixteenth day of June of the present year?"
"Yes."
"What did you hear?"
"I heard a telephone ring."
"Then what did you hear?"
"I heard a conversation, some one talking into a telephone."
"Do you know who was talking?"
"No, I only know that there was the sound of a voice—a man's voice—that it was coming from Apartment B in the Colemont Apartments."
"What was said in the telephone conversation?"
"He mentioned the name of a woman—Rhoda, I'm pretty sure the name was. He pronounced the last name so that I couldn't get it, but it had a foreign sound, ending with 'ayne' or something like that—the way he pronounced it made it sound like a foreign name, but I'm not sure. He said that this woman was to call on him at two o'clock in the morning and give him some money."
"What did you hear after that?"
"I dozed off, and then I heard peculiar sounds."
"What sort of sounds?"
"The sounds of a struggle, a scraping and banging, the sound of a blow and then silence. After that I thought I heard whispers."
"Did you hear anything else at that time?" asked Lucas.
"Yes, sir."
"What was it?"
"The steady, persistent ringing of a doorbell."
"Was it repeated?"
"Yes, it was repeated."
"Can you tell me how many times?"
"No, it was repeated several times."
"When did that ringing take place, with reference to the sound of struggle?"
"During the time of the struggle, during the time the blow was being struck."
John Lucas turned to Perry Mason. "Crossexamine," he snapped.
Perry Mason straightened slightly in his chair. "Now, let's get this straight," he said. "You first heard the ringing of the telephone bell?"
"Yes."
"How did you know it was a telephone bell?"
"Because of the manner in which it rang."
"Just how was that?"
"It rang mechanically. You know how a telephone rings—a ring for a second or two, then two or three seconds of silence, then another ring."
"That woke you up?"
"I guess so. It was a warm night. The windows were open. I was sleeping very lightly. At first I thought the telephone was ringing in my apartment…"
"Never mind what you thought," Perry Mason said. "What did you do and what did you see and what did you hear? That's all we're interested in."
"I heard the ringing of a telephone bell," said the witness belligerently. "I got up and listened. Then I realized the telephone was ringing in the apartment house to the north—the Colemont Apartments. I then heard the sound of a voice talking over the telephone."
"Then later on," said Perry Mason, "you heard the struggle?"
"That is right."
"And during the struggle you heard the doorbell?"
"That is correct."
"Wasn't it the telephone bell that you heard?"
"No, sir, absolutely not."
"Why are you so certain that it was not?"
"Because it was not the sound of a telephone bell—it was an entirely different type of bell. In the first place, there was more of a whirring sound to it. In the second place, it rang at longer intervals than a telephone bell rings."
Perry Mason seemed much disappointed by the answer. "Could you swear," he said, "that you were absolutely certain it was not the telephone?"
"I am swearing it."
"You are swearing that it was not the telephone?"
"Yes."
"You are as positive that it was not the telephone as you are of any other testimony you have given in this case?"
"Absolutely."
"Do you know what time this was?" asked Perry Mason.
"It was somewhere in the vicinity of two o'clock in the morning. I don't know exactly. Subsequently, when I became more wide awake, I notified the police. It was then two twentyseven A.M. There had been an interval of perhaps fifteen or twenty minutes—I don't know exactly how long—I had been dozing."
Perry Mason slowly got to his feet. "Don't you know," he said, "that it is a physical impossibility for one who is in Apartment 269 of the Bellaire Apartments to hear the doorbell ringing in Apartment B in the Colemont Apartments?"
"It isn't an impossibility. I heard it," said the witness truculently.
"You mean you heard a bell ringing. You don't know that it was the doorbell."
"I know it was the doorbell."
"How do you know it?"
"Because I recognized the sound of the ring. I know it was a doorbell."
"But you don't remember ever having heard the doorbell ringing in that apartment before?"
"No, this was a very hot night. It was a quiet, still night. There were no noises. The windows were all open."
"Answer the question," said Perry Mason. "You never heard the doorbell ring in that apartment before?"
"I can't remember."
"And you haven't listened to the doorbell since, in order to tell whether it was the doorbell that you heard or not?"
"No, I haven't. I didn't do it because I didn't have to do it. I know a doorbell when I hear one."
Perry Mason dropped back in his chair, smiled at the jury, a smile which was a scornful comment upon the testimony of the witness, but a smile, by the way, which brought no answering expression to the eyes of the jurors. "That," he said, "is all."
John Lucas took the witness for redirect examination. "Regardless of the measurements in feet and inches," he said, "you may state whether the distance is too great for you to have heard a doorbell."
Perry Mason was on his feet. "Objected to, your Honor," he said, "as not proper redirect examination, as argumentative, as assuming facts not in evidence, as leading and suggestive. This witness has stated that to the best of his knowledge he never has heard a doorbell in this apartment. Therefore, it is not proper for him to state whether a doorbell could or could not have been heard. This is the conclusion for the jury to draw. Never having heard a doorbell ring, it is obviously impossible for him to tell whether he could have heard a doorbell ring. It is only a surmise on his part."
Judge Markham nodded thoughtfully, and said, "The objection is sustained."
Lucas frowned, and then said after a moment. "You were able to hear the telephone bell when it rang?"
"Yes."
"Was that bell distinctly audible or faintly audible?"
"It was distinctly audible. It sounded so plain that I thought it was my own telephone."
"In your experience," asked Lucas hastily, "are telephone bells and doorbells about equally loud?"
"Objected to," Perry Mason said, "as leading, suggestive, calling for a conclusion…"
Judge Markham nodded and said decisively, "Counselor, the objection is sustained. The question is improper."
John Lucas thought for a moment, leaned toward one of the deputies at his side, and whispered for several seconds. A look of cunning was on his face. Once or twice, as he whispered, he smiled. The deputy nodded. Lucas straightened in his chair, and said, "That's all."
"Recrossexamination?" asked Judge Markham.
Perry Mason shook his head.
"It is approaching the time heretofore fixed for an examination of the premises by the jury," Judge Markham said. "We will, therefore, take a recess at this time and we will proceed to the premises which will be shown to the jury. During such time no testimony will be offered or taken. Counsel can agree, themselves, as to certain matters which are to be pointed out to the jurors. The jurors will inspect those things and observe the premises. We will then return to court for further testimony. Cars are in readiness to transport the jury and the court officials to the premises. The Court will endeavor to do its part by having the trip made expeditiously, so that the case may continue its usual rapid progress." Judge Markham turned to the jurors. "During the trip which we are about to make," he said, "you gentlemen will remember the previous admonition of the Court and not discuss the case or allow any one to discuss it with you. Nor will you form or express any opinion as to the guilt or innocence of the defendant."