Erle Gardner - The Case of the Substitute Face

“I think it is of the res gestae, ” the Prosecutor argued.

“The objection will be sustained,” Judge Romley ruled. “As the Court sees it, this testimony should be received only by way of impeachment.”

“Very well,” Scudder said with bad grace, you may leave the stand, Miss Adams.”

Mason’s voice was clear and steady. “If Della Street put in that telephone call,” he said, “you have only to ask her and she’ll tell you the truth.”

“I don’t need your advice,” Scudder snapped.

Judge Romley said in a tired voice, “That will do, gentlemen. If there is to be any more repartee between Counsel, the Court will restrict all remarks of Counsel to examination of witnesses and arguments made to the Court.”

“Miss Della Street,” Scudder said savagely.

A door opened, and a deputy escorted Della Street into the courtroom. Her face was expressionless. Her eyes avoided those of Perry Mason as she was being sworn.

“Your name is Della Street, and you are employed by Perry Mason, as his private and confidential secretary, and have been in his employ for several years last past?” Scudder asked.

Della Street said, “Yes.”

“You accompanied Perry Mason on a trip which he made to the Orient, acting as his secretary, taking down data on the police systems of China and Japan?”

“Yes.”

“And you were returning with Perry Mason on the ship which Mr. and Mrs. Moar took out of Honolulu?”

“Yes.”

“And you were acquainted with Mr. Moar and Mrs. Moar, knowing them under the name of Newberry?”

“Yes.”

“I show you a photograph which has been marked ‘People’s Exhibit A,’ and ask you if you can identify that photograph?”

“Yes.”

“Whose photograph is it?”

“That of Mr. Newberry.”

“The same one who was on the ship with you?”

“Yes.”

“Now then, do you remember the night of Sunday, the sixth of this month?”

“I do.”

“Where were you at approximately the hour of nine o’clock that evening?”

“I was on the promenade deck.”

“What were you doing there?”

“I was looking for Mr. Mason.”

“Mr. Mason had asked you to join him on deck?”

“Yes. Mr. Mason had an appointment with Mrs. Moar for nine-thirty. He told me to meet him at nine o’clock and we would have a liqueur .”

“And previous to that, you had been at the table with Mr. and Mrs. Moar-or Mr. and Mrs. Newberry, as they were known aboard the ship — Belle Newberry, and a Roy A. Hungerford?”

“Yes.”

“Now, can you fix the exact time when you appeared on deck?”

“Yes. It was approximately nine o’clock.”

“How do you know?”

“The ship’s bell struck twice within a second or two after I stepped out on deck.”

“Now, which deck was this?”

“The deck just below the boat deck.”

“Did you see anyone on that deck?”

Della Street hesitated for a moment, then said, “Looking aft, where the stairs went up to the boat deck, I could see the skirt of a woman’s dress, a woman’s feet and ankles. This woman was ascending the stairs.”

“Did you hear anything?”

“I heard peculiar thumping sounds from the deck above me.”

“Did you hear anything else?”

“I heard a loud noise.”

“You heard a shot, didn’t you?”

“I presume it was a shot, yes.

“Then what happened?”

“I started to walk back toward the stairs, up which I had seen the woman climbing. The ship was rolling heavily. Shortly before I reached the stairs, it took a very heavy roll to port, and I slipped on the wet deck.”

“What did you do?” Scudder asked.

“I tried to regain my balance, and ran toward a stanchion on the port rail. I caught hold of it and hung on.”

“What did you see?” Scudder asked.

“I saw something above me,” she said, “something hanging over the rail of the boat deck.”

“Did you see what this was?”

“At first I saw it as a vague object. I didn’t have my eyes focused on it. I had an impression of—”

“Never mind your first impression,” Scudder said. “You did focus your eyes on the object, didn’t you, Miss Street?”

“As nearly as I could, under the circumstances. As I looked up, I was looking directly into the rain. The drops flooded my eyes.”

“But you did see something. What was it?”

“It was a man,” Della Street said, avoiding Mason’s eyes.

“And was this man hanging to the rail?”

“I couldn’t see.”

“He was partially over the rail?”

“Yes.”

“And did you see anyone-else near him?”

“Yes. A woman was near him.”

“That woman was the defendant in this action, wasn’t she?” Scudder asked, pointing dramatically at Anna Moar.

“I don’t know,” Della Street said.

“ Why don’t you know?”

“Because I couldn’t see all of her. I saw a pair of bare arms and a stretch of back. I saw a dark colored dress over the woman’s right breast. The driving rain interfered with my vision.”

“This woman was wearing a black dress?” Scudder asked. “It was dark in color.”

“It might have been a black dress?”

“Yes.”

“In your judgment, it probably was a black dress?”

“Either black or dark blue.”

“Did you notice anything about the arms of this woman which would enable you to identify them?”

“Not definitely, no.”

“Did you see anything distinctive about them?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“There were two bracelets on the right arm.”

“Could you see those bracelets clearly?”

“No.”

“Could you recognize their design, workmanship, color or material?”

“No, I just saw two bracelets.”

“Now, you have testified that you were at the table with Mrs. Moar, the defendant in this action, earlier in the evening?”

“Yes.”

“At that time, was she wearing bracelets?”

“Yes.”

“How many?”

“Two.”

“Now, referring to what you saw taking place on the deck above you Was there anything in either of the woman’s hands?”

“Yes. There was an object in the woman’s right hand.”

“It was a revolver, wasn’t it?”

“I think so, Yes.”

“And you saw her fire that revolver into the man’s body?”

“Yes,” Della Street said.

“And then what happened?”

“The man fell into the ocean.”

“Falling past you?”

“Yes.”

“As a matter of fact, the woman pushed him into the ocean, didn’t she?”

“She may have.”

“Could you see the face of this man?”

“No.”

“Could you see how he was dressed?”

“I saw that he had on dark clothes.”

“And a white shirt front?”

“Yes.”

“And, a matter of fact, this woman shot him and pushed him overboard, didn’t she?”

“I can’t swear that she pushed him overboard.”

“What did you do after you saw the man go overboard?”

“I dashed into the social hall and telephoned the operator to tell the bridge there was a man overboard.”

“Didn’t you tell the operator that a man had been pushed overboard?”

Della Street hesitated, wet her lips with the tip of her tongue, and said, “Yes, I think I did.”

“And your best recollection is that the man was pushed overboard?”

“Perhaps he was, yes.”

“Could you recognize the man who went overboard as Mr. Moar?”

“No.”

“Could you recognize the woman who shot him and pushed him overboard as Mrs. Moar?”

“No.”

“Did you,” Scudder demanded, pointing a finger at her, “see anything about the figure of the woman who shot this man and pushed the body overboard which would enable you to swear it was not Mrs. Moar?”