Erle Gardner - The Case of the Substitute Face

For a long moment, Della Street was silent. Then she said, “No.”

“That,” Scudder announced triumphantly, “is all.”

Mason arose to cross-examine.

“Della,” he said, “did you tell me about what you saw?”

“No, I didn’t. I didn’t tell a living soul.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Because,” she said, “I thought that, as your secretary, I couldn’t be called as a witness. I thought that the testimony of Aileen Fell would cover everything I had seen and that therefore it was best for me to say nothing. I was afraid that if the newspapers knew of what I had seen, they would exaggerate it because of my connection with you, and perhaps make it seem you were suppressing evidence by not calling me to the stand.... So I kept quiet.”

She turned to face Judge Romley.

“I really and sincerely thought, Judge,” she went on, “that no one could make me testify if I didn’t want to because I understood it to be the law that a lawyer’s secretary couldn’t be called to testify against the lawyer’s client.”

“That is only as to privileged communications,” Judge Romley said kindly.

“I understand that now,” Della Street said. “I didn’t at the time. That’s why I kept quiet.”

A man pushed his way up the aisle of the courtroom, hurried to Scudder’s side, whispered in his ear.

Scudder listened, arose with a triumphant smile, and said to Judge Romley, “And if the Court please, as still further proof of the corpus delicti, the Prosecution will be prepared tomorrow at ten o’clock to produce the testimony of physicians who have conducted a postmortem on the body of the deceased. If the Court please, I am just advised that the body of Carl Moar has been discovered and is being taken to the morgue.”

The courtroom became a hubbub of excited noise.

“Under the circumstances,” Judge Romley said, “this case will be continued until tomorrow morning at ten o’clock.”

As the spectators milled into an excited crowd, Della Street left the witness stand. Mason pushed his way past Scudder. Newspaper photographers vaulted the mahogany rail separating the portion of the courtroom set aside for attorneys from that reserved for spectators.

“Chief,” Della Street said, “I’m so d-d-d-darned sorry.”

Mason held her close to him. “Poor kid,” he said.

A newspaper reporter yelled, “Hold that pose.” Flashlights etched the scene into brilliance.

Mason had had dinner served in his room. As waiters cleared away the tables, the lawyer grinned across at Della Street. “Don’t ever do anything like that again, Della,” he said. “I was frantic with worry.”

“I’ll say he was,” Paul Drake chimed in. “He snapped my head off every time I spoke to him.”

“I’m sorry, Chief, but I was afraid the newspaper reporters would exaggerate it and I knew everyone would think that I was holding something back.”

She motioned to the late edition of an evening newspaper and said, “You can see what they’ve done. Notice this headline:

Mason said, “I know. But anything is better than that suspense. Why didn’t you tell me before, Della?”

“I tried to, Chief. I dashed all over the ship, trying to hunt you up. Then, when I found you, you’d already agreed to see Mrs. Newberry through. Honestly, Chief, I don’t know whether she was the one who pushed him overboard or not. I couldn’t tell at the time and I can’t tell now. But I did realize how easy it would be for people to say I was suppressing evidence, so I just made up my mind I’d say nothing about it to anyone.

“Then, when I heard Paul tell you that the district attorney was on the trail of the witness who had telephoned the bridge and that the telephone operator claimed she could recognize the voice... well, I felt certain that sooner or later they’d suspect me, and then the newspapers would make a great fuss over it. So I thought it would be best to lie low for a few days until the preliminary was over.”

Drake said solicitously, “Where does that leave the case, Perry? Aren’t you in a spot?”

Mason said, “I guess so, but I’ve been in spots before. When will you get a report on that postmortem, Paul?”

“Just about as soon as the statement is released to the press. They—”

He broke off as the telephone rang, and said, “That must be it now.”

He held the receiver to his ear, said, “Drake speaking,” then looked across at Mason, nodded, and said, “This is it.” After a few moments he said, “All right. Thanks, and thanks particularly for that tip on the bullet.”

He hung up the telephone and said to Mason, “Well Perry, there it is. The body’s that of Moar all right. A bullet was fired into his back, just below the right shoulder blade. It ranged downward and lodged near the left hip. Death apparently wasn’t instantaneous. He’d managed to keep afloat for some few minutes. He’d stripped himself down to his underwear and managed to swim to one of the life rings which had been thrown out. He’d wedged himself inside that life ring, and died within a few minutes. Death was caused by the gunshot wound, and not by drowning.

“Apparently, he was a strong swimmer, and had removed his coat, shirt, collar, tie and pants. He couldn’t get off his shoes because they were high-laced shoes. The knot on one was jammed as though he’d tried to get it off. He evidently died within fifteen or twenty minutes of the time he reached the life ring. It’s funny they didn’t see him from the ship.”

Mason said, “There was such a sea running and such a driving rain it was impossible to make any thorough search. The ship was bobbing around like a cork, and the rain was coming down in torrents. It seemed to bolt up the light from the searchlights.”

“Well, Drake said, “here’s something else: He was shot with a thirty-eight caliber bullet, but that bullet wasn’t fired from the revolver they found on deck.”

Mason snapped to startled attention. “It wasn’t?”

“The ballistics expert says it wasn’t.”

“And he was only shot once?”

“That’s right. Just the one wound which entered in the back on an angle. That probably was the shot which was fired into him as he was balanced on the rail.”

“Wait a minute,” Mason said, “there were two shots fired. Aileen Fell says she heard two shots, and there were two exploded chambers in the gun.”

“That’s right,” Drake said. “But the bullets from that gun didn’t kill Carl Moar. He must have been killed by a bullet fired from another gun.”

“Then there should have been three explosions,” Mason said.

Drake nodded.

Mason abruptly got to his feet, pushed his thumbs through the armholes of his vest and started pacing the floor. After several minutes, he turned to stare thoughtfully at them.

“I know what may be a solution,” he said. “It makes sense, and it’s the only thing which does make sense. But I can’t unscramble it until I can get Eves and Evelyn Whiting into court.”

“Well, you can’t get them into court,” Drake said. “I’ve had men running down every clue, Perry. It’s hopeless. Eves is no amateur. He knows the ropes, and he’s gone into hiding. It would take the concerted efforts of an organized police force to land him.”

Della Street said, “Chief, couldn’t you go to the district attorney and tell him what you have in mind and have him put the police on the job?”

“Not so you could notice it,” Mason said. “If Scudder thought he could help me dig up witnesses to prove Mrs. Moar innocent, his lack of enthusiasm would be utterly astounding.”