Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Buried Clock

Coincident with this development, police have found evidence which definitely establishes the place where the crime was committed. Near a granite rock, some seventy-five yards from the Blane cabin where Hardisty’s body was found, police found the broken fragment of a spectacle lens. A test by competent experts shows that was a fragment from Jack Hardisty’s glasses — glasses which incidentally were not found on the body of the dead man.

In the face of this information, the district attorney of Kern County has stepped to one side, and jurisdiction will be held in Los Angeles County...

Perry Mason threw the newspaper aside impatiently. Della Street’s eyes met his. “You almost made it, Chief.”

Mason said, “Almost doesn’t count — not in this game.”

“I notice that you were ‘permitted to leave the premises without being searched.’ ”

Mason said bitterly, “Sure, that’s a swell way of insinuating to the public that Paul Drake and I walked in and picked up ninety thousand bucks of stolen money, that we’re going to use it as our fees. It’s a nice little example of police innuendo.”

“Can’t you do something about that?”

Mason shook his head. “There’s nothing libelous in the statement. We were permitted to leave the premises unsearched. That’s the fact. I probably should have demanded that they search us, but we were so anxious to get out of there while the getting was good, that I didn’t give the matter very much thought.”

Della said, “Well, if the murderer did rely on astrology in order to pick an auspicious moment for committing the crime, he did a darn good job. This case certainly seems to be jinxed. First it’s one thing and then it’s another.”

Mason lit a cigarette. “Trying a lawsuit is like changing a flat tire. Sometimes the jack works perfectly, the rim comes off, the new tire goes on, and you’re on your way so smoothly that you hardly know you’ve had a flat. Sometimes everything goes wrong. The jack won’t work, and when you finally get the car up, it rolls off the jack, the old tire sticks, the new rim won’t go on... And this is a case just like that, where everything has gone wrong to date.”

“You’ve seen Mrs. Hardisty?”

“Yes.”

“What does she say?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

“You mean she won’t talk to you — as her attorney?”

“She won’t say a word. Not only to the police, but to me.”

“And how about Adele?”

“Adele Blane was hiding because she knew that her sister had written Dr. Macon a note that was what is known as indiscreet.”

“Indiscreet in the Victorian or the legal sense?” Della Street asked with a smile.

“Both.”

“And she’s told that to the police?”

“I don’t know what she’s told the police. I doubt if even she does. They got her talking, and I understand she made some contradictory statements. However, I doubt if they got very much out of her.”

“Dr. Macon?”

“Dr. Macon is in love. He’s one of those self-reliant surgeons who has been trained to tackle anything — and he may have killed Jack Hardisty.”

“We’re not representing him?” Della Street asked.

“Definitely not,” Mason said. “We’re representing Mrs. Jack Hardisty, and she’s the only one we’re representing. She’s probably in love with Dr. Macon, knows some evidence that incriminates him, and therefore won’t say a word, even to me.

“Another thing that bothers me is the cocksure attitude of the district attorney’s office. I understand a new deputy is going to try it — a chap by the name of Thomas L. McNair. He’s supposed to be a legal whirlwind. Came out here from the east somewhere, and has one of the most brilliant trial records of any young lawyer in the country. A percentage of nine convictions out of every ten cases tried — and for some reason or other, the district attorney’s office is laughing up its sleeve, just lying in wait for me.”

“And that’s why you think this case is going to be one of those that will be like the flat tire that goes wrong.”

Mason nodded moodily. “Something,” he said, “is in the wind. There are certain angles of this case about which I know nothing... You’ve always told me that it would be better for me to stay in my office and wait until cases came to me as other lawyers do, instead of getting out on the firing line. Well, this is once you can see how it works. From the start I’ve been one jump behind, and I know from the way they are acting, the district attorney’s office is virtually certain of getting a conviction of both defendants.”

“Who’s representing Dr. Macon?” Della Street asked.

Mason grinned. “Dr. Macon. Trust the old self-reliant surgeon for that. He’s going to rush right in where angels fear to tread—”

The door opened somewhat explosively. Paul Drake, too excited even to bother with the formality of knocking, entered Mason’s office. “They’ve got you, Perry!” he announced.

“Who has?”

“The D. A.”

“On what?”

“That Hardisty case. They’ve got a dead open-and-shut case, a lead-pipe cinch. You’d better try to cop a plea.”

“Has there been a confession?”

“No. But they’ve uncovered some evidence that makes it tighter than a drum. I don’t know just what it is, but it has to do with a hypodermic syringe. I’ve found out that much. The district attorney let down the bars to one of the newspaper boys. He told this reporter that he just wanted to see your face when the evidence came in. He said in all the other cases you’ve tried, you’ve known in advance what the evidence was going to be, that this time, you’re going to have the props knocked out from under you.”

“Under those circumstances there’s only one thing to do.”

“What’s that?”

Mason grinned. “Trust to cross-examination.”

Drake said, “I think you’d better try to cop a plea, Perry. I don’t think the district attorney will let you. He’s been laying for you for a long time, and this time he thinks he has you where he wants you. But you might manage a plea.”

Mason said, “I don’t think I could get a plea. I wouldn’t even try, unless Milicent Hardisty confessed to me that she was guilty and asked me to... What have you found out about the sliver of spectacle lens, Paul?”

Drake’s face showed a surprise. “Why,” he said, “I thought the D. A.’s office had that all sewed up.”

“What do you mean?”

“They’ve checked that piece of lens Harley Raymand gave them, and it matches up absolutely with Jack Hardisty’s prescription.”

“And how about the piece you have?”

“Why, it’ll be the same of course.”

“You mean you haven’t had it tested?”

“No.”

Mason said, “Have it tested.”

“But, Perry, it’ll be the same.”

“How do you know it will?”

Drake thought the question over for a second or two, then grinned and said, “I’m just acting on the assumption that it will, I guess, Perry.”

Mason nodded. “Have it checked, Paul.”

The selection of the jury in the case of The People of the State of California vs . Milicent Blane and Jefferson Macon consumed a day and a half. At two o’clock in the afternoon of the second day, the jurors, having been sworn to try the case, settled back comfortably in their seats and looked expectantly at the district attorney.

Thomas L. McNair, the new, brilliant trial deputy, walked over to stand in front of the jurors to make his opening statement.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I will make no detailed statement of what we intend to prove. I shall let the evidence itself speak for the prosecution. I have long thought that it was presumptuous for a district attorney to tell intelligent men and women what the evidence means, or what he expects it to mean. I shall, therefore, merely content myself with showing that on the first day of October, of the present year, the defendants murdered Jack Hardisty, the husband of the defendant, Milicent Hardisty. I shall leave you, ladies and gentlemen, to deduce what happened. I will call as my first witness, Frank L. Wimblie, from the coroner’s office.”