Erle Gardner - The Case of the Troubled Trustee

Drake took a small metal surveyor's stake from the place where he had been carrying it in his belt and pushed it into the ground, then tied a bright red ribbon in the loop.

"Camera?" Mason asked.

Della Street handed Mason a camera.

The lawyer circled the place, taking a dozen pictures from all different angles, showing the location with reference to all the fixed landmarks.

Then the lawyer carefully dropped the cartridge case into a pocket formed in a pocket handkerchief. Drake scratched the case. Mason examined it with a pocket magnifier.

The crowd of golfers, pushing closer, were almost breathing down the necks of the triumphant searchers.

"Just what does this mean?" one of the golfers asked.

Mason said, "It means that we now have corroboration- Well, I hadn't better discuss it here."

The lawyer looked up with a smile that was all but cherubic in its innocence. "I wouldn't want to be accused of trying to influence public thinking," he said. "You can look in the papers tomorrow and find much more than I am in a position to tell you now."

Drake touched Mason's arm. "Let's go where we can talk," he said.

Mason nodded, took Paul Drake's arm and smiled affably at the circle of golfers.

"If you'll pardon us just for a minute," he said, "we have a matter to discuss."

Mason led Drake through the circle which opened for them and over toward the rough.

"Well?" Mason asked.

Drake said, "Look, Perry, it's not up to me to tell you how to try a lawsuit, but you're going to get a terrific amount of publicity out of this."

"Well?" Mason asked.

"And it's going to backfire," Drake said. "If we had found a cartridge that had been taken from a revolver and thrown away, we'd have had something; but this is a shell that has been ejected from an automatic-a thirty-two-caliber automatic at that-and the murder gun is a thirty-eight-caliber snub-nosed Smith and Wesson revolver."

"And so?" Mason asked.

"So," Drake said, "no matter how you look at it, the thing can't be evidence."

"What do you mean it can't be evidence?" Mason said. "It was here. It's an expended cartridge."

"But there weren't two guns."

"How do you know there weren't?" Mason asked.

"Well, of course, we don't know, but we can surmise."

"Leave the surmising for the district attorney," Mason said. "You and I have just discovered a most important piece of evidence."

"Well, of course, it could be made to fit into your theory," Drake said, "but it would take a lot of highpressure salesmanship to convince the jury that it meant anything."

"After all," Mason told him, "a lawyer is, or should be, an expert in the field of high-pressure salesmanship. Come on, let's get back to complete the search."

"What do you mean, complete the search?"

"Well," Mason said, "we wouldn't want to call it off when the search was incomplete."

"How much more do you intend to search?"

"Well, quite a bit," Mason said. "We want to be sure there's nothing else here."

"I get you,"Drake said, wearily. "You're going to stall along until the newspapers start covering what we're doing."

Mason's eyes became wide. "Why, Paul Drake, how you talk," he said. "We're doing nothing of the sort. We're simply completing the search."

Drake said suddenly, "Look here, Perry, did you drop that cartridge case so my man could find it?"

"Of course not."

"Did Della?"

"You'll have to ask her."

"The district attorney will claim you planted it either in advance or while we were searching."

"Can he prove it?" Mason asked.

"Good Lord, I hope not!"

"So do I," Mason said. "Come on, Paul, let's get back to work."

The circle of interested spectators opened for the lawyer and the detective. Mason said to the operative, "All right, I think we've found what we were looking for, but let's just make sure there's nothing else here. Let's complete the search."

Slowly, a step at a time, they moved around the golf course until Drake nudged Mason's arm.

The lawyer looked up to see a newspaper reporter and a photographer with a camera and flashgun hurrying toward them.

"Keep right on with your search," Mason told the operative with the metal detector, "although I think we've just about covered the ground here. I think we have everything we need."

The reporter hurried up, pushed his way through the circle of spectators, said to Mason, "What's going on here, Mr. Mason?"

Mason frowned as though the interruption were unwelcome. "We're looking for evidence," he said shortly.

"What sort of evidence?"

Mason thought for a long moment, then grudgingly admitted, "Well, as you can see for yourself, it's metallic evidence."

Someone in the crowd said, "They've already found one empty cartridge case."

"An empty cartridge case?" the reporter asked.

Mason nodded.

"May we see it?"

Mason said, "We're trying to preserve it as intact as possible."

He took a handkerchief from his pocket, carefully unfolded it and showed the reporter the cartridge case nesting in the cloth. "Don't touch it," he warned. "I doubt if anyone can find any fingerprints on it, but we certainly don't want the evidence contaminated."

The reporter pulled out some folded newsprint from his pocket, took a soft, 6-B pencil and started scribbling.

The photographer fed flashbulbs into the gun on his camera. He shot two closeup pictures of the cartridge, then backed away and took two pictures of the group, carefully including Delia Street.

Mason very gently folded the handkerchief back over the cartridge case and put it in his pocket.

"Well," he said, "I think we have completed the search. r guess we found everything that was here."

He waited an appreciable moment, then added, "I may say that we've found everything that we thought was here."

"Just what caused you to think that cartridge was here, Mr. Mason?" the reporter asked.

Mason gave the question careful consideration. "There were," he said at length, "two shots. One at nine o'clock, one at approximately one hour later. Two shots mean two cartridges. There was only one empty cartridge in the gun which the police contend was the murder weapon."

"But that was a revolver," the reporter said. "This cartridge case that you have was ejected from an automatic."

"Exactly," Mason said, with an enigmatic smile, and then added, "I don't think I should be giving an interview at this time. Come on, folks, let's go."

Judge Alvarado surveyed the crowded courtroom with something of a frown. "The jurors seem to be all present, and the defendant is in court," he said. "I trust that the jurors have heeded the admonition of the Court and have neither listened to radio or television nor read papers concerning the case. I know that this imposes a hardship upon jurors, but the only alternative is to have jurors locked up for the duration of the trial and that is even more of a hardship.

"The jury will remember and heed the admonition of the Court. Gentlemen, you may proceed if you are ready."

"We are ready," Hamilton Burger said.

"We are ready, Your Honor," Mason rejoined.

"Then call your next witness."

Mason said, "Mr. Paul Drake, will you take the stand, please?"

Drake held up his hand, was sworn and took his position on the witness stand.

"What is your occupation?" Mason asked.

"I am a private detective."

"Are you familiar with the Barclay Country Club in this city?"

"I am."

"Are you familiar with the particular portion of the club which is in the vicinity of the seventh tee?"

"Yes, sir."

"When were you last there?"

"Yesterday afternoon at about three to four o'clock."

"What were you doing on the golf course at that hour?"