Erle Gardner: The Case of the Drowning Duck

Mason grinned. “I sweat a little blood myself. I kept one eye on the clock and tried to stir up a lot of excitement that would take the district attorney’s mind off what he was doing. If I had used the usual tactics of objecting to the questions and the witnesses, I’d have simply centered suspicion on myself. As it was, I managed to stall it through, but don’t ever kid yourself — it was by the skin of my eyeteeth.”

She said, “Your eyeteeth won’t have any skin left. Did anyone ask why the duck didn’t sink eventually?”

“No,” Mason said.

“What would you have told them if they had?”

Mason grinned. “From the time Haggerty arrived in the room, he was in charge of the case. It was up to him to explain why the duck didn’t drown.”

Della Street studied him with the shrewd appraisal which a woman gives a man whom she knows very, very well. “You went into that apartment,” she charged. “You saw the drowning duck, and you thought that Marvin Adams had been there. You sympathized with him because his dad had been executed for murder and because he was in love, and you deliberately, willfully, maliciously, and with felonious intent started to juggle the evidence.”

Mason said, “You should add, against that peace and dignity of the People of the State of California.”

She looked up at him with laughing eyes. “How far is it to this desert inn?” she inquired.

“It’ll take us two hours’ hard driving.”

“I’ll telephone the office and tell Gertie,” she said. “When shall I tell her we’ll be back? How long will it take to get the dictation done in the will contest?”

Mason squinted his eyes thoughtfully, looked up at the cloudless blue of the Southern California desert sky, felt the welcome touch of the sunlight which bathed the metropolis in brilliant warmth.

“You tell Gertie,” he said, “that we’ll be back when she digs up a good murder case for us — and not before. Tell her that just any old ordinary murder case won’t do. We want...”

Della Street started toward the hotel, Mason striding along at her side, people on the streets craning their necks, turning to watch them.

Della Street looked up at Perry Mason. “Well,” she said, “you’ve contributed to the education of an agricultural community. You’ve shown them how to drown a duck. City slicker! Now, what else do you know?”