Erle Gardner: The Case of the Borrowed Brunette

“It has, Your Honor.”

“Then I suggest that we continue this case until tomorrow morning,” Judge Lindale said; “and that the prosecution, with the aid of the police, give special attention to ascertaining the facts about that garbage can and whether more garbage was added between two-twenty in the afternoon and the time when the gun was discovered. Court is adjourned.”

Harry Gulling pushed back his chair and rose from the table usually occupied by the prosecution counsel. His manner was grim and determined as he marched across to the defense table.

“Mr. Mason,” he said crisply.

Mason got up and turned to face him.

“I had hoped that before evening the case would have been sufficiently presented so that all of the facts would be before the Court and the public, and the defendants bound over.”

Mason merely nodded, watching the man in cautious appraisal.

“Unfortunately,” Gulling went on, “owing to your tactics the situation has changed. You have confused the issues as well as the Court, and this has to some extent changed my own plans.”

Mason still said nothing.

“Only to some extent, however.”

Out of the corner of his eye Mason saw two newspaper photographers holding their cameras in readiness.

“I feel,” Gulling went on, “that it is only fair to tell you now that my basic strategy has not been changed. I hand you herewith, Mr. Perry Mason, a subpoena to appear before the Grand Jury of this county at the hour of seven this evening.” And he pushed a paper at Mason.

Simultaneously the synchronized flashbulbs of two cameras flared into brilliance as photographers recorded the serving of the subpoena.

“Thank you,” Mason said, and calmly pocketed it.

“And I warn you, Mason,” Gulling went on, as the photographers hurried away to get their pictures developed in time to make the afternoon editions, “you’re going to’ be faced with a charge of perjury on the one hand or of being an accessory on the other. I now have evidence indicating that you picked up Eva Martell at the streetcar on the evening of the murder and spirited her away. I think that a certain party who runs a rooming house, and who has apparently been trying to protect you, is guilty of perjury. Investigation now discloses that she is a former client of yours whom you successfully defended some time ago. I feel it is only fair to tell you this much, so that you will be prepared.”

Mason advanced a step. “All right,” he said his face granite-hard, “you’ve prepared me. Now I’ll prepare you. You’ve made a personal issue out of this. You’ve walked into court on this case personally. I assume you’ll be with the Grand Jury tonight to examine me personally. You have a political job. I haven’t. You can turn the heat on me, and I can take it. If I turn the heat on you, I don’t think you can take it.”

“Right now,” Gulling said, “I am the one who is in the position to turn on the heat, and it’s going to be very hot, Mr. Mason!”

Mason, pacing back and forth across the floor of his office, said to Paul Drake, “The thing that bothers me in this case, Paul, is Mae Bagley.”

“What about her?”

“She tried to protect me. They came down on her like a ton of bricks without giving her any warning. As soon as that taxi driver told where he had picked Eva Martell up, the cops dashed down and grabbed Mae Bagley.”

“And she told them she’d never seen Eva Martell before?”

“That’s right.”

“Was she under oath?” Drake asked.

“Not then she wasn’t. Shortly afterward they dragged her up before the Grand Jury, and she was under oath then, of course. They’ll probably examine her again tonight.”

“Shucks, Perry, no matter how crude her first story was, have her stick to it. Of course she can simply refuse to answer on the ground that doing so might incriminate her.”

“It isn’t that simple,” Mason said. “Gulling is the type of technical-minded chap with a very exalted opinion of himself and an exaggerated idea of his own importance. He’s shrewd enough to know all the technical angles, and he’s getting ready to throw the book at everyone.”

“Well, they’ve evidently got the deadwood on you now, Perry. They know that you took Eva Martell to that rooming house. Can’t you show that Gulling gave you until noon to produce her; that you told her to surrender herself to the police well within the time limit given you by Gulling — and let it be your word and hers against what is merely Gulling’s insinuation that she wasn’t on the way to surrender herself when she was arrested? It seems to me you could beat the case that way, hands down.”

“That isn’t the point,” Mason said. “Mae Bagley tried to protect me. She said that she hadn’t had Eva Martell in her house. Now then, the minute she changes her story they get her on two counts. First, for failing to keep an accurate register of the people in her rooming house, and second, because of her previous false statement. They also make her an accessory after the fact in hiding a person accused of murder. And if I try to protect myself by telling what did happen, I’ve put Mae Bagley in a spot. The minute I open up, I’ve hooked that Bagley woman on all sorts of charges.”

“Oh, oh!” Drake said.

“And when I get in front of that Grand Jury, I’ve got to try to talk my way out or else take a beating.”

“Can’t you claim professional privilege?”

“Only as to what my client may have said to me. And there’s that twelve o’clock surrender deadline... ”

“Can’t you show that that’s just an absurd technicality?”

Mason grinned. “I’ve been throwing technicalities at the district attorney’s office for a long time now, and I’d put myself in a pretty poor light if I started yelling that I was being crucified on a technicality!”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Drake admitted. “What’s the idea of planting the purse so Gulling would find it, Perry?”

Mason grinned. “I’m letting Gulling interpret the law, Paul.”

“What law?”

“The portion of the law which defines what is a reasonable time. I may not have to use it, but knowing him as I do, I realize he’ll try to hook me on some trivial offense in case I should wriggle off the hook on this other charge... However, he’s got all of us pretty well hooked on that other stuff, what with all the evidence he’s turned up.

“Of course,” Mason went on, “the situation would be simplified if it weren’t for that wallet. Because the gun testimony is considerably mixed up by this time.”

“Didn’t Adelle Winters throw the gun into that garbage can?”

“I’m beginning to think she didn’t.”

“Then what’s the explanation?”

“She is lying about the gun. She didn’t have it, and it never was up there on the sideboard, and she didn’t take it with her. But she knew someone who did have it, and that person had agreed to plant the gun in the garbage can. According to my idea right now, Adelle Winters merely looked inside to see whether it was there.”

“That sounds rather complicated, Perry.”

Mason suddenly turned to Della Street. “Get the Lorenzo Hotel for me, Della. I want to talk with somebody who knows about the records that have been kept there.”

“What are you getting at, Perry?” Drake asked as Della Street put through the call. “Do you think that Adelle Winters had some accomplice at the hotel?”

“One thing in the case has never been explained,” said Mason. “It’s simple, obvious, and significant — and therefore everyone has completely overlooked it.”

“What’s that?”