Erle Gardner - The Case of the Haunted Husband

“That is right.”

“And did you reach Mr. Greeley?”

“Almost at once. She told me to hold the line, and the call was put through at once. It was at seventeen minutes past five when he came on the line. We talked two and one-half minutes. I always hold a watch on these long-distance calls.”

“Now, did you say you wanted to talk with Mr. Greeley?”

“No. It was just a station-to-station call. He told me to put it in that way.”

“Since you have talked with me, you have asked for your long-distance telephone bill?”

“That’s right.”

“And under the date of the nineteenth, does that call show on your bill?”

“It does.”

“And, using that as a reference, you can find out what this number was?”

“Yes.”

“And since you have told me about it, have you made any attempt to find out where this number in San Francisco is located?”

“I have.”

Hanley said to Mason, “It is a public pay station at the Southern Pacific Depot at Third and Townsend Streets. You can verify it from the telephone company’s records.”

He turned to Mrs. Greeley.

“Now, is there any possibility that it was not your husband with whom you talked?”

She smiled. “Absolutely not.”

“And this call was put through at approximately five-seventeen o’clock in the afternoon?”

“That is right.”

“And when did your husband come home?”

“Sometime after midnight. He told me when I talked with him over the telephone that he would try to catch a night plane. I think he said there was a ten o’clock plane which would get him in shortly after midnight. You see, he had taken his car and left it parked at the airport... Oh, I have already told you that.”

“You don’t know where he had parked his car?” Judge Cortright asked.

“Only from what he told me.”

“But you don’t know of your own knowledge that the car was at the airport?”

“No, of course not. I didn’t go out to look for it, but I do know he was in San Francisco at about four o’clock in the afternoon, and that he was still in San Francisco at quarter past five, because I talked with him on the telephone.”

“You heard your husband come in?”

“Oh, yes. He wakened me, but I didn’t look at the clock. I don’t know just what time it was, but it was... Well, I went to bed at eleven. I hadn’t been asleep very long. I would say it was between one and two that he returned.”

“Was there anything unusual in his manner or bearing when he returned?”

“No.”

“Did you smell liquor on his breath?”

“No.”

“Was he wearing a tuxedo when he returned?”

“No.”

“Was he injured in any way?”

“No, of course not.”

“You may cross-examine,” Hanley said to Perry Mason.

“You don’t know whether the business which took him to San Francisco was that of Mr. Jules Homan?” Mason asked.

“No. I only know it was something unexpected and important.”

“Did the papers which you procured for him have anything to do with Mr. Jules Homan’s business?”

“Well... they had to do with Mr. Homan’s stock. He wanted me to get the list of Mr. Homan’s holdings.”

“Did he say why he wanted them?”

“No. He just asked me to get the list and then read off the stocks over the telephone.”

“That’s all,” Mason said.

Hanley looked at his watch. “Your Honor, my next witness is one who...”

He turned toward the entrance to the courtroom as a man came bustling in. “Mr. Homan, will you please come forward and take the stand?”

Homan carried an alligator-skin brief case in his right hand, and walked with the quick, nervous strides of a man who is in very much of a hurry. He seemed breathless with haste. His name, he stated to the reporter, was Jules Carne Homan. His residence was in Beverly Hills, and his occupation was that of producer of motion pictures. He adjusted his glasses and frowned down at the deputy district attorney, as much as to say, “Well, well, come on. Let us get it over with.”

Hanley said, “Mr. Homan, you are the owner of a certain Buick four-passenger coupe, license number 8V7243, and were such owner on the nineteenth of this month?”

“Yes, sir. That is right.”

“Do you know where your automobile was on the evening of the nineteenth?”

“It was involved in a traffic accident on the Ridge Route.”

“Were you driving that automobile?”

“No, sir.”

“Do you know who was?”

“No, sir.”

“Was anyone driving it with your permission, express or implied?”

“No, sir.”

“When had you last seen the automobile prior to the time of the collision, Mr. Homan?”

“I don’t know about the time of the collision — not of my own knowledge.”

“Well, let’s put it this way. When did you last see that automobile on the nineteenth of the month?”

“The last I saw of it was about noon on the nineteenth. I...”

“Where?”

“In front of my house on Maple Grove Street in Beverly Hills.”

“Can you fix the time exactly?”

“It was shortly before noon. I don’t know the exact time.”

“And when did you next see it?”

“On the morning of the twentieth when I was asked to identify it.”

“Do you know — or did you know in his lifetime — a broker named Adler Greeley?”

“Yes, sir. Adler Pace Greeley.”

“Had you any business dealings with him?”

“He had handled a few transactions for me — stocks and bonds.”

“Had you seen Mr. Greeley on the nineteenth?”

“No, sir.”

“And had you given him any permission to use your car?”

“No, sir. Certainly not.”

“Where is your residence on Maple Grove, Mr. Homan?”

“Twenty-five-nineteen.”

“Can you describe that residence — just tell us exactly what it is?”

“It’s a Spanish-type house with patio, swimming pool, and the things that go with it. I’m a bachelor. I do much of my work at home. I have this house so that when I wish to get away from the studio and avoid all interruptions, I can work there. I also do quite a bit of entertaining.”

“That is what I was getting at. This is a large house?”

“It is, and it isn’t. The rooms are rather large. The place is well designed. It’s not — well, not what you would call a poor man’s house.”

“That’s the point, Mr. Homan. It’s a house which requires a large staff of servants?”

“No, sir, it does not. I have a woman who comes in and does cleaning by the day. I have a combination chauffeur and general handyman who takes care of my wants. I have a Filipino houseboy who mixes drinks, does odd jobs, and keeps the place straight. The woman who does the cleaning comes in twice a week. When I am entertaining, I arrange with a caterer to take charge of everything.”

“But I understand, Mr. Homan, that on the nineteenth, you were alone in your house.”

“That is right.”

“Can you explain how that happened?”

“I was working. I didn’t want to be disturbed. I shut myself in my study. When I work, I settle down to work. I concentrate on it. I don’t want anything else to disturb me. I don’t even eat at regular hours. I work until I realize there’s something wrong, then I stop and take stock. Usually I find I am either hungry or tired or both. I shall get something to eat, perhaps snatch a few minutes’ sleep, and go back to work. I keep an electric coffee percolator on my desk when I am working and drink hot coffee at frequent intervals.”

“But I would like to know specifically about the nineteenth, Mr. Homan. You see, the claim has been made that Mr. Greeley was driving your car at the time of the accident.”