Erle Gardner - Case of the Beautiful Beggar

“You made a mistake,” Mason said.

Tragg’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by that?”

Mason said, “I took out the section of pipe, using a chamois skin to pad the jaws of the wrench, and substituted this one which has purely synthetic tool marks in it which were carefully put in there with a pipe wrench where one of the ridges on the jaws had been purposely damaged.”

Tragg’s face flushed. “Do you realize what you are saying?” he asked.

“I think so.”

“You have destroyed evidence in a murder case.”

“Oh, no, I haven’t,” Mason said. “Here, here’s the piece of pipe that I took out. That’s the genuine pipe. If you think it has any evidentiary value, here it is. I just took the precaution of keeping it in custody.”

Tragg’s eyes showed his anger.

“But,” Mason went on, “the reason I did what I did was that I wanted whoever had actually loosened that gas pipe to feel that his wrench had left distinctive marks on the pipe. For your information, at the morning recess Borden Finchley went to his car, drove out to a vacant lot and tossed a wrench into the weeds, then returned to court.

“Now, if I call Borden Finchley as a witness and suddenly spring this on him, I can trap him into some damaging admissions. But that’s going to make the homicide squad look rather inept.

“If, however, you go to work on him during the noon recess, don’t let him know there is anything phony about the markings on that gas pipe, you just might have a confession by two o’clock this afternoon. You’re rather skillful at those things, you know.

“And, in that event,” Mason went on, “no one would ever need to know that there had been any substitution of the gas pipe. The police could have all the credit of solving the case. Hamilton Burger could dismiss the case against the defendant. We could have a happy family reunion and—”

“Where’s the vacant lot? Where did he put the wrench?” Tragg asked.

Mason caught Paul Drake’s eye, beckoned him over, said, “Paul, get your man who is shadowing Borden Finchley and let him co-operate with Lieutenant Tragg.”

The lawyer turned away, smiled at Daphne and said, “See you after lunch, Daphne.”

Daphne, her arms tight around Horace Shelby, looked up at him with tear-stained eyes.

Mason moved over to Della Street. “This,” he announced, “is one hell of a good time to make our exit.”

When Court reconvened at two o’clock, Hamilton Burger arose to address Judge Kyle.

“If the Court please,” he said, “the State has a rather important announcement to make.”

“Proceed,” Judge Kyle said.

“Thanks to brilliant detective work on the part of the police — in particular, the homicide squad and, more particularly, Lieutenant Arthur Tragg,” Burger said, “A murder has been solved. The police have a written confession from Borden Finchley.

“I may state briefly that Finchley discovered Ralph Exeter unconscious under such circumstances that he felt he could disconnect the gas feed line, asphyxiate Exeter, and not only escape responsibility for the crime but have the crime blamed upon Horace Shelby.

“In his somewhat warped mind, he felt that if Shelby were executed for the crime, he would be the sole heir. However, his primary purpose was to get rid of the pressure which Ralph Exeter was bringing to bear on him to pay a very substantial gambling debt which had been incurred over a period of some months.

“I therefore wish to make public acknowledgment of thanks to Lieutenant Tragg, and the prosecution wishes to dismiss the case against the defendant, Daphne Shelby.”

Hamilton Burger sat down.

Judge Kyle, his eyes twinkling, looked at Perry Mason. “Any objections from the defense, Mr. Mason?”

Mason smiled. “None whatever, Your Honor.”

Judge Kyle said, “I would be less than fair to myself if I didn’t state that this solution constitutes a source of great satisfaction to the Court. The case against the defendant is dismissed and she is released from custody forthwith. Court’s adjourned.”

A great cheer came from the crowded spectators. Then, as Judge Kyle left the bench, men and women surged forward to congratulate the crying Daphne Shelby, to shake hands with the beaming Horace Shelby.

Lieutenant Tragg sidled over to Perry Mason. “If,” he said, “you ever in your life say anything about that substituted gas pipe, I’ll throw the book at you.”

“Why?” Mason asked innocently. “It was perfectly all right. I took the evidence which you had overlooked into custody for the police. I had it with me, intending to give it to you but then you produced the perfectly spurious gas pipe which I had used to replace the pipe I had taken, and when you swore that you recognized it as the same pipe, I simply hesitated until I could get you in private to tell you what had happened. And you will remember that I did tell you at the first opportunity.”

Tragg said, “You’re pretty damned clever. Mason. You got away with it this time, but don’t push your luck.”

Mason grinned at him and said, “I hate to be static, Lieutenant. I like to push my luck... Did Finchley tell you how he located Shelby?”

“Las Vegas gamblers located him,” Tragg said. “They put the finger on him, and it was agreed Exeter would make one big play for a cash settlement. The Las Vegas man located Shelby for Exeter and then washed his hands of the situation. He didn’t want any bad publicity for Las Vegas gambling.

“Finchley wanted a cut. He and his wife were moving Daphne’s things, but Finchley went out to the motel to check. He found Exeter asleep — drugged.

“Finchley was all fed up with Exeter and the Las Vegas crowd. He thought he could get Exeter off his neck. He got a wrench from the tool box in his car and unscrewed the gas feed line, drove back and told his wife to cover for him on an alibi.”

Mason nodded. “That figures,” he said.

Tragg suddenly shot out his right hand, gripped Mason’s hand and shook hands cordially.

“Thanks for the buggy ride,” he said.

A newspaper photographer exploded a flash bulb and caught the two men shaking hands. A reporter moved over and said to Mason, “What was that Tragg said to you?”

Mason said, “The lieutenant was simply saying that if I had only put my cards on the table with him a little sooner, they would never have arrested Daphne Shelby.”

Tragg beamed at the lawyer.

The newspaper reporter seemed puzzled. “Well, why didn’t you?” he asked.

Mason turned to where Horace Shelby was writing out a check.

“And cheat myself out of a good fee?” he asked.

The reporter laughed, and the photographer put in a new flash bulb to hurry over and get a picture of Mason accepting the check.