A wave of excitement swept over the courtroom. The gavel fell; His Honor gazed out upon the audience with unspoken censure. The ensuing silence heightened rather than relieved the tension.
Pendell was searching Faughan’s face with bewildered eyes. Crowley, too, was studying him. The lawyer met their stares with a vague smile.
Nord took the photograph from Carter, tendered it to Faughan.
“If you have no objection,” he said, with exaggerated politeness, “I want to offer this photograph in evidence.”
Faughan barely glanced at the picture, waved a hand. “No objection.”
The Court received the photo from Nord, scrutinized it thoughtfully, and handed it to the clerk. “Mark it ‘S-2.’ ”
Nord turned to Faughan. “That’s all. You may cross-examine.”
Faughan slouched down deeper in his chair, shook his head.
“No questions,” he murmured.
The D.A.’s brows screwed together in a little frown. For a moment he seemed perplexed. Then his face cleared and he called the county Medical Examiner. The latter testified that Zena Zorn had been killed the night before between eleven-thirty and twelve-thirty.
Walter Berger, a Centre Street ballistics expert, followed the Medical Examiner to the stand. He proved the bullet that had killed Zena Zorn had been fired from the pistol identified as Pendell’s.
Chapter V
Out of the Hat
As Berger was leaving the witness stand, Stone entered the courtroom. He approached the counsel table, gave Faughan a folded sheet of paper, and waited beside him in expectant silence.
The lawyer opened it, read its contents swiftly. He refolded it, and put it in his pocket. Ten seconds passed while he stared off into space, tapping his fingers on the arm of his chair in a thoughtful manner.
Suddenly he leaned forward, hastily scribbled a note which he handed to Stone. His operative took it wordlessly and vanished from the courtroom.
Faughan sighed softly, and turned his attention to Nord, who was addressing the Court.
“Your Honor, I shall not take time to analyze the testimony you have just heard. I believe it speaks for itself. And I believe you will agree with me that it establishes a prima facie case of murder in the first degree against Eugene Pendell, sufficient — within the requirements of our statutes — to warrant his being held for the Grand Jury without bail.
“I have not touched upon Pendell’s motive for the murder of Zena Zorn. But, since a hearing of this kind by its very nature is informal, I will say now that jealousy prompted his act. That I shall prove at the proper time. At his trial.
“In view of the foregoing, Your Honor, I see no reason why Eugene Pendell should not be tried for murder. And I respectfully request that you so rule.”
The D.A. sat down pompously, casting Faughan a triumphant glance of well-ground satisfaction.
His Honor the Court peered over his half-moon glasses at Faughan, said tonelessly: “Mr. Defense-Attorney, if you have any testimony to present this court, you may proceed.”
Faughan rose, leisurely. “I have just one witness to call, if Your Honor please.”
Judge Porter leaned back in his chair, stifled a yawn absently. He seemed suddenly to have lost interest in the hearing.
“Call your witness.”
Faughan faced Martin Nord. There was a veiled twinkle in his eye.
“Mr. Nord — if you please,” he said quietly, and waved a languid hand toward the witness chair.
The D.A. jerked stiff, stared. “What?” he barked. “You’re calling me as your witness?”
“Yes,” gently, “I’m calling you as my witness.”
The District-Attorney looked so ludicrously bewildered and stunned that an amused titter welled in the courtroom. It was instantly stilled by the drop of the gavel.
His Honor the Court no longer gave the impression of bored disinterest. Watching Faughan inquiringly, he said to Nord:
“Take the stand, Mr. District-Attorney.”
Scowling, unable to conceal the fact that he suspected a trick, Nord lumbered to the witness chair. He was sworn in. After asking the usual preliminary questions, Faughan snapped suddenly:
“Where were you last night, Nord, between the hours of ten-thirty P.M. and two A.M.?”
Nord’s eyes popped. “Where was—” he croaked and swung to the judge. “I object!” he roared. “I object! Where I was last night is irrelevant, immaterial and — and—” He sputtered to a stop, his anger gagging him.
His Honor eyed Faughan indignantly. “What bearing can Mr. Nord’s whereabouts last night have on the case before this court?”
Faughan shrugged indifferently. “Since the witness objects to answering it, I’ll withdraw the question.”
He strode to his counsel table, unwrapped the package Petraske had given him on the Courts Building steps. He brought to view a rectangle of glazed paper. This he tendered to Nord.
“I show you a photograph, Mr. Nord,” he said, his tone slightly sardonic. “Can you identify the scene it depicts? And the people in it?”
The District-Attorney took one look at the photograph, and his face ran a gamut of color from greenish-white to red to purple. He whirled toward the judge.
“It’s a lie!” he screamed. “It’s a lie! I was home last night! Home in bed! Faughan’s trying to hoodwink the Court with a scurvy trick!”
The courtroom was in an uproar. Spectators were on their feet, craning their necks in a futile attempt to see the photo that had turned the District-Attorney into a wild man.
The gavel rose and fell. “Silence!” The Court yelled. “Silence! Or I’ll clear the courtroom!”
The clamor subsided, although hushed whispers persisted. His Honor took the photograph from Nord’s trembling fingers. He looked at it. His jaw sagged.
“Why,” he breathed, “this photograph is a replica of the one the District-Attorney introduced in evidence! Only the man standing over the murdered woman isn’t Pendell! It’s Mr. Nord!”
The audience received the sensational disclosure in breathless quiet.
“Zowie! There’s the rabbit!” was a stage whisper from one of the reporters present. It won a baleful glare from His Honor, which he immediately transferred to Faughan.
“Explain this,” he snapped fretfully. “If it’s another of your notorious tricks, I’ll have you know the Court won’t tolerate it!”
Faughan said calmly: “Your Honor, I admit that photograph was made at my order. But it is not a trick. I merely desired to convince the Court that even the most damning evidence can lie.
“You heard the District-Attorney say he was in bed last night — a fact most difficult of proof. I could go on and show that he knew Zena Zorn, that—”
Red of face, Nord pawed the air. “Your Honor, I object!”
Judge Porter said sarcastically: “Considering the start you made, I can well imagine you could build up a case against Mr. Nord. But surely you are not serious! You are not accusing the District-Attorney of the murder of Zena Zorn!”
Faughan smiled. “No, Your Honor. If I gave him a bad moment, I am sincerely sorry. I wanted to illustrate a fact. Eugene Pendell is as innocent of the murder of Zena Zorn as he is!
“That picture” — he pointed a dramatic finger — “State’s Exhibit number two — and all the other evidence adduced in this court this morning, is part of a deliberate plot to frame the accused.
“Pendell was never snapped almost in the very act of shooting Miss Zorn. That picture is a fraud. It stands to reason that if I could acquire a fake photograph compromising the District-Attorney, someone could resort to the same deception with Eugene Pendell the victim.