“Now, just a minute, that’s a conclusion,” Drew said. “And, while this hearing isn’t like a trial before a jury, I think we’d better keep the record in shape. When you said his bed hadn’t been slept in, what do you mean?”
“Well, his bed was made fresh.”
“Go on.”
“Well, then I started looking around and went into the studio.”
“Now, what’s the studio?”
“That’s the room where he did his photography.”
“Can you describe it?”
“Well, it’s just a room. It’s up a short flight of stairs, and it’s arranged with a big skylight on the north, a big, long slanting window so he could get the right kind of illumination. There’s ground glass in the windows. And then there are a lot of electrical outlets so he could turn floodlights on and use spotlights.”
“Mr. Borden used this room?”
“Oh, yes, he used it lots. He was a photographer and liked to photograph things, particularly people.”
“And when you went into that room, what did you find?”
“I found Mr. Borden sprawled out on the floor with a bullet hole—”
“Tut-tut. Now, you don’t know it was a bullet hole,” Drew interrupted. “You saw something which directed your attention to his chest?”
“Yes. There’d been a lot of bleeding coming from a hole in the chest.”
“Mr. Borden was dead?”
“Oh, yes, he was stiff as a board.”
“So what did you do?”
“I called the police.”
“That’s all,” Drew said.
“Do you wish to cross-examine?” Judge Erwood asked Mason.
“This photographic studio,” Mason said, “can you describe it a little better? Was there anything in it other than what you have mentioned?”
“Oh, yes. A darkroom opens off it. There’s a stand with a portrait camera on wheels so you can move it forward and back. And there are a lot of curtains. You know, great big, roller-shade things like curtains that have painted scenery for a background. You know the type of thing photographers use, like beach scenery and mountain scenery and all that.”
“Can you tell us just how Mr. Borden was lying?”
“Well, he was on his back with— It’s hard to describe. He was all stiff and awkward.”
“We have a photograph taken by the police photographer,” Drew said.
“I’ll stipulate it may go in evidence,” Mason said, “and that will eliminate the necessity of asking any more questions of this witness.”
Drew produced an eight-by-ten photograph, handed one copy to Mason, one copy to Judge Erwood and one copy to the clerk of the court.
“This photograph will be received in evidence,” Judge Erwood said. “Call your next witness.”
“Officer Gordon C. Gibbs,” Drew said.
Gibbs came forward and was sworn.
“You’re a police officer connected with the Metropolitan Police Force?”
“Yes, sir.”
“On last Tuesday, did you have occasion to enter the apartment leased by the defendant?”
“I did, yes, sir.”
“Did you have a search warrant?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What were you looking for?”
“Bloody clothing, a murder weapon, anything that would indicate the defendant had been involved in a crime of violence.”
“Did you find any of the things you were looking for?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What did you find?”
“I found a suit of clothes with rusty brown spots all over them. I took these clothes to the police laboratory and they found the spots were—”
“Just a moment!” Drew snapped out the interruption as Mason was getting to his feet. “The laboratory expert will testify as to what he found. Now, did you do anything in the way of identifying this suit of clothes?”
“I did, sir.”
“What?”
“I took it to the cleaner whose mark was on the clothes and asked him if he was familiar with the suit and how often he’d seen it and who had sent it in when it had been cleaned. I suppose I can’t testify to his answers.”
“That’s right, you can’t,” Drew said.
Ansley leaned forward and whispered to Mason, “That was a suit I’d worn when I had one of my nosebleeds. I have them at intervals. This was a windy day, and I had to walk from the job to where I’d parked my car.”
Mason turned his attention to the police witness.
“Cross-examine,” Drew said.
“You don’t know of your own knowledge that these were bloodstains, do you?” Mason asked.
“No, sir.”
“You don’t know of your own knowledge that it was the defendant’s suit?”
“No, sir.”
“You don’t know of your own knowledge that these stains weren’t the result of the defendant’s having a bloody nose, do you?”
“No, sir.”
“All you know is you found a suit of clothes?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You tried to check the cleaning marks on that suit of clothes and you delivered it to the police laboratory, is that right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And that’s really all you know about that suit’ of clothes?”
“I know the appearance of the stains on it.”
“Certainly,” Mason said. “You thought they were significant stains, otherwise you wouldn’t have bothered with it.”
“That’s right.”
“You don’t know how long those stains had been on that suit, do you?”
“I know what the cleaner told me as to when he had last cleaned the suit, and—”
“You’re an officer,” Mason said. “You know you’re supposed to testify as to your own knowledge, and not to what someone told you. Now, I’ll repeat, you don’t know how long those stains had been on that suit, do you?”
“No, sir.”
“Thank you,” Mason said. “That’s all.”
“I’ll call Lt. Tragg to the stand,” Drew said.
Lt. Tragg came forward, testified as to his name and occupation.
“Do you know the defendant in this case?”
“Yes, sir.”
“When did you first meet him?”
“On Tuesday, the ninth.”
“Where did you meet him?”
“In a parking lot.”
“Who was with you at that time?”
“No one.”
“Who was with the defendant at that time?”
“Mr. Perry Mason, who is acting as his attorney.”
“Did you have any conversation with the defendant?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Can you state the general subject of that conversation? I won’t bother you for the exact words at this time.”
“We don’t want the witness testifying to his conclusions as to the conversation,” Mason said.
“I’m not asking for that. I’m only asking if he can remember generally the subject of the conversation.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What was it?”
“I asked him about a gun in the glove compartment of his car.”
“Now, what did you do at that time?”
“I took a gun from the automobile.”
“Where was it?”
“In the glove compartment.”
“Can you describe that revolver?”
“Yes, sir. It was a Colt .38-caliber revolver of the type known as a police model.”
“Did you have occasion to notice the number?”
“I did.”
“What was it?”
“613096.”
“What did you do with that gun?”
“I turned it over to the ballistics department.”
“Now, Lieutenant,” Drew said, “you didn’t turn it over to a department, you turned it over to some person in that department.”
“That’s right, to Alexander Redfield.”
“He’s the police expert on ballistics?”