Fay Allison, with trembling hand, daubed lipstick heavily on her mouth. Then, using the makeup mirror in her purse, smoothed off the lipstick with the tip of her little finger.
“Go ahead,” Mason said to Harlan, “check on her lips.”
Harlan, taking a piece of white paper from his briefcase, moved down to where the defendant was sitting beside Perry Mason and pressed the white paper against her lips. He removed the paper and examined the imprint.
“Go ahead,” Mason said to Harlan, “make your comparison and announce the result to the Court.”
Harlan said, “Of course, I have not the facilities here for making a microscopic comparison, but I can tell from even a superficial examination of the lip lines that these lips did not make that print.”
“Thank you,” Mason said. “That’s all.”
Judge Jordan was interested. “These lines appear in the lips only when the lips are puckered, as in giving a kiss?”
“No, Your Honor, they are in the lips all the time, as an examination will show, but when the lips are puckered, the lines are intensified.”
“And these lip markings are different with each individual?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“So that you are now prepared to state to the Court that despite the fingerprints of the defendant on the glass and other objects, her lips definitely could not have left the imprint on the dead man’s forehead?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“That’s all,” Judge Jordan said.
“Of course,” Linn pointed out, “the fact that the defendant did not leave that kiss imprint on the man’s forehead doesn’t necessarily mean a thing, Your Honor. In fact, he may have met his death because the defendant found that lipstick on his forehead. The evidence of the fingerprints is quite conclusive that the defendant was in that apartment.”
“The Court understands the evidence. Proceed with your case,” Judge Jordan said.
“Furthermore,” Linn went on angrily, “I will now show the Court that there was every possibility the print of that lipstick could have been deliberately planted by none other than the attorney for the defendant and his charming and very efficient secretary. I will proceed to prove that by calling Don B. Ralston to the stand.”
Ralston came forward and took the stand, his manner that of a man who wishes very much he were many miles away.
“Your name is Don B. Ralston? You reside at Two-nine-three-five Creelmore Avenue in this city?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you knew Carver L. Clements in his lifetime?”
“Yes.”
“Were rather intimately associated with him?”
“Yes, sir.”
“In a business way?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now, on the night, or rather early in the morning, of the tenth of this month, did you have occasion to go to Carver L. Clements’ apartment, being apartment number seven-oh-two in the Mandrake Arms Apartments in this city?”
“I did, yes, sir.”
“What time was it?”
“Around... well, it was between one and two in the morning... I would say somewhere around one-thirty.”
“Were you alone?”
“No, sir.”
“Who was with you?”
“Richard P. Nolin, who is a business associate, or was a business associate of Mr. Clements; Manley L. Ogden, who handled some of Mr. Clements’ income tax work; and a Miss Vera Payson, a friend of — well, a friend of all of us.”
“What happened when you went to that apartment? Did you enter it?”
“No, sir.”
“Tell us just what happened.”
“Well, we left the elevator on the seventh floor, and as we were walking up the corridor, I noticed two people coming down the corridor toward us.”
“Now, when you say ‘down the corridor,’ do you mean from the direction of apartment seven-oh-two?”
“That’s right, yes, sir.”
“And who were these people?”
“Mr. Perry Mason and his secretary, Miss Street.”
“And did you actually enter the apartment of Carver Clements?”
“I did not.”
“Why not?”
“When I got to the door of apartment seven-oh-two, I pushed the doorbell and heard the sound of the buzzer on the inside of the apartment. Almost instantly the door of an apartment across the hall opened, and a woman who seemed to be somewhat irritated complained that she had been unable to sleep because of people ringing the buzzer of that apartment, and stated in effect that other people were in there with Mr. Clements. So we left immediately.”
“Now, then, Your Honor,” Stewart Linn said, “I propose to show that the two people referred to by the person living in the apartment across the hallway were none other than Mr. Mason and Miss Street, who had actually entered that apartment and were closeted in there with the dead man and the evidence for an undetermined length of time.”
“Go ahead and show it,” Judge Jordan said.
“Just a moment,” Mason said. “Before you do that, I want to cross-examine this witness.”
“Cross-examine him, then.”
“When you arrived at the Mandrake Arms, the door to the street was locked, was it not?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What did you do?”
“We went up to the seventh floor and—”
“I understand that, but how did you get in? How did you get past the entrance door? You had a key, didn’t you?”
“No, sir.”
“Then how did you get in?”
“Why, you let us in.”
“I did?”
“Yes.”
“Understand,” Mason said, “I am not now referring to the time you came up from the street in the custody of the police. I am now referring to the time when you first entered that apartment house on the morning of the tenth of this month — the first time you went in.”
“Yes, sir. I understand. You let us in.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Well, because you and your secretary were in Carver Clements’ apartment, and—”
“You, yourself, don’t know we were in there, do you?”
“Well, I surmise it. We met you just after you had left the apartment. You were hurrying down the hall toward the elevator.”
Mason said, “I don’t want your surmises. You don’t even know I had been in that apartment. I want you to tell us how you got past the locked street door. No surmises now. Just how did you get in? Exactly what did you do?”
“We pressed the button of Carver Clements’ apartment, and you — or at any rate someone — answered by pressing the button which released the electric door catch on the outer door. As soon as we heard the sound of buzzing, which indicated the lock was released, we pushed the door open and went in.”
“Let’s not have any misunderstanding about this,” Mason said. “Who was it pushed the button of Carver Clements’ apartment?”
“I did.”
“I’m talking now about the button in front of the outer door of the apartment house.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And, having pressed that button, you waited until the buzzer announced the door was being opened?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How long?”
“Not over a second or two.”
Mason said to the witness, “One more question: did you go right up after you entered the apartment house?”
“We... no, sir, not right away. We stopped for a few moments there in the lobby to talk about the type of poker we wanted to play. Miss Payson had lost some money on one of these wild poker games where the dealer has the opportunity of calling any kind of game he wants, some of them having the one-eyed jacks wild, and others having seven cards from which five are selected, and things of that sort.”
“How long were you talking?”