“The perjury is what they wanted Lassing to commit,” Tragg said.
Mason raised his brows. “Oh, did someone ask him to swear to a falsehood?”
“We’ve been all over that,” Tragg said.
“So we have!” Mason smiled. “Now, Lieutenant Tragg, you were called to the yacht of Roger Burbank on Saturday morning when the body was discovered?”
“Yes.”
“And made some examination there?”
“Yes.”
“And found the bloody imprint of a shoe on one of the treads of the companionway?”
“I’m coming to that,” Burger interposed hastily, “with another witness.”
“I’m coming to it now,” Mason said. “In fact, I’m already at it. Can you answer that question. Lieutenant?”
“Yes, certainly.”
“You did so find a bloody imprint on the tread of the companionway?”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever ascertained...”
“If the Court please,” Burger interrupted, “this isn’t proper cross-examination. I’d like to put on my case in an orderly manner. I’d like to introduce in evidence a shoe belonging to the defendant, Carol Burbank. Then I’d like to show the bloodstain on that shoe. And then I would like to show the fact of the bloodstain on the tread of the companionway.”
“But if Mr. Mason wants to interrogate the witness on that point on cross-examination, I see no reason why he should be bound by the manner in which you choose to introduce your evidence or present your case,” the Court ruled. “This witness is a police officer. The defense certainly is entitled to cross-examine him in detail. Moreover, you should now bring out all he knows, not put on your case piecemeal.”
“I intended to prove the footprint by another witness, Your Honor.”
“But the point now is, does this witness know about that print?”
“He seems to.”
“Then let him tell what he knows,” the judge snapped.
“The Court wants to get on with the case, not have matters delayed so the prosecution can build to a dramatic climax. This witness is a police officer. On cross-examination, the defense will have the utmost latitude. The objection is overruled. The witness will answer the question.”
“Yes,” Tragg said defiantly, “such an imprint was left on the tread of the companionway, and it happens that I have the shoe with which that print was made.”
“Exactly,” Mason said. “Now let’s look at the photograph, People’s Exhibit No. Five. I call your attention to a candle which appears in that exhibit. Do you notice it?”
“I know there was a candle there.”
“Well, take a good look at this photograph,” Mason said, “and study that candle carefully.”
“Yes sir, I see it.”
“Is there anything about the appearance of that candle which impresses you as being at all unusual?”
“No, sir. It is simply a candle fastened to the top of a table in the cabin of the yacht where the body was found.”
“How much of that candle has been burnt?”
“About one inch, perhaps a little less.”
“And have you made any experiments to ascertain how long it took a candle of this nature to consume approximately one inch of its length when it was ignited under circumstances similar to those found in the cabin of this yacht?”
“No sir, I haven’t. I didn’t deem it necessary.”
“Why?”
“Because that candle doesn’t mean anything.”
“Why doesn’t it mean anything, Lieutenant?”
“Because we know when Milfield died and we know how he died. And he was dead long before it got dark, so that candle doesn’t mean a thing.”
Mason said, “You’ll notice that this candle is inclined somewhat from the perpendicular, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed that.”
“Have you taken a protractor, and measured the angle at which that is inclined?”
“No.”
“As a matter of fact, isn’t it inclined at eighteen degrees from the perpendicular?”
“Well — to tell you the truth, I don’t know.”
“It appears to you to be about eighteen degrees from the perpendicular?”
“It may be, yes.”
“And have you made any attempt to account for the angle at which this candle is leaning?”
Tragg smiled and said, “Only that if the murderer in his haste stuck the candle to the top of the table so that he could see to commit a murder by daylight, then he must have been in too much of a hurry to get the candle straight.”
“You haven’t any other theory?”
“What other theory could there be?”
Mason smiled and said, “That’s all, Lieutenant.”
Burger frowned across at Mason. “What’s that crooked candle got to do with it?” he asked.
Mason said, “That’s my defense.”
“Your defense?”
“Yes.”
Burger hesitated a moment, then announced ponderously, “Well, it won’t hold a candle to the theory I have.”
There was laughter from the courtroom.
Mason joined in the laughter, then, as it subsided, said quickly, “You’ve heard of candling an egg, Mr. District Attorney? Well, I’m candling your case. And it’s rotten.”
The judge pounded sharply with the gavel. “Counsel will refrain from these personalities and comments on extraneous matters. Call your next witness, Mr. Burger.”
“Mr. Arthur St. Claire,” Burger said.
The man who came forward to the witness stand and held up his hand to be sworn was a smiling, suave, self — possessed man in the late forties.
Della Street whispered to Perry Mason, “That’s the man who was in the taxicab with us. The one who did all the talking about San Francisco. You want to watch him. He’s clever.”
Mason nodded.
Arthur St. Claire took the stand, testified that he was a member of the police department of the City of Los Angeles in the plain-clothes division, and then looked attentively and courteously at the district attorney waiting for the next question.
“Are you acquainted with the defendant, Carol Burbank?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you see her on Sunday, the day after the body of Fred Milfield was discovered?”
“I did, yes, sir.”
“Where?”
“At several places,” the man said, and smiled.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I was assigned to shadow her. I followed her from her residence to several different places.”
“To the Union Terminal?” Burger asked.
“Yes, sir. Eventually she went to the Union Terminal, and then from there she went to the Woodridge Hotel.”
“Directing your attention to the Union Terminal,” Burger said, “did you see anyone join her while she was there?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Who?”
“Miss Della Street, the secretary of Perry Mason.”
“Ah, ha!” Hamilton Burger said, his tone containing the savage satisfaction of a cat purring over a freshly caught mouse. “And what happened after Miss Della Street joined Miss Carol Burbank?”
“They entered a taxicab and were taken to the Woodridge Hotel.”
“And where were you while they were in the taxicab?”
The man grinned. “I was right there in the same cab with them.”
“And did you hear their conversation?”
“I did.”
“And what did they do?”
“They went to the Woodridge Hotel.”
“And what happened when they arrived at the Woodridge Hotel?”