“Have you any explanation as to how this stain of lipstick got on your shirt?”
“No, Your Honor.”
Judge Cortright looked down at Lieutenant Tragg. “Is there,” he asked, “any reason to doubt this evidence? In other words, is there anything to indicate it has been fabricated?”
“I hadn’t thought so,” Lieutenant Tragg said, his voice showing that he was badly perplexed. “But apparently — well, something must be wrong. Of course, if Mr. Homan can account for his whereabouts at the time of the accident...”
“I can,” Homan said calmly. “I was at my home in Beverly Hills. I reported the car as being stolen as I have said. I had a conference with a representative of the police of Beverly Hills, and then I went to the studio, taking the script on which I had been working and had a conference with a certain department head.”
“What time did that conference start?” Judge Cortright asked.
“At about nine o’clock in the evening, and continued through until nearly midnight.”
Cortright and Tragg exchanged glances, then Tragg and Hanley went into a whispered conference.
Mason said suavely, “These, gentlemen, were your questions, not mine.”
Judge Cortright looked down at Mason. “Evidently, Counselor,” he said with some acerbity, “you knew exactly where to stop in your examination.”
Mason smiled serenely at the baffled judge. “Quite evidently I did, Your Honor.”
Hanley got slowly to his feet. “Your Honor,” he said, “some of this evidence comes as a distinct surprise to us. We had anticipated that the examination of the witness would be more complete, that there would be some effort to show the identity of all the keys on this key ring. It might even be the police could furnish Mr. Mason with an opportunity to get this evidence, or at any rate to see if this witness... Well, we shall cooperate with Mr. Mason in any and every way.” He stopped and looked across at Mason, but Mason returned his gaze with eyes which showed only bland disinterest.
Hanley turned back to Judge Cortright. “The situation is one which is very peculiar, Your Honor. The district attorney’s office doesn’t wish to be a party to any injustice. As the court may well know, further developments in this case have become exceedingly grave and somewhat complicated. We feel that in justice to all concerned, the hearing should be continued while we check Mr. Homan’s testimony carefully.”
“Does that mean I have got to come back here again?” Homan demanded indignantly.
Judge Cortright studied the indignant picture producer for several thoughtful seconds, then said quietly, “It does. The court will continue this case until Monday morning at ten o’clock at which time the witnesses will return to court.”
“But, Your Honor, I can’t keep trotting back and forth here to court...”
“You are a witness,” Judge Cortright said. “Furthermore, Mr. Homan, there are some matters in your testimony which have not been explained to the court’s satisfaction. The case is continued until Monday morning at ten o’clock. The defendant remains on bail, Mr. Deputy District Attorney?”
“She is on bail at the present time.”
“Is there any motion to have that bail increased?”
Hanley said, “No, Your Honor, I guess not,” and then added, “The defendant seems to have a perfect and complete alibi for all of yesterday evening when the second murder was committed.”
“Very well,” Judge Cortright said, “the court will take a recess for ten minutes, and then take up the Case of People versus Sampson.”
As Judge Cortright left the bench, Tragg came over to Mason. “What is the idea, Mason?” he asked.
Mason said, “It is your move, Tragg. You said you would give me until this morning, and unless I could make some satisfactory explanation, you would arrest me after I had cross-examined Homan. Well, here I am.”
Tragg said, “Mason, you knew about that murder last night.”
Mason smiled and said nothing.
“I have enough circumstantial evidence to hold you — at least as a material witness.”
“Do it,” Mason said, “and you will regret it as long as you live.”
Tragg sighed. “I wish,” he said to Mason, “we could get along. After all, we should be working together on this case.”
“We could if you weren’t always trying to get something on me,” Mason said.
“Get something on you! Good Lord, you play tag with corpses, violate half of the laws in the penal code, and then expect me to tag along with a happy smile. How the hell did you know it was Homan’s shirt?”
Homan, who had marched from the witness stand and was standing on the outskirts of the group, pressed forward and said, “Gentlemen, I dislike to interrupt, but I simply want to tell Mr. Mason I think his questions are impertinent.”
Mason merely smiled.
Tragg said, “Mr. Homan, I don’t want to bother you, but it is imperative that we check up on your statements as to what you were doing on Wednesday. Will you kindly sit down over there and write the names of every person with whom you talked on Wednesday afternoon?”
“Gladly, sir,” Homan snapped. “I will do everything in my power to contribute to a solution of this case. I know I wasn’t driving that automobile, and I don’t believe Adler Greeley was driving it. What I object to is the manner in which my private affairs are being pried into.”
“I understand your position perfectly,” Mason said. “You object. You have made your objection — and it is overruled.” He turned his shoulder.
Homan glowered indignantly, then strode over to the table which Tragg had indicated, whipped some paper from his brief case, adjusted his horned-rimmed spectacles, and started to scribble.
Mrs. Greeley came walking toward them from the back of the courtroom. She said, “Mr. Mason, I had no idea that was not my husband’s shirt when I brought it to you last night. But I knew Adler wouldn’t have been guilty of the things they claim the driver of this car did. And I most certainly had no idea that shirt belonged to Mr. Homan. You evidently know something I don’t. Apparently, there is some mysterious connection between my husband and Mr. Homan. Can you tell me what it is?”
Mason shook his head. “Not right now, Mrs. Greeley. But if you can wait a few hours, I think I will have a lot more information.”
She said, “You were so helpful last night, Mr. Mason, so... so encouraging. You made things so much easier for me.”
“I am glad I did. And here is one way you can help. In going over your husband’s correspondence, did you find anything that would connect him with a Mrs. Warfield?”
She frowned. “There is nothing at the house. Perhaps his secretary at the office could tell you.”
“I would prefer to have you try to dig it up, Mrs. Greeley.” He turned to Tragg and said, “After all, Lieutenant, Della Street is the one who really called my attention to the key clue in the entire case.”
“What’s that?” Tragg asked as Jackson Sterne came up to stand diffidently on the edge of the group.
“Mrs. Warfield. She didn’t leave the Gateview Hotel that night. On the other hand, she certainly didn’t sleep in her room.”
Tragg said, “I don’t get you, Mason.”
Mason smiled. “I am going to the Gateview Hotel. I am going to take a room, and I am going to question the various employees in detail concerning a theory I have. Any objections?”
Tragg’s eyes narrowed. “No objections right at the moment, but until you have accounted for that feather, Mason...”
“Really, Lieutenant, you mustn’t attach too much importance to these inanimate clues. It is much more satisfactory to analyze motivations and opportunities, and deduce what must have happened. Well, I shall be seeing you.”
He picked up his briefcase and calmly walked away.