Judge Markham looked at Perry Mason, and there was a twinkle in his eyes.
"Well," he said, "the Court isn't called upon at this time to pass upon the ethics of the question, and it isn't called upon to pass upon the question of whether there was a larceny of a handkerchief. The Court is only called upon to pass upon your request, Counselor, that your witnesses be allowed to give their testimony in court, and that the officers do not seek to intimidate them."
"That's all I want," said Perry Mason, but his eyes remained fastened on Claude Drumm. "I know what I'm doing, and I'm responsible for what I do, and I don't want any woman terrified by a lot of bullies."
"What you've done will get you before the grievance committee of the Bar Association!" shouted Claude Drumm.
"That's fine," Perry Mason told him. "I'll be only too glad to discuss the matter with you there. But in the meantime, you keep your hands off my witnesses."
"Gentlemen, gentlemen," snapped Judge Markham, getting to his feet. "I'm going to insist upon order. Counselor Mason has presented a request. You should know, Mr. Drumm, that the request is in order. If this person is a witness subpoenaed by the defense, you will refrain from seeking to intimidate her."
Claude Drumm gulped and colored visibly.
"Very well," he said.
"This way," said Perry Mason, smiling, and taking Mae Sibley's arm, took her from the chambers.
As he opened the door into the courtroom, there was a vivid flash of light, a sudden "poof."
The girl screamed and covered her face.
"Don't get excited," Perry Mason told her. "It's just newspaper photographers taking your picture."
Claude Drumm pushed his way to Mason's side. His face was white, his eyes blazing.
"You deliberately engineered that whole thing!" he said. "Just to get a dramatic story on the front page of the newspapers!"
Perry Mason grinned at him.
"Any objections?" he asked.
"Lots of them!" blazed Claude Drumm.
"All right," said Perry Mason slowly and ominously, "be damn careful how you make them."
For a long moment the two men glared at each other, Claude Drumm, white with fury, but impotent against the rugged strength of the criminal lawyer, stared into the steady eyes and knew that he was licked. Still white with fury, he turned on his heel and walked away.
Perry Mason turned to Mae Sibley.
"I didn't want you talking to the deputies," he said, "but there's no reason why you can't talk with the newspaper reporters."
"What shall I tell them?" she asked.
"Tell them anything you know," he said, and lifted his hat as he walked away. From the door of the courtroom, he looked behind him.
Half a dozen newspaper reporters eagerly surrounded Mae Sibley, and were asking frantic questions.
Still smiling, Perry Mason pushed his way through the swinging door, out into the corridor.
Chapter 18
Perry Mason looked at his watch when he entered his office. It was a cold, blustery night outside, and the radiators were hissing comfortably. The hour was exactly eight fortyfive.
Perry Mason switched on the lights and set a leather case on Della Street 's desk. He snapped a catch, took off a cover, and disclosed a portable typewriter. He reached in his overcoat pocket, took out a pair of gloves and put them on. From a briefcase he took several sheets of paper and a stamped envelope. He had just placed them on the desk when Della Street came in.
"Did you see the papers?" she asked, as she closed the door and slipped out of her fur coat.
"Yes," said Perry Mason, and grinned.
"Tell me," she said, "did you arrange that whole business so you'd have a dramatic punch for the close of the trial?"
"Sure," he told her. "Why not?"
"Weren't you coming pretty close to a violation of the law? Can't they make trouble for you before the grievance committee?"
"I doubt it," he said. "It was legitimate crossexamination."
"How do you mean — crossexamination?" she asked.
"It would have been perfectly permissible for me to have stood several women in line and asked Sam Marson to pick out the one who had left the handkerchief in his taxicab. It would have been perfectly permissible for me to have pointed to one of the women and told him that I thought that was the one. It would have been perfectly permissible for me to have taken one woman to him and asked him if he wasn't certain that that was the one, or to have told him that it was the one."
"Well?" she asked.
"Well," he said, "I only went one step farther. I found out that he was uncertain about the identity of the woman. I capitalized on that uncertainty, that's all. I took a woman, dressed her approximately the same as Mrs. Forbes had been dressed, put the same kind of perfume on her, and had her tell the taxi driver that she had left the handkerchief in his cab. Naturally, he didn't question her word, because he was uncertain in his recollection of the woman who had left the handkerchief in his cab.
"I knew that by the time the authorities got done with him, he'd make a positive identification. That's a slick way they have of taking a witness over a period of time, and letting him become more and more positive. They showed him Bessie Forbes, on at least a dozen different occasions. They did it casually, so that he didn't know he was being hypnotized. First, they showed him the woman, and told him that was the one who had been in his cab. Then they brought him in and confronted her with him, and told her that he had identified her. She didn't say anything, but refused to answer questions. That made Marson a little more certain. Bit by bit, they built him up in his testimony, and coached him, until he was so positive in his own mind, there couldn't be any doubt whatever. It's the way the prosecution prepares all cases. They naturally make witnesses more strong in their identifications."
"I know," she said, "but how about the handkerchief?"
"In order to be larceny," he said, "there has got to be an intent to steal. There wasn't any intent to steal. The woman was getting the handkerchief for me. I was getting it for the authorities. I turned it over to them sooner than they would have found it otherwise, and gave them the information."
She frowned and shook her head.
"Perhaps," she said, "but you certainly pulled a fast one."
"Of course I pulled a fast one," he told her. "It's what I'm paid for. I simply crossexamined him in an unorthodox manner, and crossexamined him before the district attorney had an opportunity to poison his mind with a lot of propaganda, that's all… don't take off your gloves, Della, leave them on."
"Why?" she asked, regarding the long black gloves on her hands and arms.
"Because," he said, "we're going to pull another fast one, and I don't want either one of us to leave fingerprints on the paper."
She stared at him for a minute, and then said: "Is it within the law?"
"I think it is," he told her, "but we're not going to get caught."
He walked over to the door and locked it.
"Take a sheet of this paper," he said, "and put it in that portable typewriter."
"I don't like portables," she told him. "I'm used to my office machine."
"That's all right," he told her. "Typewriters are as individual as handwriting. A handwriting expert can tell the kind of a typewriter a document was written on, and can also identify the typewriter, itself, if he has access to it and a chance to compare the writing."