"I can't say that I saw her personally," she said. "I heard steps going down the stairs from her room. I saw a taxicab drawn up in front of the place, and I saw a woman getting into the taxicab, then the cab drove away. I took it for granted that the woman was Mrs. Cartright."
"Then you didn't see her?" pressed Perry Mason.
"No," she said in a low voice, "I didn't see her."
"Now," said Perry Mason, "you have identified this letter as being in the handwriting of Mrs. Cartright."
"Yes, sir."
Perry Mason produced the photostatic copy of the telegram which had been sent from Midwick.
"And," he said, "will you identify the photostatic copy of this telegram as also being in the handwriting of Paula Cartright?"
The witness looked at the telegram, hesitated, bit her lip.
"They're the same handwriting, are they not?" asked Perry Mason — "those two documents?"
When she answered, her voice was so low as to be almost inaudible.
"Yes," she said, "I guess they're in the same handwriting."
"Don't you know?" said Perry Mason. "You unhesitatingly identified the letter as being in the handwriting of Paula Cartright. How about this telegram? Is that, or is that not, in the handwriting of Paula Cartright?"
"Yes," said the witness in an almost inaudible voice, "it is Mrs. Cartright's handwriting."
"So," said Perry Mason, "Mrs. Cartright sent this telegram from Midwick on the morning of October 17th?"
"I guess so," said the witness in a low voice.
Judge Markham pounded with his gavel.
"Mrs. Benton," he said, "you've got to speak up so the jury can understand you. Speak more loudly, please."
She raised her head, stared at the judge, and swayed slightly.
Claude Drumm was on his feet.
"Your Honor," he said, "it now appears that the witness is ill. I again ask for a continuance, out of justice to this witness, who has doubtless sustained a very great shock."
Judge Markham slowly shook his head.
"I think the crossexamination should continue," he said.
"If," said Claude Drumm in pleading desperation, "this case can be continued until tomorrow, there is some chance it might be dismissed."
Perry Mason whirled about and stood with his feet planted firmly on the floor, spread slightly apart; his head thrust forward, his manner belligerent; his voice raised until it seemed to echo in the rafters of the courtroom.
"If the Court please," he thundered, "that is exactly the situation I wish to avoid. A public accusation has been made against the defendant in this case, and the defendant is entitled to an acquittal at the hands of a jury. A dismissal by the prosecution would still leave her with a blot upon her name."
Judge Markham's voice sounded low and eventoned, compared with the vehement eloquence of Perry Mason.
"The motion is once more denied," he said. "The case will continue."
"Now," said Perry Mason, "will you kindly explain how Paula Cartright could write a letter and a telegram on the morning of October 17th of this year, when you know, of your own knowledge, that Paula Cartright was murdered on the evening of October 16th?"
Claude Drumm was on his feet.
"That," he said, "is objected to as argumentative, calling for a conclusion of the witness, not proper crossexamination and assuming a fact not in evidence."
Judge Markham paused for a moment, stared at the white, drawn face of the witness.
"I am going to sustain the objection," he said.
Perry Mason reached for the letter which had been identified as being in the handwriting of Mrs. Cartright, placed it on the table in front of the witness, and pounded it with his fist.
"Didn't you write that letter?" he asked of the witness.
"No!" she flared.
"Isn't it your handwriting?"
"You know that it is not," she said. "The handwriting doesn't resemble mine in the least."
"On the 17th day of October," said Perry Mason, "your right hand was in a bandage, was it not?"
"Yes."
"You had been bitten by a dog."
"Yes. Prince had been poisoned, and when I tried to give him an emetic he accidentally bit my hand."
"Yes," said Perry Mason. "But the fact remains that your right hand was bandaged on the 17th day of October of this year, and remained bandaged for several days thereafter, isn't that right?"
"Yes."
"And you couldn't hold a pen in that hand?"
There was a moment of silence, then the witness said suddenly: "Yes. And that goes to show how false your accusation is that I wrote that letter or that telegram. My hand was crippled so that I couldn't possibly have held a pen in it."
"Were you," snapped Perry Mason, "in Midwick on the 17th day of October of this year?"
The witness hesitated.
"Didn't you," went on Perry Mason without waiting for an answer, "charter an airplane and fly to Midwick on the 17th day of October of this year?"
"Yes," said the witness, "I thought I might find Mrs. Cartright in Midwick, and I went there by plane."
"And didn't you file this telegram at the telegraph office in Midwick while you were there?" asked Perry Mason.
"No," she said, "I have told you that I couldn't have written that telegram."
"Very well," said Perry Mason, "let's go back a moment to this mangled hand of yours. It was so badly mangled you couldn't possibly hold a pen in your right hand?"
"Yes."
"And that was on the 17th day of October of this year?"
"Yes."
"Also on the 18th day of October?"
"Yes."
"Also on the 19th?"
"Yes."
"Very well," said Perry Mason, "isn't it a fact that you kept a diary over the period I have mentioned?"
"Yes," she said swiftly, before she thought, then suddenly caught her breath, bit her lip and said, "No."
"Which is it," said Perry Mason, "yes or no?"
"No," she said.
Perry Mason whipped a torn sheet of paper from his pocket.
"As a matter of fact," he said, "isn't that a sheet of paper which came from a diary which you kept on or about that date — to wit, the 19th of October of this year?"
The witness stared at the torn piece of paper, said nothing.
"And isn't it," said Perry Mason, "a fact that you are ambidextrous; that you were keeping the diary during that time, and that you made entries in it with a pen that was held in your left hand? Isn't it a fact that you have always been able to write with your left hand, and that you do so whenever you wish to disguise your writing? Isn't it a fact that you have in your possession such a diary, from which this is a torn leaf, and that the handwriting on this torn leaf is exactly identical with the handwriting shown on the letter purported to have been written by Paula Cartright, and on the telegram purported to have been filed by her?"
The witness rose to her feet, looked at Judge Markham with glassy eyes, stared at the jury, then parted her white lips and screamed.
Bedlam broke loose in the courtroom. Bailiffs pounded for order. Deputies ran toward the witness.
Claude Drumm was on his feet, frantically shouting a motion for adjournment which was lost in the turmoil of noise.
Perry Mason walked back to the counsel table and sat down.
Deputies reached the side of Thelma Benton. They took her elbows and started to pilot her from the witness stand. She abruptly pitched forward in a dead faint.
The voice of Claude Drumm made itself audible above the confused roar of the courtroom.
"Your Honor," he shouted, "in the name of common decency, in the name of humanity, I demand a continuation of this case, in order to enable this witness to regain some measure of composure and health, before there is any further crossexamination. It is apparent, regardless of the cause, that she is a very sick woman. To continue with such a merciless crossexamination at this time is lacking in decency and humanity!"