“Oh, all right,” Dr. Hubert said, “if you want to put it that way, let’s say that he died between eleven-thirty in the morning and three o’clock in the afternoon, and I’ll stake my professional reputation he died within those times, and couldn’t have died as early as eleven twenty-nine. Does that satisfy you?”
“It isn’t a question of satisfying me,” Mason pointed out. “It’s a question of getting at the facts.”
“Well, you’ve got at them now,” Dr. Hubert said.
Scanlon nodded and said, “I think we, all of us, understand the facts. You’re excused, Doctor.”
There was a moment of silence. Then the coroner said, “In view of the circumstances, I want to recall Mr. Driscoll for one more question.”
“Take the stand, Driscoll,” Rodney Cuff said.
Scanlon stared at the young man with steady, purposeful eyes. “Is it possible that someone else could have been in the Prescott house while you were there, Mr. Driscoll?”
Driscoll shook his head. “I think not, your Honor.”
Scanlon’s voice became utterly without emphasis or expression. “Did you,” he asked, “go into all the rooms in that house?”
“Well,” Driscoll said, hesitated, then went on quickly, “of course we didn’t go into the upstairs bedrooms, no, sir.”
“You’re positive of that?”
“Quite!” Driscoll snapped.
“And you didn’t go into the basement?”
“No, if there is a basement I didn’t go into it.”
“It is, then, quite possible some other person was in the house at the time, and without your knowledge?”
“Yes,” Driscoll said, but added, “Such a person, however, couldn’t have taken that revolver from my possession, fired three shots into Walter Prescott and returned the revolver to my pocket without my knowing it. In the event Prescott was killed with my gun, he was killed at some time after I had left the house.”
“I understand your point perfectly,” Scanlon said. “That’s all, Mr. Driscoll. You’re excused.”
Less than ten minutes later, the coroner’s jury brought in its verdict, finding that Walter Prescott had been shot to death by person or persons unknown. Rodney Cuff, sauntering over toward Perry Mason, said, “How do you like the verdict, Counselor?”
“Should I like it?” Mason asked.
Cuff nodded and said, “I think so. I like it fine.”
“One thing,” Mason commented, “is that when you see Mr. Dimmick in the morning you can tell him that, in my opinion, he has no cause for worry at the quality of representation you will give young Driscoll. Having him go on the stand and admit the plot to substitute Rita Swaine for Rosalind Prescott is rather a stroke of genius.”
“Yes,” Cuff said, his expression bland. “You see, I’d heard that the district attorney’s investigators had taken charge of the canary, and I deduced that could mean only one thing. Thanks to your clever deductive reasoning, Driscoll knew the jig was up, and told me the circumstances frankly, where he might otherwise have tried to conceal them.”
“How did you know about Weyman as a witness?” Mason asked.
Cuff laughed. “He told his wife, and his wife told Stella Anderson, and she keeps a secret like a sieve holds water. I felt I could call him unexpectedly and make a better impression than if I’d talked with him and introduced him as a willing witness.”
Mason nodded, lit a cigarette and said, “How do you suppose Rosalind’s going to feel when she learns that Driscoll tried to divert suspicion from himself by involving Rita Swaine?”
“You surely don’t think he did that?” Cuff asked.
“Yes, he did exactly that.”
Cuff thought for a moment, then said, “One thing you may be overlooking, Mr. Mason: Before this inquest started, the district attorney was preparing extradition proceedings against both Rita Swaine and Rosalind Prescott. As matters now stand, he will proceed to extradite Rita Swaine. He can’t extradite Rosalind Prescott — not in the face of this evidence.”
“And you think that’s a good thing?” Mason asked.
“I think so, yes.”
“For whom?”
“For Rosalind Prescott, primarily.”
“How about Miss Swaine?” Mason inquired.
“Miss Swaine,” Cuff told him, “will have to take care of herself — with your very able assistance.”
Mason nodded, said, “I gathered as much. You know, Cuff, there’s just one disadvantage about having your client stage this cards-on-the-table act.”
“What’s that?” Cuff asked.
“God help him if he’s lying,” Mason said grimly.
Chapter eleven
Rita Swaine sat across from Perry Mason in the visitor’s room in the county jail. A long row of heavy wire mesh divided the table into two parts. Rita sat on one side, and Mason on the other.
“Can I talk here?” she asked.
“Keep your voice low,” Mason said, “and, above all, don’t get excited. People are watching us. Make your manner casual. No matter what you tell me, shake your head once or twice emphatically, as though denying your guilt. Now, go ahead and tell me the truth.”
“Rosalind killed him,” she said.
“How do you know? Did she say so?”
“No, not in so many words. Oh, it’s awful. She’s my own sister, and now she’s turned against me. She and Jimmy Driscoll did it and she’s willing to have Jimmy make me the goat because she loves him so much she can’t bear the thought of anything happening to him, and he’s pushing it all over on me just to save his own skin.”
“How do you know they killed him?” Mason asked.
“Because,” she said, “they did. Walter came in and caught Jimmy there, and Jimmy shot him.”
“Go ahead,” Mason told her, his voice a low, rumbling monotone. “Tell me what you know. But shake your head first — that’s it.”
“Rossy called me over the telephone, said something awful had happened and asked me to go over to her house right away. I told her I couldn’t go right at that moment. So then she told me to go down to the pay station in the drug store and call a certain number. She did that because she didn’t want to take chances on having the clerk at the switchboard hear what we were talking about.”
“All right,” Mason said, “you went to the drug store and called her. Where was she?”
“She was at the airport then. She told me that Jimmy had been there in the house with her; that he’d taken her in his arms and made passionate love to her; that there’d been an auto accident out front and the police had made Jimmy give them his name and address and that he’d be called on as a witness. She said that Jimmy had given her a gun right after the accident and before he’d run into the police; that she’d dropped the gun down in back of a drawer in the desk in the solarium. Then she said Jimmy had tried to leave, had run into the police, and had decided the only thing to do was to run away with her; that Mrs. Snoops had seen everything and she’d undoubtedly tell Walter.”
“So what did you do?” Mason said.
“She gave me all the details, told me that she’d left the dress she’d been wearing in the bedroom and that the canary was fluttering around the solarium.
“Well, of course, I told her I’d go over and put on an act for the benefit of Mrs. Snoops. I didn’t want to do it particularly, because I was afraid I might run into Walter. But she told me she knew absolutely Walter wouldn’t be there.”
“Did she tell you how she knew?” Mason asked.
“No.”