“No, it doesn’t,” Scanlon said. “We’re trying to determine how this man met his death, whether he was murdered, whether he committed suicide, or whether he was driving a car in a sort of daze and went off the side of the mountain.”
“May it be understood, then, that this is the only purpose for which this evidence is admitted?” Cuff said. “That it’s not binding upon anyone in any other matter, and—”
“I think that’s the law anyway,” Scanlon pointed out. “However, we’re only trying to determine what caused this man to meet his death. And, so far as I know, at the present time, Mr. Cuff, there’s no charge against your client implicating him in any way with this death.”
“I resent that remark,” Cuff said quickly. “You are intimating that before the inquest is concluded evidence will indicate that my client, Mr. Driscoll, had something to do with the death.”
“I made no such implication,” the coroner said, “and as far as I’m concerned, you’re out of order and aren’t helping the rights of your client any. Sit down.”
Cuff started to say something, then changed his mind, and slowly sat down.
“Any further questions of the doctor?” Scanlon asked Perry Mason.
“I think that’s all,” Perry Mason said.
“Does the district attorney’s office wish to interrogate Dr. Wallace?” Scanlon inquired.
Overmeyer shook his head and said, “Not at present, anyway. We wish to interrogate the autopsy surgeon and the traffic officers who discovered the body— Just a moment, there is one question. Dr. Wallace, this man didn’t tell you anything at all which would indicate what he had seen in that window, did he?”
“He did not, beyond saying that it was something very startling or compelling, or something of that sort. I can’t recall his exact words. I remember that he seemed rather sheepish about it.”
“That’s all.”
Dr. Wallace walked down the aisle of the room which was being used for the inquest. Perry Mason said suddenly, “Just a moment, Doctor, I’d like to have you remain here for a few minutes. I don’t think it will be over five or ten minutes at the most. Would you mind taking that seat?”
Mason indicated a seat on the aisle which had been occupied but a moment before by Jackson, his law clerk. That seat was now vacant, and Dr. Wallace, frowning, looked at his wrist watch, said, “Very well, but I have some important cases at the hospital and would like to be released as soon as possible.”
“You will be, Doctor,” Scanlon said. “Just be seated for a moment.”
Dr. Wallace dropped into the chair. Jackson Weyman, who occupied the adjoining seat, turned the one eye visible through his bandages to stare curiously at the doctor.
“The next witness,” Coroner Scanlon announced, “will be Edward Bird, one of the traffic officers who came on the body at the scene of the accident.”
Edward Bird, advancing to be sworn, apparently enjoying the interest he aroused, stood very erect as he faced the jury, and made certain that the coat of his uniform was snugly fitting and unwrinkled. He adjusted the gun which hung at his hip from the wide brown belt, sat down, turned to the coroner and said, “Yes, sir.”
“You are one of the officers who discovered the body of this man who is at present lying in the undertaking parlors?”
“Yes, sir, I and my partner, Jack Moore, were cruising up this road, making a cut-off from the ocean boulevard to get over to the Conejo route, when I happened to notice that some branches had been freshly broken from one of the scrub oaks just down the hill from the edge of the road. We stopped the car, investigated, and found where some heavy object had crashed down through the trees. We worked our way down the ledge, and then came to an abrupt drop of about sixty or seventy feet. We could see a car lying upside-down in the bottom of this canyon. It took us almost half an hour to work our way down to it. This man was pinned underneath the car. The top had caved in, and the back of the front seat had crushed his head like an egg shell. He had been dead for some time. The body already showed evidences of decomposition. It had been lying for two days in the hot sun.”
“What did you do?”
“We notified the coroner, obtained a wrecking outfit, first raised the body to the road, and then brought up the machine.”
“Were you present when representatives of the district attorney’s office tested the steering wheel of the automobile for fingerprints?”
“I was.”
“What did they find?”
“There were no fingerprints on the steering wheel.”
“Were you present when the pockets of the dead man’s clothes were emptied?”
“I was.”
“I show you an assortment of articles and ask you if you can identify them,” the coroner said. He took from his safe a black leather hand bag, took from this hand bag a towel and spread out a miscellaneous assortment. The officer checked them over carefully, nodded his head, and said, “Yes, these were the things which were in the pockets of the dead man’s clothes. There was nothing else in the clothes.”
“You’re certain of that?”
“Yes.”
“Now, what can you tell us of the automobile which was lying there, wrecked, in the bottom of the canyon?”
“It was a stolen automobile. It had been stolen at six-thirty on the afternoon of the thirteenth; was reported about an hour later, and wasn’t seen again until it was found in the bottom of this canyon.”
“I think that’s all,” the coroner said. “Are there any questions?”
Mason slowly got to his feet.
“You have some questions, Mr. Mason?”
Mason said, “I have some questions to ask of this witness. But, in the meantime, I am wondering if the coroner has forgotten his promise to Mr. Weyman. Mr. Weyman is evidently a very sick man and I think that he should be put on the stand at the present time, if he is to be called at all. In fact, I think the evidence in this case is very plain, and it seems to me there is no reason to call Mr. Weyman. I suggest that Mr. Weyman be excused.”
“No,” the coroner said, “Mr. Weyman is here, and there’s no reason why he can’t testify.”
“But he’s a sick man,” Mason insisted.
“He hasn’t a physician’s certificate to prove it,” the coroner pointed out. “If he was too sick to attend, he could have had his physician certify to that fact.”
“Well, it’s very evident he’s ill,” Mason said. “Look at the man’s bandaged countenance. He certainly wouldn’t go around with his face swathed like that unless he was ill — here, I have a suggestion. There’s a doctor sitting right next to him. Let Dr. Wallace make an examination of the infected area and give a certificate. I don’t think a man in that condition should be a witness.”
Dr. Wallace looked questioningly at the coroner. The coroner stared steadily at Perry Mason. Then Scanlon said, “Very well, Doctor, you make an examination.”
Dr. Wallace reached over, deftly tore off a strip of adhesive tape, took one end of the bandage in his fingers, and started to untwist it.
Weyman swung his left fist. The blow caught Dr. Wallace full on the jaw, snapping his head back. But the doctor’s fingers still held the end of the bandage.
Weyman started climbing over the back of the seat. The coroner yelled, “Stop that man!” and someone grabbed his legs. Weyman kicked out desperately. Dr. Wallace, recovering himself somewhat, grabbed at the collar of the man’s coat with his left hand. His right pulled at the bandage. Suddenly, the entire bandage slid from Weyman’s face, to lump around his neck, and Dr. Wallace, staring at the man’s features, jumped back to stare with wide, startled eyes. “Good God!” he exclaimed.