“Yes, Your Honor.”
“What did you do with him?”
“I took him to a sanitarium when he exhibited symptoms of...”
“You’re not a doctor?”
“No.”
“Did you ask your uncle if he wanted to go to a sanitarium?”
“No, I thought...”
“Never mind what you thought The question was whether you asked your uncle.”
“No. I didn’t think he was in any condition to give an answer.”
“He was conscious?”
“Oh, yes.”
“You were talking with him?”
“Yes.”
“And did he make any objection to entering the sanitarium?”
“Yes, he did.”
“And how was the objection overcome?”
“Well, I stated to the doctor that...”
“That’s not the question,” Judge Treadwell interrupted, kindly but firmly. “How was his objection overcome?”
“Two male nurses carried him in.”
“I see,” Judge Treadwell observed in the tone of finality. “I think that’s all.”
“Your Honor, I have a showing I’d like to make,” the lawyer for the relatives said. “I feel that I’m entitled to...”
“Go right ahead with your showing,” Judge Treadwell announced. “Court will hear any witnesses you care to produce — you have Alden Leeds in court?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“The court order was that you produce him here.”
“We understand, Your Honor, but he is physically unable to attend. We have Dr. Londonberry, who is here to testify on that point.”
“Very well,” Judge Treadwell said, “let him testify.”
Dr. Londonberry was in the middle fifties, inclined to flesh. His complexion was ruddy, his gray eyes cold and professional, but his manner was plainly nervous. As he took the witness stand, he adjusted nose spectacles from which hung a wide, black ribbon.
Judge Treadwell leaned forward to appraise him, while the doctor was being qualified as an expert, then settled back in his chair with an air of complete detachment.
“You are acquainted with Alden Leeds?” the lawyer asked.
“I am.”
“When did you first see him?”
“When he was brought to my sanitarium in an automobile driven by Jason Carrel.”
“That was the first time you had seen Alden Leeds?”
“Yes.”
“Now we won’t ask what Jason Carrel told you. We only want to know what you saw and what you did. Please tell the court exactly what happened.”
In the precise, clipped voice of a professional man who is prepared for a grueling cross-examination, Dr. Londonberry said, “I was called to the automobile. I found a man approximately seventy-two years of age, somewhat frail in physical appearance, and apparently suffering from a well-developed psychosis. He was incoherent in his speech, violent in his actions. I immediately noticed a well-defined arcus senilis on the pupil of the right eye — an arcus senilis, I may explain, is due to a hyaline, degeneration of the lamellae and cells of the cornea. It is, in my experience, indicative of the first stages of senile dementia.
“Disregarding, as I am afraid I must, because of the narrow latitude which is permitted me in my testimony, the history of the case and confining my testimony solely to what I myself saw, learned, and did when the patient had entered the hospital, I examined him for consciousness, orientation, hallucinations, delusions, idea association, memory, and judgment. I had already observed his unstable emotions.”
“What did you find?” the lawyer asked.
“I found a case of well-defined senile dementia.”
“And what is your suggestion in regard to this patient?”
“He should be placed under proper care and observation. With the passing of time, he will show a progressive mental deterioration and complete inability to handle his business affairs. He will become increasingly susceptible to blandishments, false friendships, and fraud. The progress of the disease can be stayed somewhat by proper care and treatment, relief from business worries, and particularly from the necessity of making decisions.”
“And it was at your suggestion, Doctor, that the patient was not brought to court this morning?”
“Not only at my suggestion but because of my positive orders. In his present nervous state, the patient would become highly excited if he were brought into a public hearing. I would not care to be responsible for the results following such an appearance. Mr. Leeds is a very sick man mentally.”
“You may cross-examine,” the attorney said to Perry Mason.
Mason sat slumped down in the mahogany swivel chair at the counsel table, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his chin sunk on his chest. He did not look at the witness.
“The patient was incoherent when you first saw him?” he asked, tonelessly.
“Yes.”
“Excited?”
“Yes.”
“Angry?”
“Yes.”
“And from these things you diagnosed a senile dementia?”
“From those things and the other things.”
“Well, let’s take them up in order. These things helped to give you a diagnosis of senile dementia, did they not?”
“Yes.”
“Anger and irritability are symptoms of senile dementia, Doctor?”
“Yes, sir, definitely.”
“And I believe there is another similar disease, isn’t there, Doctor, dementia praecox or schizophrenia?”
“That is not the same as senile dementia.”
“So I understand, Doctor. In cases of dementia praecox, as I understand it, there is a condition of mental ataxia. The patient develops a state of apathy, becomes utterly indifferent to his surroundings, and cares nothing about what is done with him.”
“That is right.”
“Mr. Leeds was not suffering from that disease?”
“Certainly not. I have explained my diagnosis to you.”
“If, on the other hand, you had noted any unnatural apathy of the emotions, you would have suspected dementia praecox?”
“I would have suspected it, yes.”
“Well,” Mason said moodily, still with his chin on his chest, “let’s see where that leaves us, Doctor. A man, aged seventy-two years, goes out riding with his nephew. The nephew abruptly detours him to a sanitarium. Two male nurses come out of the sanitarium and start dragging him out of the car. You appear upon the scene. You find the patient angry and, as you have expressed it, incoherent. Wouldn’t it be natural for a patient to be angry under such circumstances?”
“It depends on the circumstances.”
“But if he hadn’t been angry, you would have immediately diagnosed his condition as a lethargic symptom of mental ataxia, would you not?”
“I don’t think that’s a fair question.”
“Perhaps not,” Mason said, in the manner of one dismissing a subject. “Let’s go on with your diagnosis. You found he was angry at being dragged out of the car. Therefore, you forthwith diagnosed his case as senile dementia, did you not?”
“I did not!” Dr. Londonberry exclaimed indignantly. “I have told you what factors entered into my diagnosis. Your question is a deliberate attempt to distort my testimony.”
“Tut, tut,” Mason said. “Don’t work yourself up, Doctor. It wouldn’t do for you to get angry — let’s see, how old are you?”
“Fifty-six.”
“A bit early for senile dementia to develop, is it not, Doctor?”
“Yes,” the physician snapped.
“Then try and retain your good temper, Doctor, and I will try and be as fair as possible. You stated there were other symptoms. The only other symptom which you noted, I believe, was an arcus senilis.”