The witness then admitted that he became rattled and confused; that he ran blindly through the rain until he encountered a car driven by some man whom he did not know, but who had later turned out to be Harry Coulter, a private detective; that in company with this detective, the witness searched for the Brownley car and failed to find it that they had telephoned officers, who had finally arrived and taken up the search; that the time, as nearly as he could fix it, when the shooting took place was about two forty-five in the morning, that he had telephoned for officers about ten or fifteen minutes past three o'clock.
Shoemaker turned the witness over to Mason for cross-examination.
"You were badly rattled?" Mason asked.
"I was, yes, sir. It was all so sudden and so unexpected that I became very much confused."
"Why didn't you get into Brownley's car and drive it and him to the nearest hospital?"
"I just never thought of it, that's all. When I saw this dead man sprawled out with his head and shoulders hanging over the window, and realized it was Renwold Brownley and that he'd been murdered, I became confused."
"And you were pretty much confused before you recognized Brownley, weren't you? The knowledge that this woman in the white rain coat had fired several shots at close range at the driver of that car had naturally upset you, hadn't it?"
"Yes, sir, it had."
Mason placed the tips of his fingers together and took his eyes from the witness to stare intently at his fingertips. "It was raining?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Raining hard?"
"Well, it wasn't raining quite as hard then as it had been a little while before. There had been a let-up; but it was raining."
"This was near a yacht club of which you are a member?"
"Yes."
"There's a fence separating that yacht club from the highway?"
"Yes."
"No street lights?"
"No."
"It wasn't moonlight?"
"No, sir."
"No stars visible?"
"No, sir… I see what you're getting at, Mr. Mason, but there was plenty of light to enable me to see what I've testified to."
"What was the source of that light?"
"There's a mast in front of the clubhouse of the yacht club and there are flood-lights on this mast to illuminate the moorings and the parking spaces where members keep their cars."
"And how far were those flood-lights from the place where the crime was committed?" Mason asked.
"Perhaps three or four hundred feet."
"So that this road was brightly lighted?"
"No, sir. I didn't say that."
"But it was lighted?"
"There was some light."
"Enough to enable you to see objects distinctly."
"Understand, Mr. Mason," Bixler said with the belligerent manner of one who had been carefully coached to avoid a certain trap, "this woman wore a white rain coat which made her quite visible after she stepped out of the shadows. The road was dark, all right, and there were deep black shadows, but when the woman stepped to the running board of the car there was enough illumination so I could see her figure quite distinctly. I couldn't see her features and I haven't tried to identify her."
"Your identification," Mason asked, "is due to the fact that she wore a white rain coat. Is that right?"
"Yes."
"How do you know it was white?"
"I could see it was white."
"Couldn't it have been a light pink?" Mason asked.
"No."
"Or a light blue?"
"No."
Mason suddenly raised his eyes from his fingertips to stare intently at the witness. "Are you willing to swear," he asked, "that it was not a light yellow?"
The witness hesitated, then said, "No. It wasn't a light yellow."
"Didn't have any yellow in it?" Mason asked.
"No, sir."
Mason said slowly, "You understand, there's a distinction between pure white and a light buff, or a cream color?"
"Yes, sir, of course."
"And sometimes, even in daylight, it's difficult to distinguish these colors?"
"Not particularly. I know white when I see it. This was a white rain coat."
"For instance, this sheet of cardboard," Mason said, whipping an oblong of pasteboard from his pocket, "is it white or yellow?"
"It's white."
Mason took another sheet of dead-white cardboard from his pocket, held it up, side by side with the other, and a titter ran through the courtroom.
Bixler said hastily, "That's my mistake, Mr. Mason. That first piece of cardboard had some yellow coloring in it. It looked white because you were holding it up against your dark suit. But, now I see the white cardboard placed beside it, I can see the difference in color."
Mason said casually, and after the manner of one who is seeking to help a witness clarify his testimony, "And if a white sheet had been held back of that rain coat you saw the night of the murder it would have helped you to detect the light yellow tint in the rain coat, just in the same way this white card has enabled you to see the difference between it and the yellow card. Is that right?"
"Yes, sir," the witness said, then lowered his eyes and said, "I mean, no, sir. That is, I think it was a white rain coat."
"But it might have been a light yellow one?" Mason asked, gesturing with the hand which held the two pieces of cardboard so that the witness's eyes shifted to the pieces of cardboard.
Bixler glanced helplessly at the deputy district attorney, at the unsympathetic faces of spectators in the courtroom. He slumped within his clothes as though his self-assurance had been suddenly deflated. "Yes," he said, "it might have been a light yellow rain coat."
Mason got slowly and impressively to his feet. Staring steadily at the confused witness, he said, "How did you know Brownley was dead?"
"I could tell by looking at him."
"You're positive?"
"Yes, sir."
"But you were badly rattled at the time?"
"Well, yes."
"And you didn't feel for his pulse?"
"No, sir."
"You could only see him in the illumination which came from the dash light of the automobile?"
"Yes, sir."
"You've never studied medicine?"
"No, sir."
"How many dead people have you ever seen in your life-I mean before they were embalmed and placed in coffins?"
The witness hesitated and said, "Four."
"Had any of those persons died by violence?"
"No, sir."
"So this was your first experience in viewing a man who had been shot, is that right?"
"Yes, sir."
"And yet you're willing to swear the man was dead when you made no examination?"
"Well, if he wasn't dead he was certainly dying. Blood was spurting from those wounds."
"Ah," Mason said, "he might have been dying, but not dead."
"Well, perhaps."