Borge took a silk handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his perspiring forehead and the back of his neck and said in a bored voice, “Yes, he has a criminal record.”
“What is it?”
“Twice to San Quentin for burglary. Once to Folsom for assault with a deadly weapon. He’s been arrested three or four times and was tried for murder in—”
Mason jumped to his feet and said, “Your Honor, I object. Any man may be arrested—”
“Sustained,” Judge Romley said.
“Did you,” Scudder went on, “take this man’s fingerprints, Mr. Borge?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“In 1929, in 1934, and in 1935.”
“You have his fingerprints here?”
“I have.”
“Produce them, please.”
Scudder took the placard which Borge handed him, and said, “I would like to introduce these fingerprints in evidence.”
“No objection,” Mason said.
“Now then, Mr. Borge,” the deputy district attorney said, “I will ask you if you went last night to a flat rented by Morgan Eves.”
“I did.”
“And what did you do there?”
“Objected to,” Mason said perfunctorily, “incompetent, irrelevant and immaterial.”
“It is a preliminary merely. I wish to connect it up,” Scudder remarked, without arising from his chair.
“Overruled,” Judge Romley snapped.
“I used various powders on various articles for the purpose of developing latent fingerprints which might be found in that apartment.”
“And did you develop latent fingerprints?”
“I did.”
“And photographed them?”
“I did.”
“Have you photographs of those latent prints with you?”
“I have.”
Borge pulled a thick file of photographs from his pocket.
Scudder pushed back his chair and got to his feet. He spoke slowly and clearly, so that the audience would have no difficulty in following him or appreciating the significance of his question. “Now, then, Mr. Borge, I will ask you if among those latent fingerprints which you developed and photographed, you found any fingerprints made by the man about whose criminal record you have just testified?”
“I did.”
“Where did you find those prints?”
“I found them in various and sundry places, in the bathroom, on the table, on a mirror, on a doorknob, and on a discarded safety razor blade.”
“Did you photograph those prints?”
“I did.”
“Do you have these photographs with you?”
“Yes.”
“I would like to introduce them in evidence.”
“No objection,” Mason said, as Scudder handed the sheaf of photographs across to the clerk.
“Now then, did you find any other fingerprints in that flat?”
“I did.”
“Whose were they?”
“Objected to,” Mason shouted. “This is incompetent, irrelevant and immaterial—”
“Overruled,” Judge Romley said.
Borge grinned at Mason. “I found fingerprints of Perry Mason,” he said. “I found fingerprints of Paul Drake, a detective employed by Perry Mason. I found a wheel chair, and on the wheel chair I found prints of the man who had evidently occupied that wheel chair. I also found some fingerprints of a woman.”
“And did you photograph these fingerprints and mark upon each photograph the place where the prints had been found?”
“I did.
“I’m going to ask that these be introduced in evidence.”
Mason sat back in his chair with the air of having been defeated. After a moment, Judge Romley said, “It appearing that there is no objection, the photographs will be received in evidence.”
“Now, Mr. Borge, ” Scudder went on, “were you present at that apartment last night at the hour of approximately ten-fifty in the evening, at a time when Perry Mason, Paul Drake, a certain Della Street, Inspector Frank Bodfish, and myself were present?”
“I was.”
“And at that time and at that place, did you hear me accuse Perry Mason of having spirited away the said Roger P. Cartman, who had temporarily occupied that flat or apartment? And did I then and there accuse the said Perry Mason of having kidnaped and abducted the said Roger P. Cartman and of holding him where he could not be found by the deputy district attorney, and could not be brought into this court to testify as an eyewitness in the case of The People versus Anna Moar, otherwise known as Ann Newberry?”
“I was there,” Borge said. “I heard you make that accusation.”
“And at that time and at that place, what statement did the said Perry Mason make in connection with that accusation?”
Mason jumped to his feet, his manner desperate. “Your Honor, I object! This is incompetent, irrelevant and immaterial. This has nothing whatever to do with...”
Judge Romley cut him short. “Objection overruled,” he snapped.
Borge looked at Mason and said, without raising his voice, “He said you could never convict him because his accomplice had been an ex-convict, and no jury would convict him on the testimony of an ex-convict, and anyway you couldn’t convict him because you couldn’t corroborate the testimony of his accomplice.”
“You may cross-examine,” Scudder snapped.
Mason watched Borge wiping his moist forehead with a handkerchief. “How many men have you ever fingerprinted, Mr. Borge?” he asked.
“I can’t see that this is material,” Scudder objected.
“It goes to his qualifications,” Mason insisted. “You’ve qualified him as an expert, I certainly am going to cross-examine him, to show his qualifications.”
“I think the question is perfectly proper,” Judge Romley ruled. “Counsel did not stipulate to the qualifications of this witness, and he has a right to ask any reasonable number of questions touching upon his qualifications as an expert. The objection is overruled.”
“I couldn’t say,” Borge said. “I’ve fingerprinted thousands.”
“Who was the first man you ever fingerprinted?”
Borge smiled and said, “Why, I couldn’t remember.”
“When was it?”
“I can’t even tell you that — it was probably fifteen years ago. I can’t remember.”
“Who was the last man you fingerprinted?”
An expression of satisfaction animated Borge’s pale green eyes. “The last man I fingerprinted,” he said, and paused dramatically as he flashed a look of triumph at the deputy district attorney, “was Carl Moar. I took his fingerprints at two o’clock this morning in the City Morgue, shortly after you had told the newspapers the body wasn’t that of Moar, but of some other person.”
Mason hesitated for several awkward seconds, then said, “You’re stating positively that this man was Carl Moar?”
“Of course I am,” Borge said. “The body had been in the water for a couple of days, but I was able to get his fingerprints without any trouble. A man’s fingerprints never change, not even in death. They’re absolute means of identification.
“And can’t the fingerprints of one person possibly be confused with those of another?”
“No,” Borge said scornfully “Every high school kid knows that.”
Judge Romley rapped with his gavel. “The witness will confine himself to answering the questions,” he said. “The witness is being interrogated as to his qualifications as an expert. The Court will not permit the examination to be unduly prolonged, but if Counsel wishes to inquire concerning the qualifications of the witness as an expert, he has a perfect right to do so, and the witness will observe a respectful attitude in answering such questions.”
“Then you must have had Carl Moar’s fingerprints,” Mason argued. “That is, you must have had something with which to compare the fingerprints of the corpse.”