Developments in the Hardisty murder case moved today with bewildering rapidity.
A person who is in close touch with the situation, but who wishes his name withheld, stated positively that Jack Hardisty had in his possession, at the time of his death, a large sum of money. There is a rumor that this money may have been removed from a Roxbury bank, where Hardisty had been employed up to the time of his death.
The sheriff’s office, making a search of the Hardisty residence, was confronted with an antique locked desk. Because this was valuable as an antique Vincent P. Blane, the father-in-law of the victim, insisted that the lock should not be forced, but that officers should get a key either from Mrs. Hardisty or from Adele Blane. An attempt was made to secure a passkey, but because the antique writing desk had been recently fitted with a most modem lock, all efforts to open it in the usual routine manner proved futile.
Placing George Crane, a deputy constable and merchant patrol of Roxbury, in charge, police started trying to locate a key which would fit the lock. Mrs. Hardisty, who has steadfastly refused to make any statement concerning the case, finally consented to permit the authorities to use her key in opening the desk.
Shortly before nine o’clock, however, the telephone at police headquarters in Roxbury rang insistently. The voice of a man whom the police have not as yet been able to identify, advised them that he had heard the sound of a revolver shot at the Hardisty residence. Officers Frank Marigold and Jim Spencer, making a quick run to the scene, found George Crane unconscious from a blow with a blackjack administered a few minutes earlier by some unidentified woman at whom Crane had taken a shot, and whom he may have wounded. It was reported that Mrs. Hardisty’s lawyer and private detective were also on the premises at the time. They were permitted to leave the premises without being searched. The writing desk had been forced open, and papers lay in a litter of confusion over the floor (see photograph on page three).
Coincident with this development, police have found evidence which definitely establishes the place where the crime was committed. Near a granite rock, some seventy-five yards from the Blane cabin where Hardisty’s body was found, police found the broken fragment of a spectacle lens. A test by competent experts shows that was a fragment from Jack Hardisty’s glasses — glasses which incidentally were not found on the body of the dead man.
In the face of this information, the district attorney of Kern County has stepped to one side, and jurisdiction will be held in Los Angeles County...
Chapter 19
Perry Mason threw the newspaper aside impatiently. Della Street’s eyes met his. “You almost made it, Chief.”
Mason said, “Almost doesn’t count — not in this game.”
“I notice that you were ‘permitted to leave the premises without being searched.’ ”
Mason said bitterly, “Sure, that’s a swell way of insinuating to the public that Paul Drake and I walked in and picked up ninety thousand bucks of stolen money, that we’re going to use it as our fees. It’s a nice little example of police innuendo.”
“Can’t you do something about that?”
Mason shook his head. “There’s nothing libelous in the statement. We were permitted to leave the premises unsearched. That’s the fact. I probably should have demanded that they search us, but we were so anxious to get out of there while the getting was good, that I didn’t give the matter very much thought.”
Della said, “Well, if the murderer did rely on astrology in order to pick an auspicious moment for committing the crime, he did a darn good job. This case certainly seems to be jinxed. First it’s one thing and then it’s another.”
Mason lit a cigarette. “Trying a lawsuit is like changing a flat tire. Sometimes the jack works perfectly, the rim comes off, the new tire goes on, and you’re on your way so smoothly that you hardly know you’ve had a flat. Sometimes everything goes wrong. The jack won’t work, and when you finally get the car up, it rolls off the jack, the old tire sticks, the new rim won’t go on... And this is a case just like that, where everything has gone wrong to date.”
“You’ve seen Mrs. Hardisty?”
“Yes.”
“What does she say?”
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
“You mean she won’t talk to you — as her attorney?”
“She won’t say a word. Not only to the police, but to me.”
“And how about Adele?”
“Adele Blane was hiding because she knew that her sister had written Dr. Macon a note that was what is known as indiscreet.”
“Indiscreet in the Victorian or the legal sense?” Della Street asked with a smile.
“Both.”
“And she’s told that to the police?”
“I don’t know what she’s told the police. I doubt if even she does. They got her talking, and I understand she made some contradictory statements. However, I doubt if they got very much out of her.”
“Dr. Macon?”
“Dr. Macon is in love. He’s one of those self-reliant surgeons who has been trained to tackle anything — and he may have killed Jack Hardisty.”
“We’re not representing him?” Della Street asked.
“Definitely not,” Mason said. “We’re representing Mrs. Jack Hardisty, and she’s the only one we’re representing. She’s probably in love with Dr. Macon, knows some evidence that incriminates him, and therefore won’t say a word, even to me.
“Another thing that bothers me is the cocksure attitude of the district attorney’s office. I understand a new deputy is going to try it — a chap by the name of Thomas L. McNair. He’s supposed to be a legal whirlwind. Came out here from the east somewhere, and has one of the most brilliant trial records of any young lawyer in the country. A percentage of nine convictions out of every ten cases tried — and for some reason or other, the district attorney’s office is laughing up its sleeve, just lying in wait for me.”
“And that’s why you think this case is going to be one of those that will be like the flat tire that goes wrong.”
Mason nodded moodily. “Something,” he said, “is in the wind. There are certain angles of this case about which I know nothing... You’ve always told me that it would be better for me to stay in my office and wait until cases came to me as other lawyers do, instead of getting out on the firing line. Well, this is once you can see how it works. From the start I’ve been one jump behind, and I know from the way they are acting, the district attorney’s office is virtually certain of getting a conviction of both defendants.”
“Who’s representing Dr. Macon?” Della Street asked.
Mason grinned. “Dr. Macon. Trust the old self-reliant surgeon for that. He’s going to rush right in where angels fear to tread—”
The door opened somewhat explosively. Paul Drake, too excited even to bother with the formality of knocking, entered Mason’s office. “They’ve got you, Perry!” he announced.
“Who has?”
“The D. A.”
“On what?”
“That Hardisty case. They’ve got a dead open-and-shut case, a lead-pipe cinch. You’d better try to cop a plea.”
“Has there been a confession?”
“No. But they’ve uncovered some evidence that makes it tighter than a drum. I don’t know just what it is, but it has to do with a hypodermic syringe. I’ve found out that much. The district attorney let down the bars to one of the newspaper boys. He told this reporter that he just wanted to see your face when the evidence came in. He said in all the other cases you’ve tried, you’ve known in advance what the evidence was going to be, that this time, you’re going to have the props knocked out from under you.”