“What is it?”
Mason grinned at her. “Wait until he puts Jameson on the stand.”
“I don’t get it.”
“I don’t think anyone’s thought of it,” Mason said, “but I’m going to make them do a lot of thinking about it.”
“But you can’t possibly work out any theory that will get Milicent Hardisty acquitted — can you?”
“I don’t know,” Mason said somberly. “Perhaps not, but I can mix the case up so that a lot of that supercilious smirk will come off McNair’s face and—”
Mason broke off as he heard Paul Drake’s voice asking the proprietor, “Is Perry Mason eating in here today?”
Mason pulled back the curtain of the booth. “Hello, Paul, what have you got?”
Paul Drake entered the booth. His face wore a grin. Under his arm he carried a small package wrapped in newspaper and tied tightly with a string.
Della Street moved over so he could sit down beside her. Drake put the package on the table.
Almost instantly a faint but unmistakable sound of steady ticking became apparent.
“The buried clock?” Mason asked.
Drake nodded.
“Where did you get it?”
“Harley Raymand found it buried just under the surface of the ground, about ten feet from the edge of the rock where it had been concealed the first time.”
“How far from where the broken spectacle lens was found?” Mason asked.
“Not very far... Harley Raymand tied up the package and wrote his name across the wrapper. I wrote my name just above his, and tied it up in another wrapping... Do you want to open it in court?”
Mason thought it over for a moment, then said, “We’ll put Harley Raymand on the stand, and let him identify his signature... We’ve got to do that before the clock runs down. It’s a twenty-four-hour clock, isn’t it, Paul?”
“Yes.”
“And what time did the clock say — that is, was it slow or fast or—”
Drake said, “The darned clock is two hours and forty-five minutes fast.”
Mason pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and did some rapid figuring. “That puts it almost exactly on sidereal time, Paul. As I get it, sidereal time would be about three hours and forty-five minutes fast today, but our time has been moved up an hour on account of the war. That means the clock is almost exactly on sidereal time.”
Drake gave a low whistle. “Perhaps that tag about the stars wasn’t just a pipedream, Perry. Why the devil should a man want a clock that keeps time with the stars — and why should it be buried around in different places?”
Mason’s grin was gleeful. “That, my boy, is a question we’ll try to dump in the lap of Thomas L. McNair.”
“They won’t let you put it in the case, Perry.”
Mason said, “I know they won’t, but they’ll have a hard time keeping me from putting it in the minds of jurors.”
Chapter 23
As court reconvened at two o’clock, Thomas L. McNair sat at the table reserved for counsel for the prosecution, his face wearing a smile which just missed being a smirk.
Judge Canfield said, “The Jurors are all present, and the defendants are in court, gentlemen. Are you ready to proceed, Mr. McNair?”
“Just a moment, Your Honor,” Mason said, getting to his feet. “At this time I wish to ask permission of the court to introduce some testimony out of order.”
“Upon what ground is the motion made, Mr. Mason?”
“Upon the ground that the evidence is, in its nature, perishable. It will not keep until I have an opportunity to put it on in regular order.”
“Why not?” McNair demanded truculently.
Mason turned to him with a little smile. “It’s rather difficult to explain that without going into the nature of the evidence, Counselor.”
McNair said sneeringly, “Go ahead and explain it. I’d like to know what evidence you have that is, as you so aptly term it, perishable.”
Mason turned back to Judge Canfield. “It is a clock, Your Honor. A clock which was found buried near the alleged scene of the crime. It—”
“And what does a clock have to do with it?” McNair interrupted sarcastically. “Good Heavens, Your Honor. Here we have a plain open-and-shut murder case, and counsel for the defendant comes into court with a clock which was buried near the scene of the crime. It’s incompetent, it’s irrelevant, it’s immaterial. It can’t possibly be introduced in evidence.”
Mason said, “Of course, Your Honor, I will connect it up at the proper time; otherwise, the jurors can be instructed to disregard it.”
“But what is perishable about a clock?” McNair demanded. “You’ve got the clock. I guess it will keep, won’t it? I never heard of a clock spoiling. You might pickle it in alcohol.”
There was a well-defined titter from the courtroom. A few smiles appeared on the faces of the jurors, and McNair grinned gleefully at these smiling faces.
Mason said, “The clock will keep, but the time shown on the dial of the clock won’t. If the Court please, I am advised that this clock is now exactly two hours and forty-four and one-half minutes faster than our Pacific War Time. And inasmuch as our Pacific War Time is advanced one hour, that makes the clock exactly three hours, forty-four and one-half minutes ahead of our sun time.”
Judge Canfield frowned. “And exactly what is the possible significance of that fact, Mr. Mason? In other words, why should that evidence be preserved?”
“Because,” Mason said, “as of this date, sidereal time is exactly three hours, forty-four minutes, thirty-nine and one-half seconds in the advance of civil time. It is, therefore, plainly apparent that this ordinary alarm clock has been carefully adjusted so that it is keeping exact sidereal time, and inasmuch as I understand it is a twenty-four-hour clock, unless it is received in evidence, and the jury given an opportunity to note the time shown on the dial, the clock will have run down, and this valuable bit of evidence will have been destroyed.”
“And what possible connection can the stars have with this murder?” McNair demanded.
Mason said, “That, Your Honor, is one of the things I will connect up when it comes time to put on my case. All I am asking at the present time is permission to identify this clock so that the testimony may be preserved while it is available.”
Judge Canfield said, “I will grant your motion.”
Harley Raymand, being duly sworn, testified that he had first found the buried clock on October first, the date of the murder. That at that time, the clock, according to his best recollection, was some twenty-five minutes slow. That he had again found it on October second. That he had thereafter made search for the clock and had failed to find it again until approximately eleven o’clock on the morning of the present day when he had happened to hear a ticking noise; that he had listened carefully, located the spot in the ground from which that ticking was heard, and had uncovered what appeared to him to be exactly the same clock, in exactly the same box. That at this time, however, the clock was some two hours and forty-five minutes fast, as compared with his own watch.
“What did you do with this clock?” Mason asked.
“I wrapped it up in a package, wrote my name across the wrapping at the suggestion of Mr. Paul Drake. I then delivered the package to Mr. Paul Drake who also wrote his name directly above mine.”
Perry Mason asked, “Open this package, which I hand you, and see if it is the same package which you so gave to Mr. Drake.”
The jurors were leaning forward in their seats.
“Your Honor,” McNair said, “not only do I object to the introduction of this evidence at this time as being out of order, but I object to it as incompetent, irrelevant and immaterial.”