“Well, there’s one thing,” Della said. “You know what happened now.”
Mason’s eyes were thoughtful. “I’m not so certain that I do.”
“What do you mean by that? That Smiley was lying?”
Mason said, “One bit of evidence bothers me.”
“What?”
“Hardisty’s trousers. The red clay mud showed that he had been up at the tunnel — and someone took off his shoes, removed every bit of mud on the shoes, polished them, put them by the bed — and forgot to inspect the cuffs on his trousers.”
Della Street’s eyes were wide. “Then... then Smiley must have been lying?”
“Or telling the exact, unvarnished truth,” Mason said.
Chapter 26
Thomas McNair seemed more debonair than ever as he took his seat in court the next morning. The crowded courtroom buzzed with whispered conversation. The jurors solemnly filed in and took their seats. And then, Hamilton Burger himself, a barrel-chested figure whose every movement suggested a bulldog tenacity, entered the courtroom and took his seat beside McNair.
Mason knew they were moving in for the kill. They’d rush the case to a quick, unexpected conclusion, and then toss it into his lap, let him try floundering around, searching for a weak link in the chain of circumstantial evidence which gripped the defendants.
Deputy sheriffs escorted the defendants into the courtroom. Dr. Macon, with his face set in a fixed mask to conceal his feelings, seated himself with motions that were stiff with self-discipline. Milicent Hardisty dropped into her chair, almost immediately propped an elbow on the arm of the chair, and rested her head against the upraised hand. Her attitude was that of tired dejection. She only wanted to get it over with as soon as possible.
Judge Canfield emerged from his chambers. The people in the courtroom arose as with one motion. After the judge seated himself, a gavel pounded counsel and spectators back to their seats.
“People versus Macon and Hardisty,” Judge Canfield said with a crisp, businesslike efficiency. “Both defendants are in court, and the jurors are all present, gentlemen. Proceed with the case.”
McNair went nimbly ahead producing witnesses who identified the molds of tire tracks which had been found at the Blane cabin, then expert witnesses who testified as to the make of the tires which had made those tracks, testified to checking the molds against the tires on Dr. Macon’s car.
And then Hamilton Burger, the district attorney, took over with ponderous dignity, with the lumbering efficiency of a big-gunned battle wagon swinging into action. “We wish to recall William N. Jameson,” he said.
Jameson, looking slightly weary about the eyes, but full of spirit, took the stand.
“You have already been sworn,” the district attorney rumbled. “Now, Mr. Jameson, I am going to direct your attention to the fact that yesterday on cross-examination, counsel asked you if you had made any search of the spot near where the defendant, Milicent Hardisty, had been standing when she was seen by witnesses to throw a gun, or an object resembling a gun, into a canyon. And you testified, I believe, that you had made no such search.”
“That is correct.”
“Do you now wish to change that testimony?”
“Not the testimony. At the time I answered the question, my testimony was correct, but since then I’ve made a very careful and exhaustive search of the locality.”
“When was that search made?”
“Last night.”
“When did it start?”
“At about six o’clock.”
“When did it terminate?”
“At about two-thirty this morning.”
“Why did you terminate your search?”
“Because I found the object for which I was looking.”
“Did you indeed! And what was that object?”
“A thirty-eight caliber Colt, police positive, double-action revolver, with all six chambers loaded, the gun bearing the number one-four-five-eight-one, and also bearing thereon two somewhat smudged latent fingerprints, which however, are readily identifiable as the fingerprints of the defendant, Milicent Hardisty.”
Hamilton Burger was too dignified to smirk triumphantly at Perry Mason as McNair would have done. He said simply, “Your witness, Mr. Mason.”
“No questions,” Mason snapped.
Hamilton Burger seemed somewhat surprised. However, he promptly called a representative of the sheriff’s office, who testified that some five years ago an application had been duly made by a citizen of Kenvale to carry a concealed weapon for the purpose of protection. The weapon was described as the Colt police positive, thirty-eight caliber, double-action revolver, bearing the number 14581.
“You have that application with you?”
“I have.”
“Did any person witness the signing of that application?”
“Yes, sir. I did.”
“It was signed in your presence?”
“It was.”
“And I will ask you who signed that application?”
“Mr. Vincent P. Blane,” the witness said, and then added gratuitously, “the father of the defendant, Milicent Hardisty.”
Hamilton Burger moved with the slow dignity of a steam roller as he got up and walked over to the witness. “I will now ask that this application to carry a firearm be received in evidence as an exhibit on behalf of the People, and marked by the clerk with the appropriate exhibit number.”
Judge Canfield glanced at Perry Mason. “Any objection on the part of the defendant, Hardisty, Mr. Mason?”
Mason managed a bold front for the jurors. “None whatever,” he said.
Hamilton Burger said with that ponderous manner which was so characteristic of him, “Your Honor, I would like to recall Rodney Beaton for a few questions. I think the Court will appreciate the position in which the prosecution finds itself. Due to the finding of this second weapon, the finding of the so-called first weapon, or prosecution’s exhibit A, becomes relatively more important... That is, the circumstances surrounding the finding assume an added significance.”
Judge Canfield said, “The court will permit you to recall the witness, Counselor.”
Burger bowed his head gravely. “Rodney Beaton, come forward, please.”
Rodney Beaton arose from his position near the back of the courtroom, advanced to the witness stand.
Once more it was Hamilton Burger, himself, who did the questioning. “Mr. Beaton, you have previously been interrogated concerning the finding of a weapon which has been produced in evidence as the People’s exhibit A. I call your attention, Mr. Beaton, to that exhibit, and also to the fact that the cartridge in one of the cylinders has been discharged. I’m going to ask you if, when you and Miss Lola Strague found that weapon, you noticed anything in connection with that discharged cartridge?”
Beaton said, “I noticed that it had been freshly fired.”
Burger shook his head. “That is a conclusion. You are not, I take it, an expert on firearms?”
Beaton smiled. “I think I am.”
Burger showed some surprise. “What has been your experience?”
“I’ve been a collector of firearms for several years. I held a State championship as a revolver shot for two consecutive years. I have shot thousands of rounds in revolvers of different types. I have studied the effects of different loads, different shapes and weights of cartridges, both by consulting the available data of firearm and cartridge manufacturers, as well as by practical observations of my own.”