“How are we going to do that?” she asked. “The servants all say they didn’t. There was no one else in the house. Mrs. Burr had gone to town with the doctor, and according to the testimony of both the doctor and Mrs. Burr, the fishing rod was one of the last things Roland Burr asked for before they went out. It was while all three of them were in the room together, and they all went out at the same time.”
“That makes it look very bad indeed,” Mason admitted.
“Mr. Mason, can’t you do something?”
“Your father doesn’t want me to represent him as his lawyer.”
“Why not?”
“Because I insisted on pointing out to him the similarity of the predicament in which he now finds himself, and that in which Horace Adams found himself some eighteen years ago. Your father doesn’t like that. His position was that the Witherspoon family couldn’t afford to have an affiliation with the family of someone who had even been charged with murder.”
“Poor Dad. I know just how he feels. Family means so much to him. He’s always been so proud of our family.”
“It might be a good plan for him to get jolted out of that,” Mason said. “It might be a good thing for all of us to get jolted out of it.”
“I’m afraid I don’t follow you.”
“We’ve been taking too much for granted simply because of our ancestors. We’ve hypnotized ourselves. We keep saying proudly that other nations should be afraid of us because we never have lost a war. We should put it the other way. It might be a good thing for us all to learn that we have to stand on our own two feet — beginning with your father.”
She said, “I love my father, and I love Marvin.”
“Of course, you do,” Mason said.
“I’m not going to sacrifice one for the other.”
Mason shrugged his shoulders.
“Mr. Mason, can’t you understand? I’m not going to let my father’s position become jeopardized because I planted that duck in Marvin’s car.”
“I understand.”
“You don’t seem to be of very much help.”
“I don’t think anyone can help you, Lois. It’s something you’ve got to decide for yourself.”
“Well, it makes a difference to you, doesn’t it?”
“Probably.”
“Can’t you think of some way out?”
Mason said, “If you tell the authorities about having planted that duck in Marvin’s car, you’re going to get yourself out of a very hot frying pan into a very hot fire. It won’t get your father out of it — not now. It will simply get Marvin in.”
“If it hadn’t been for the duck, they never would have started suspecting Father.”
“That’s all right, but they’ve started now. They’ve uncovered enough evidence so they’re not going to back up. You might find yourself facing the situation of having your father tried for the murder of Roland Burr, and Marvin on trial for the murder of Leslie Milter. Wouldn’t that be something?”
She said, “I don’t like the idea of temporizing with my conscience because of results. I think it’s better to do what you think is right, and let the results take care of themselves.”
“And what do you think is the right thing to do?”
“Tell the authorities about that duck.”
“Would you promise to wait a few days?” Mason asked.
“No. I won’t promise. But I — well, I’ll think it over.”
“All right,” Mason said, “do that.”
She looked as though she would have liked to cry on his shoulder, but she summoned her pride, and walked out of the room with her chin held very high.
Mason went down to Della Street’s room, tapped on the door.
Della Street, her eyes anxious, flung the door open. “What did she want, Chief?”
Mason smiled. “She wanted to get squared with her conscience.”
“About that duck?”
“Yes.”
“What’s she going to do?”
“Eventually she’s going to tell all about it.”
“What will that do — to you?”
“It will leave me in something of a spot down here,” Mason said.
“And I suppose that’s looking at it optimistically?”
His smile became a grin. “I always look at things optimistically.”
“How long will she give you to work out some solution?”
“She doesn’t know herself.”
“A day or two?”
“Perhaps.”
“And where does that leave you?”
Mason said, “Sitting right in the middle of a volcano that’s due to blow up at any minute. Suppose, Della, you see if you can’t be the perfect hostess and dig up a drink.”
Chapter 18
Excitement ran high in El Templo. That John L. Witherspoon had been charged with murder and was having a preliminary hearing before Justice Meehan, was sufficient to bring men into town in large numbers. The case was discussed in restaurants, hotel lobbies, pool halls, and barber shops. There were about as many different theories as there were men discussing the murders.
Lawrence Dormer, the attorney representing Witherspoon, was considered the best trial lawyer in the valley, and Dormer was quite frankly not only puzzled by the evidence, but was taking advantage of every technicality which the law afforded. It was being noised around the streets that Dormer had decided the evidence was sufficient to warrant the judge holding Witherspoon over for trial; that he would, therefore, not disclose his own hand by putting on any witnesses, but would force the district attorney to put as many cards as possible on the table.
Lois Witherspoon, torn between her love for her father and for Marvin Adams, still remained silent concerning her connection with the case; but it was the silence of a tension within which was building up to the bursting point.
Della Street said, “You’re going to have to watch that girl, Chief. She’ll stand up publicly somewhere and spill her story all at once. She isn’t accustomed to concealing things. She’s never bothered to resort to deceit. She likes the truth — and she’s an all-at-once sort of girl.”
Mason nodded.
“Don’t you understand what that means?” Della Street asked.
“What?”
“Down here you’re in foreign territory. You’re in a county where you’re an outsider, where the local people all hang together. Something which might be overlooked in Los Angeles won’t be overlooked here. What would pass as a good trick in the city, will be considered particularly reprehensible down here. Good grief, they may even charge you with being an accessory to the murder before they get done.”
Again Mason smiled.
Knuckles sounded on the door of the hotel suite.
“See who that is, Della.”
Della Street opened the door.
George L. Dangerfield stood on the threshold. “May I come in?” he asked.
“Certainly,” Mason said. “Come on in.”
Dangerfield said, “My wife and I have been subpoenaed as witnesses.”
Mason raised his eyebrows.
“I found out something about the theory on which the district attorney is going to try this case tomorrow, and I thought you should know, because — well, it may have an effect on... on lots of things.”
“What?” Mason asked.
“He’s going to reopen that old case.”
“You mean the Adams case?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Do you remember,” Dangerfield said, “when Witherspoon was talking with you in the hotel there in Palm Springs? He’s reported to have said that if it became necessary, he’d put young Marvin Adams in a position where it would look as though murder was the only way out, and force the boy to show his true character that way.”