“Very well, Your Honor,” Mason said. “Pardon me, if the Court please, before the district attorney reframes that question, may I suggest to the Court that the district attorney should be cautioned not to throw away the most valuable piece of evidence in this case.”
Copeland gave a quick start of surprise, whirled to stare at Mason. “What do you mean?”
Mason said suavely, “That bit of paper which was handed to you a few minutes ago.”
“What about it?”
“It’s evidence.”
The district attorney said to Judge Meehan, “I submit, Your Honor, that it is not evidence. That was a private, confidential communication handed to me by some person in this room.”
“Who?” Mason asked.
“That is none of your business,” Copeland said.
Judge Meehan interposed dryly, “That will do, gentlemen. We will have an end to the personalities. And the Court will try to restore some semblance of order. Now, Miss Witherspoon, if you will please be seated.”
“But, Your Honor, I...”
“Be seated, please. You will have an opportunity to tell your story later on.
“Now, for the purpose of getting the record straight, let it appear that a question has been asked of this witness. An objection was made to that question. The objection has been sustained.”
“And, if the Court please,” Mason interposed suavely, “may it appear at this time that I have requested that the district attorney do not destroy the note which was handed to him a few minutes ago?”
“Upon what ground?” Judge Meehan asked. “I am inclined to agree with the district attorney that that is a confidential communication.”
Mason said, “It is the most pertinent piece of evidence in this case. I am asking that the Court impound that evidence until I can prove that it is pertinent.”
“Upon what grounds?” Copeland asked.
Mason said, “Let us list the people who knew that Marvin Adams had performed the experiment of drowning a duck, since only such a person could have written that note to the district attorney — a note which, I take it, advised the district attorney to call Mrs. Burr to the stand and interrogate her on this point. The defendant in this case didn’t know it. In any event, he didn’t write that note. Mrs. Burr didn’t write that note. Lois Witherspoon didn’t write it. Obviously, Marvin Adams didn’t write it. Yet it was written by someone who knew that experiment had been performed at that time and at that place. I think, therefore, the Court will agree with me that this is highly pertinent evidence.”
District Attorney Copeland said, “If the Court please, the prosecutor in a case, as well as the police officers who are investigating a case, quite frequently get anonymous tips to significant facts. The only way they can hope to get such tips is by keeping the source of information confidential.”
Mason interposed quickly, “I think, if the Court please, that, inasmuch as it is approaching the hour of the noon recess, I can discuss the matter in Chambers with the Court and the district attorney, and convince both the Court and the district attorney of the importance of this bit of evidence.”
Judge Meehan said, “I see no reason at the present time for asking the district attorney to submit in evidence any confidential communication he may have received from anyone.”
“Thank you, Your Honor,” Copeland said.
“On the other hand,” Judge Meehan went on, “it seems to me that if there is any chance this might turn out to be a significant piece of evidence, it should be preserved.”
Copeland said with dignity, “I had no intention of destroying it, Your Honor.”
“I thought the district attorney was about to crumple it up and throw it away,” Mason said.
Copeland lashed out at him, “This isn’t the first time you’ve been mistaken in connection with this case.”
Mason bowed. “Being purely a private citizen, my mistakes don’t result in the prosecution of innocent men.”
“That will do, gentlemen,” Judge Meehan said. “The Court will take a recess until two o’clock in the afternoon. I will ask counsel to meet with me in Chambers at one-thirty, and I will ask the district attorney not to destroy that note which was handed to him, until after meeting with counsel in Chambers. Recess until two o’clock this afternoon.”
As people began filing out of the courtroom, Mason looked at Della Street and grinned. “Whew!” he said. “That was close.”
“You mean you were just stalling?” she asked.
“Stalling for time,” he admitted. “Lois Witherspoon was going to stand up there and tell the whole business, right out in public.”
“She’ll do it at two o’clock, anyway,” Della Street said.
“I know it.”
“Well?”
Mason grinned. “That gives me two hours in which to think up a way out, or...”
“Or what?” Della Street asked as Mason left the sentence unfinished.
“Or solve the case,” Mason said.
Lois Witherspoon came pressing forward. She said, “That was very, very clever, Mr. Mason, but it isn’t going to stop me.”
“All right,” Mason said. “But will you promise you won’t say anything to anyone about it until two o’clock.”
“I’m going to tell Marvin.”
“Not until just before he goes on the stand,” Mason said. “It won’t make any difference.”
“No, I’m going to tell him now.”
“Tell me what?” Marvin Adams asked, coming up behind her and slipping his arm around her.
“About the duck,” Lois said.
A deputy sheriff, coming forward, said, “John Witherspoon wants to talk with you, Mr. Mason. And he also wants to see his daughter and—” here the sheriff grinned broadly — “his new son-in-law.”
Mason said to Adams, “This might be a good time for you to go and talk things over with him. Tell him I’ll try and see him shortly before court convenes this afternoon.”
Mason caught Paul Drake’s eye, and motioned him to join them.
“Have you been able to find out anything about that letter, Paul?” Mason asked in a low voice.
“Which one?”
“The one that I gave you — the one Marvin Adams received, offering him a hundred dollars to show the writer how to make a duck sink.”
Drake said, “I can’t find out a thing about it, Perry. The telephone number is just as you surmised, that of a big department store. They don’t know anyone named Gridley P. Lahey.”
“How about the letter?”
“Absolutely nothing you can find out about it. It’s mailed in a plain, stamped envelope and written on a piece of paper which has been torn from a writing pad, one of the sort that is sold in drugstores, stationery stores, five-and-ten-cent stores, and so many other places that it’s impossible to try and trace it. We have the handwriting to go by, and that’s all. It isn’t doing us any good now.”
Mason said, “It may help later, Paul. See if you can locate the woman who was employed as nurse — the one Burr fired, will you? She—”
“She was here in court,” Drake interrupted. “Just a minute, Perry. I think I may be able to locate her.”
He strode out through the swinging gate in the mahogany rail, to thread his way through the crowd that was slowly shuffling its way out of the courtroom. A few minutes later, he was back with a rather attractive young woman. “This is Miss Field,” he said, “the nurse who was on the job the morning Burr was murdered.”
Miss Field gave Mason her hand, said, “I’ve been very much interested in watching the way the case developed. I don’t think I should talk to you. I’ve been subpoenaed by the district attorney as a witness.”